Literary Lion. Ice Ice Baby.

The past two weeks have delivered some interesting edgy tales, including this lovely piece of descriptive micro-fiction from a Literary Lion regular, Nortina.

But to this fortnight’s challenge, and the lucky lion is on his travels yet again, this time in the fabulous US of A, in La La Land itself.

The word of the moment is ‘Ice’.

You have two weeks to tell your tales of 400 words or less. Remember to pingback to this post, include the tag ‘Literary Lion’ so we can all read your story in the WP reader, and of course come and say hello on Instagram and twitter.

Here is my own little icy tale…

 

Frozen.

I’d never found courage enough to do it before.

I sat with my back against the window for the first time. The subtle sound of stepping feet came first. Then the silhouette in my peripheral. Then followed the slow tingling whisper of breath on the back of my neck.

As the sensation shot through the hairs on my skin, into each vertebrae of my spine and through the very bones holding me there, I turned to ice.

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Thaw.

Shakespeare has always had my admiration, but he’s earned some extra kudos today, in the wake of my painstaking attempt at writing a traditional English sonnet… (with the theme of Future and some chiasmus thrown in for good measure)

 

Thaw.

From shadows uncertain, a wreck you hauled

In spite of the grave that shrouded the eye.

It bore through the teeth so time further stalled

As it tore though the bones whilst age went by.

 

When twenty summers did soften the ill,

And firm dissolved what had dug so intent.

That which was irksome now deadened the chill

with which the preface of life you had spent.

 

I remember the rain had fallen sharp,

The streets cast their echoes with sombre dew.

Your fingers, ice as they prised mine apart,

yet temperate shards pierced the bitter I knew.

 

The ice within is hereafter thawing,

Warming the fire as the fire is warming.

Crack.

Thank goodness for that little moment on a Friday afternoon when you realise there are two days of bliss ahead. Here’s a few seconds of literary escapism in celebration…

The Hemingway Day. Crack.

The cracks echoed, fracturing. He froze.

 

Thank you to The Daily Post for the photo prompt