Literary Lion. I see you.

Good evening my writing lions. It seems our little jar keeper has been watching me this week…

The word is ‘eye‘.

You have a week to craft your tales of ‘eye’, in 400 words or less. Remember to pingback to this post, include the tag ‘Literary Lion’ so we can find all your posts in the WP reader, and of course give me a shoutout on Instagram and twitter.

Here is my all-seeing tale…

 

Lunchtime.

It was burning my mouth much more than usual. Its flame whispered through the gaps above my gums and swam along the back of my tongue until it hit the tip of my oesophagus and stained my tonsils with its clinical tang.

I spat it out just as the tears threatened to spill over the lower rims of my eyes. I curled my lips as I stared into the mirror above the sink, ran my tongue over each enamel surface, smooth, white and stain free.

The bathroom cabinet reflected a similarly slick world through the window behind me. The sill sat below a frame of metallic towers, each shining a reflection of the next; infinite echoes of an endless cityscape of monochrome.

–

Karl was hovering by my desk once again. He had those dark brown eyes where the pupils bled into the irises so all you see is one enlarged orb of darkness flanked by bloodshot white either side. They pierced through the air and into my skull. I tried to divert my train of thought in case he was listening. I kept him in my peripheral as I stared at the cubicle behind me in the reflection of my computer screen. He moved his mouth like a fish several times before he decided to leave without saying a thing.

I was careful to check they weren’t watching before I opened the drawer. Their little servants were spying above my workstation. They would raise the alarm if they saw what was inside. I tentatively leaned down into my handbag, pulling the mass I had recovered from the side of the road earlier this morning. The feathers were still warm when I had picked it up then. Now they were cold and crisply matted with what was once the creature’s insides. One more subtle glance around me, and I thrust it into the drawer. The gluttonous lip smacks were muffled by the timber.

She would reward me for that in time.

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Unlocked.

 

In a bid to connect further with the blogosphere and to flex my writing muscle, today I embark upon a journey through WordPress’ Writing 101 course. Here’s the first instalment, 20 minutes of free writing, no forethought or editing allowed…

 

Mind, unlocked.

The night brought with it an inky blue hue. I could feel the cold air sweeping past my tongue and down through my throat, where goosebumps would prick out from beneath the skin, a tale tell sign that I was numb. I couldn’t hide my nervous disposition. Anyone with a calm exterior would be breathing long, subtle breaths, but mine were hurried, forcing tiny clouds of visible vapour through the midnight air with each exhale.

At least I could blame the shaking on the temperature. They didn’t have to know that the chill I felt, which sunk deep into my bones, was owed to the situation, and not the frost that was biting at my ankles with each step I took.

I came to a standstill once I reached the place. We had said we would meet here, where the forest floor forked into a star like possibility of pathways, each one offering a different narrative to whoever traipsed down its track. The floor was uneven. Days of rain had muddied the surface and now it stretched across the area in frosted peaks, each one a frozen menace just waiting to meet you face down.

There was no sign of life here. Even the thick trunked oak tree that I was to wait at looked as though it had thrived amidst a world entirely of its own making. I perched against the tree, checking every few seconds to my left and right, only stopping to crane my neck to spy through the fork in the tree trunk, inspecting the trail behind me. I wasn’t aware of where they were coming from.

I was early. The situation didn’t need any further temptation towards the deadly, and so I was careful to ensure that nothing I did would coax it in the wrong direction.

It troubled me that there was not yet the snow of winter on the ground, as much as it worried me that there were no loose leaves of the autumn rustling across the floor. They would be approaching, deadly in their silence.

I hung my lantern on the branch nearest to me, an amicable act of honesty, so they could see me from a distance. That is when I started to hear movement. Not the footsteps of a man, or the rustling of a human navigating through the trees, but the heavy breathing of a creature whose movements were not second nature.

The sound of a forced, strained motion came closer, but still I could not see a thing. Until the soft light of my lantern fell in severe angles across his face. A face which towered above the oak tree.

 

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