The Survivors III – New Name

From the Apocalyptic Journal – 83 years from now.

It was one of those warm summer days where the refreshing creek soothed every part of them. They sat together just listening. Even baby Jay seemed calmed by the sounds of the water, and the smell of the it in the air. It had been 10 days since her daughter was born, and Brie was still amazed by this wonder of new life. Jay was strapped on the front of her.

He was quiet and his face was reflecting the sunlight dancing on the water. A fish jumped. He was convinced that fish would someday soon be dinner. There was no war anymore, and death seemed distant in this peace. A mother deer and her fawn approached the creek, on the other side, and upwind from where they were sitting. They both watched while baby Jay slept quietly.

“I hate hunting.” It was Brie breaking the silence in a whisper. “I only hunt in order to survive.” He silently nodded his head with understanding. And that was one thing she liked about him, he never really said much but he understood her. There was always that silent, gentle strength too.

“And we need to find you a new name.” She said in her normal voice having already scared the mother deer and fawn away. “What’s wrong with my name?” She looked at him with that “you should know this” look and said, “You know how I feel about missionaries…..how they treated my people.” There it was again, the silent head nod of understanding. “I get it” he said.

Baby Jay stirred and Brie figured it was almost time for a feeding. Brie shifted, deciding she knew the name…. “Grey Wolf…..that’s what we should call you!” “What?? I was nearly killed by wolves!” “Yes, but grey is my favorite color….and to be honest it suits you.” Suddenly Brie began a sly smile, “And besides, your name will remind you…. that I saved your life.”

H’mm, he liked that a lot, and he told her so.

Writing and Image Copyright © 2021 rivers renewed

Time Traveler II

I’ve never been held prisoner in Belgium, yet the nights here are quite strange. I found there is more than one phantom flying over the castle at night. I can never see them when I’m a human though, only when I’m a bat or an owl. In other words, a creature of the night.

And the Countess is a bit of an oddball to be honest. Young and beautiful, but constantly whispering under her breath. I’ve caught her watching me several times. And once…..out of the corner of my eye……

I thought I saw her walking through a wall, her long auburn hair the last bit of her flowing through. Is she even real? To be honest, I don’t know.

Yet form changing, in your time you call it “shape shifting” is a new skill for me, and being an owl is magnificent! These wings! And at night I can see everything for miles.

So for now I avoid the Countess, and I sit in one of these very tall trees that have been here for hundreds of years. My favorite are the elms.

Besides, lately I’ve acquired a taste…….for mice.

Regards,

Emma

Writing and Image Copyright © 2021 rivers renewed

Time Traveler

Belgium. I always loved this place but never the time period. Women’s dresses showing too much of our tops, every breath putting us on display. My name had changed many times, but here I was Emma.

As I stood on the veranda, overlooking the gardens, the house, also known as the “castle” had called me here, there was no doubt about it, assuring me I could change form and practice it. The night wind moved in as torches on brick walls cast shadows. I summoned my shawl, the navy blue, my favorite, with a snap of my fingers.

It gently draped over my shoulders, and I was enfolded in the dark color. I decided to wave my arm and changed easily into a bat, flying above where I had just stood. I looked down. Another wave, this time with my dark wing and I was the night….

I don’t mean I was part of the night or blended with it….I was the night. The sensation was incredible. And as I expected, the phantom came straight for me, barely visible. Cloaked in black and grey, a faint outline really, with an angry look on his face. He demanded, “Who are you?” “Are you the one with the red-haired Countess?”

I nodded, then realized I had no head, so I simply whispered, “Yes.” I couldn’t help it, but his bad manners prodded me, so I added, “And by the way it’s auburn.” “What??” he said. “Her hair is auburn….” I giggled and with another wave of my arm I was back to being a bat.

Overall, I counted the night as a success, as I flew around the veranda with torches casting shadows on brick walls.

Writing and Image Copyright © 2021 rivers renewed

Solar Wind

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The solar wind continued to pound and rattle the triple pane glass. Inside there was chaos as people raced in every direction, watching the sky shift and break up, feeling the weight of the wind pressing in on them.

The two of them continued their meal quietly, and she stabbed another piece of broccoli. This time there was more anger in her voice, looking me square in the eyes she said,

“You realize of course the last shuttle leaves in seven minutes……(looking at the clock on the wall) actually six minutes and fifty seconds now?” “And the nuclear wave in ten?”

I nodded silently. And yet I hesitated…….we had only met each other, 15 minutes ago…..

to be continued tomorrow.

Writing and Image © Copyright 2019, ancient skies

Note: This is fiction.

In the Wild Streams

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Will our children enjoy the depths of the wild streams when the end of all things is completed? Yes, as the ravens guard the river flow, and as wild geese fly over.

Having been washed by the great trouble we can see now, when our tribulation will end. As cities descend into ruins, the Earth will be healed, and cover over what used to be.

And we will not only bathe in the wild streams, but a new rotation will bring a cooling, and plants will no longer be burned. Our future generations of survivors will feel safe, within their deliverance.

     

Note: From the Apocalyptic Journal

Writing and Image © Copyright 2019, ancient skies

The Apocalyptic Journal

 

wild poniesI’ve started writing a new series of very short stories, and poetry with an apocalyptic or post – apocalyptic setting. The Last Fish was one of these. I have written in this vein before and really enjoy it.

In these poems – stories you will always see something positive in spite of the end of all things taking place, or having taken place. And you will see some influences from historical Native American – First Nations stories.

Let me know what you think. They will not always be centered on beauty and nature which are ideas I’m known for I guess. They are absolutely an experiment though. They are not always related, but some I think would make a fine novel!

Thanks for reading, and let me know!

     

Writing and Image © Copyright 2019, ancient skies