Tag: Sunday Scribblings
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Festive
Keri’s entry for Sunday Scribblings #299: “Festive”
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Health
“It’s said that you know of runes.” The voice was filled with bluster and daring. “It’s said I know of many things, some I do, and some I don’t.”, was my reply. “I bring to you a challenge, runesciber. Would you dare to take it?” “And what challenge do you dare call me by that…
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Fairytale
I can’t do this. My head lowered gently onto the keyboard’s wrist rest. Anyone that has read anything I’ve written knows I can’t do this. Fuck. “Can’t? Or won’t?” The mocking voice sounded like mine, but did not come from my own mouth. Wary, I lift my head to find I wasn’t sitting in my…
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Joy
Wunjo, the eighth rune of the Elder Futhark. Wunjo, the mark that holds the power of Joy. Wunjo, called and released to pour over me the remembrance of… Continue Reading…
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Investigate
“And that’s why it’s the way it is.” He sat back in his chair and sipped his coffee smugly. His nose wrinkled slightly as his tongue revealed the coffee was no longer fashionably hot. We had just met a few hours ago in the coffeehouse, when he asked to share the large table with me.
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Vote
A tale of two women…
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Life Is Good
“What the hell is that?” He shrunk back from the tchothcke she had just unwrapped and placed delightedly on the desk in front of him. “This?” She was quite cheerful about it. “Isn’t it cute?” She patted it gingerly. “Cute? It’s a monstrosity! A shrunken head? Thank god, it’s a replica!” He shivered in reflex.
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Omen
The birds dropped no feathers, nor flew in strange paths, nor sang in strange times, nor died in strange ways.
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Operation
“Oh, there you are.” He looked up at the sound of her voice. Nervously, he tried to cover the paper he was writing on with his hands. Which only focused her attention on the scribbles and marks. “What are you doing?” When he stuttered, she looked up at his face. “And why are you so…
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My Backyard
The wind plays tag with the plump birds in the trees. Chasing them from this branch to that branch. Catching them unaware and laughing as they mutter noisily amongst themselves. The roses bloom all about me. Pouring their scent onto the dancing zephyrs. Hearing the confessions of the bees in exchange for cast off pollen.