Dream Catcher

He stalks the darkness, searching for them. They are terrible, frightening, and worth a lot. If he can catch even one tonight, he will be provided enough food to feed someone for a week.

There it was, a lascivious black, with sparkling silver hair, yet with a menacing aura. Beautiful, if not for how aggressive it was. All around it on the ground, sparks of purple and gold, flying like electricity, but not illuminating the area. Otherworldly, the night mare. He readied his net.

The man leapt from his cover, flinging the net wide. In a flash, the nightmare was caught. It struggled and squirmed, but alas, it was caught and could not escape. He pulled out a flute, and started playing a gentle lullaby.

As he played, the mare grew calm. The dark, menacing aura weakening, and the sparks softening until they became a pale mist, dancing in the moonlight. When he had finished, he removed the dream-catcher. He no longer needed it, for this was no longer a nightmare.

He mounted the dream, and rode her to the village. When he arrived, he went to the market, selling the mare, and being offered the food they had set aside for him. He then traveled to the home of the wise man, who had preserved the practice of making the dream-catchers.

"A calm night to you, Dibikad." The hunter said to the wise man.

"I see you have returned from another hunt. Tell me, what did you see?" Dibikad answered.

"The many children who placed the sacred hoops above their beds tonight had a dream of floating on the river." He responded. The elder nodded slowly.

"They may never know the story why, but the tradition brings peace. Do you now leave to go with the spirits once more?" Dibikad asked.

"I have left the horse, and taken the offering given freely. I will move as the wind." He replied, as he turned to leave. "Look to your next vision for when I return."

So the tribe once again had honored the spirits, and their nights were pleasant and calm.

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This blog post is part of a series of stories associated with Practice makes pretense, in which a collection of writing done in response to prompts is compiled. Then, the reader should answer the following two questions: 1) What was your favorite thing about the writing? 2) What did you feel as you read it?

If you would like to view the original, please visit the Practice makes pretense book on Wattpad, and respond to the writer.

Rocket-ship

Jordan flipped the switches, checked the consoles, and double-checked his seat belt. He had been waiting for this, training for this. G-force testing, underwater 'space walk' simulation, and reading up on the procedures for preparing the ship to blast off.

At last, Jordan would finally be in the seat as the rocket ship took off toward the stars. He listened in to the last instructions for takeoff. Sure that all systems were green, he gave them a signal. He was ready. He heard the countdown, and chanted along with it. There was a low rumble, and he felt the shaking as the rocket prepared to lift off.

5... 4... 3... 2... 1... 

"Jordan! It's time for dinner!" A voice called.

"Abort, abort!" Jordan cried, as he clamored out of the cardboard box. He would see the stars another day, his mac and cheese came first.

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This blog post is part of a series of stories associated with Practice makes pretense, in which a collection of writing done in response to prompts is compiled. Then, the reader should answer the following two questions: 1) What was your favorite thing about the writing? 2) What did you feel as you read it?

If you would like to view the original, please visit the Practice makes pretense book on Wattpad, and respond to the writer.

Eye contact

Eons. It had been that long since last someone looked upon her and lived to tell about it. She once was marveled at. Once, she was the envy of everyone, loved for her beauty. But now, she was cursed by that same beauty that she had been known for.

Nobody would make eye contact with her anymore. And sure, at first, there was something fun about the power that came with knowing that. And yes, there were times that she was able to use it to her advantage, it wasn't like she really wanted for anything...

And yet, sitting there, she took a furtive glance at a mirror. A feat of courage she rarely had the will to do. Yes, this was the face of a monster. Surely nobody would ever love her again. In that moment, looking in the mirror, assuming that she would be the only one to ever make eye contact with her again, and hating the image she saw, Medusa cried.

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This blog post is part of a series of stories associated with Practice makes pretense, in which a collection of writing done in response to prompts is compiled. Then, the reader should answer the following two questions: 1) What was your favorite thing about the writing? 2) What did you feel as you read it?

If you would like to view the original, please visit the Practice makes pretense book on Wattpad, and respond to the writer.

Food

A hard day's work, but at last the harvest was complete. It had been a tough year, with the weather being chaotic, and pests springing up at the worst times, but somehow they had managed to do it.

Loading the last of the food into the truck, his son took it out toward the market where it would be sold off to help them last the rest of the year. The money was why they did it, but he wondered if they would be recognized for putting the food on the table.

Elsewhere, another family was sitting down for a meal, eating the same food that had been harvested from a difficult growing season, miles away. The mother sat down, the last to arrive at the table.

"Thank you, God, for providing this food. May you bless it to the nourishment of our bodies. Amen." And just like that, they ate. It was a miracle.

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This blog post is part of a series of stories associated with Practice makes pretense, in which a collection of writing done in response to prompts is compiled. Then, the reader should answer the following two questions: 1) What was your favorite thing about the writing? 2) What did you feel as you read it?

If you would like to view the original, please visit the Practice makes pretense book on Wattpad, and respond to the writer.

Dancing

I danced above the surface, one fluid motion after another. Perhaps I would be noticed, perhaps not. Regardless, I would move on, sliding in one direction, then sailing back in the other.

I twirled, wearing my most beautiful colours, for all to see. I flipped, and jumped. I may have been one of many, but now I was alone, beautiful and graceful, having found my place out in the world after having left where I once grew up.

In a dramatic and beautiful frenzy, I soared high into the air.

I am a leaf on the wind, flying in autumn.

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This blog post is part of a series of stories associated with Practice makes pretense, in which a collection of writing done in response to prompts is compiled. Then, the reader should answer the following two questions: 1) What was your favorite thing about the writing? 2) What did you feel as you read it?

If you would like to view the original, please visit the Practice makes pretense book on Wattpad, and respond to the writer.

The Vessel

At last, the seal would be undone, and he would have the glory and the riches within. Something about the jar he held in his hand, impervious to all manner of attempts to open it, held an appeal. After years of searching, he had finally found the answers to both what was inside, and how to open the vessel, and obtain its power.

Inside, the blood of a god, long since thought to be dead. Some cultures referred to it as a daemon, but he knew better. It had done great things. TERRIBLE... but great. And now, he was mere moments from opening the jar, and doing as the inscriptions said. He read them once more to ensure he did everything right.

Then, under the dark sky, with new moon overhead, it shall be placed upon an altar, and  the lid shall twist and be torn asunder from its seal. When opened, thou shalt take the vessel, and consume that which is within. Then the power of the great one shall be used once more.

Now, at the apex of the night, with a dark moon hanging in the air above, he placed the canopic jar on the altar, and removed the lid. The seal broke loose, and he watched as something terrible flew from the jar. It entered his body at every orifice, and burned inside him. As his mind burned, twisting in anguish, he realized the error of his ways. The jar was not the vessel. HE was the vessel, heralding the return of the great one. TERRIBLE! But great. This power was never to be his, and it was only in his last moment he realized how foolish it was to play dice with a daemon.

The ritual complete, the god rose from the ground, and began walking out of the church, as the altar behind spontaneously caught aflame. "Ah, free at last. How nice it is to find a more fitting vessel."

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This blog post is part of a series of stories associated with Practice makes pretense, in which a collection of writing done in response to prompts is compiled. Then, the reader should answer the following two questions: 1) What was your favorite thing about the writing? 2) What did you feel as you read it?

If you would like to view the original, please visit the Practice makes pretense book on Wattpad, and respond to the writer.

The unrequited love poem

I saw you sit there,
I wanted to say hello
But I just could not.

So I bide my time,
Learning what I can until...
At last, there it is.

What I expected,
You are already taken.
She's lucky, I thought.

I sit down and weep.
These dreams I have are painful.
But even in pain...

I can't stop dreaming.
I want something to believe,
But it does not come.

I will still hold on.
Hold on to the hope that I,
However broken

Will one day find it
Those elusive four letters.
Then love will be mine.

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This blog post is part of a series of stories associated with Practice makes pretense, in which a collection of writing done in response to prompts is compiled. Then, the reader should answer the following two questions: 1) What was your favorite thing about the writing? 2) What did you feel as you read it?

If you would like to view the original, please visit the Practice makes pretense book on Wattpad, and respond to the writer.

Pretense for practice

"Outside the window"

When Mary opened her eyes, she was surprised by the sight before her. The trip through the airport, and onto the plane had been a tense series of nerve rattling waits. Hours on end, anxious about it the entire time. When the plane shook as its wheels finally left the tarmac, she could not bear to open her eyes. She had spent the entire time thinking of all the ways things could go wrong.

Now, with her eyes open, she looked out the window, and saw a beautiful glistening blue ocean, and light fluffy clouds dotting the landscape below. It was a sight she had never seen before, at least, not from this angle.

"The clouds look so different from up here." Mary exclaimed, lost in the moment, having forgotten all her worries after the plane reached cruising altitude. The person sitting next to her smiled, and spoke to her, although he was a stranger.

"Yeah, I remember thinking something like that my first time too. It's amazing to think that we've managed to build things that allow us to see things like the birds do, from high in the air, looking down at the world below. I remember thinking just how... small... we all really are."

Mary managed to pull her gaze from the window. "Well, being small isn't the same as being insignificant. But seeing the world like this does put things in a bit more perspective." She looked back outside. "Now that I see this, I feel almost silly for being worried when the plane took off."

"Oh, yeah, the liftoff and the landing are really the worst parts. Well, that and when there's a line for the bathroom."

Mary chuckled, and realized that she had finally stopped holding her breath. She was now well on her way to the new life she had made for herself. Just a few hours and she would finally be where she was always meant to be.

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This blog post is part of a series of stories associated with Practice makes pretense, in which a collection of writing done in response to prompts is compiled. Then, the reader should answer the following two questions: 1) What was your favorite thing about the writing? 2) What did you feel as you read it?

If you would like to view the original, please visit the Practice makes pretense book on Wattpad, and respond to the writer.