The artist saw his little girl balanced against a backdrop of darkling sky, on the open window’s sill – at the edge of in and out, up and down. A long way down.
He breathed the cold air flowing in. He mustn’t startle her.
‘What are you doing?’
She faced the stars. ‘Catching the fairy dust in my cup.’
The stars blinked.
‘Ah.’ He shivered.
He coaxed her back. Tomorrow, he’d draw her, with the window framing deep night.
Even the universe has an edge, he thought. Who is looking through its frame? Can I catch that mystery in my cup?
I realize I've passed the 500-word limit, but sometimes stories carry us from the prosaic observance of parameters and into the realms beyond. I simply was lost in amusement!
MICROZINE IMAGE PROMPT #13 "Beyond"
"LURKERS FROM THE CHALLICE"
Maximillian rustled through the pages; each odd number warmed by the votive lantern burning away in the middle of the night. Only anecdotes from desultory sources abounded, but his curiosity required the satiation of truth, and he swore to spend eternity rummaging through ancient texts to find it.
Beyond the dusty curtains of the dormer, the moon shone through a billowing layer of clouds, rimming the tree line with a hoary lambency. The vista kindled his fervor as he searched and scoured the grimoire’s records, aware of his questionable standing among peers who thought his motives rooted in madness.
His eyes locked. The text jumped through the flickering pall like fleas from a mangy dog. The quirky tall tales from that crazy old man he encountered hobbling along the backroads finally conferred the once-undeserved merit of authenticity. Either this fellow similarly shared in the grimoire’s fancies, or his senior musings corroborated with the legends of the lurkers from beyond.
He read further.
The name 3C-8 Crateris leapt out at him. He blinked. Why the astronomical reference? The old wanderer mentioned something about a cup in the sky, but its references got too entangled with his ramblings about a transcendental race that merged with the stars.
How was that possible? Was it steeped in metaphor, or axiomatic of historical events? None of it made sense, of course, but according to this time-forgotten legend, the constellation Crater harbored the pantheon of spirits that roamed the Earth since the dawn of time, proving only a dollop on how long these creatures have been around. A diagram beside the mysterious monograph illustrated a host of spirits, banshees, demiurges, and gods bursting from the rim of a giant chalice, an image easily imputed to the effects of too much vermouth. It could have been the ancient’s way of masking a reality that only a mythological façade could, at least in part, validate for the commoner’s sake.
The text continued, and he flipped the page. Underneath the wall of text, stood a series of verses. The language itself was unknown, either fictitious or serving as a relic of the past. The passage spoke of a ‘dream tongue,’ its influence on the modern human psyche indeterminate until someone mustered the courage to willingly recite it. Maximillian, pursed his lips. He became all too aware of the inherent perils delving into what he didn’t fully understand. But someone had to scoff the fates.
Seizing the moment, he shrugged off the implications and uttered the stanzas aloud.
The candle flickered spasmodically as if the wind picked up. Emotions, images, and subconscious engrams milled through his brain, stirring him into a bout of delirium. Cryptic sounds echoed, building in their sensory violence, and slowly resolving into non-verbal speech. The dream tongue!
Then the words, indescribable except as engrams, became clear: Look around, my friend. We surround you…in every tree…every animal…every bottle of gin!
A knock from downstairs. Roused from his trance, Maximillian bounded from the garret, disturbing the grimoire and nearly toppling the candle, shuffled down the rickety stairs, and flung open the front door.
Silhouetted against the ghostly pallor of the midnight moon, the old man stood, his countenance sage and resolute. Maximillian froze.
Thoughts eddied into a digestible semantic; Remember us…your heavenly progenitors…lurkers from the chalice!
Carly liked to sit on the windowsill and look out at the night sky. For some reason it drove her older brother crazy. “You’re always staring out the stupid window. I know you say you don’t like sci-fi. But I always catch you gazing at the stars and the moon.”
Carly took a long breath and turned to face her brother. “I do hate sci-fi. I’m looking out and up at my future. Past what we are stuck with here today. I’m looking at a day when a girl, any girl, especially one who looks like me, can be and do anything she wants.”
She watched him standing there dumbly in his Star-Lord tee shirt. “You look out there and see stupid robots and space blasters. Some cartoon battle. I see a real fight. For hope. Change. Opportunity.”
“Ha,” her brother sneered, “I thought you said you don’t like sci-fi.”
She couldn’t see anything from inside. But if she stepped through the window, everything changed.
Once she found herself in a forest shrouded in darkness. A rust-red moon filled a quarter of the sky but did nothing to illuminate ghostly shapes flitting through the trees toward her. Terrified, she retreated.
The lure of the magic portal was impossible to resist.
She stepped from the coolness of an October morning into a sun-splashed meadow. A rainbow of flowers seduced with their perfumed breath. A stream giggled as it tumbled over mossy rocks.
Tiny winged creatures clustered around her, whispering. To her delight, they resembled miniature people with iridescent wings.
Laughing, she followed them, deeper and deeper into the enchanted glade.
She no longer knew how to get back to the portal, but she didn’t care.
The winged creatures began to pull at her hair, tear at her skin. She couldn’t escape.
Word length: 100 words
Story title: Beyond the Frame
Story:
The artist saw his little girl balanced against a backdrop of darkling sky, on the open window’s sill – at the edge of in and out, up and down. A long way down.
He breathed the cold air flowing in. He mustn’t startle her.
‘What are you doing?’
She faced the stars. ‘Catching the fairy dust in my cup.’
The stars blinked.
‘Ah.’ He shivered.
He coaxed her back. Tomorrow, he’d draw her, with the window framing deep night.
Even the universe has an edge, he thought. Who is looking through its frame? Can I catch that mystery in my cup?
Lovely, Alison
I realize I've passed the 500-word limit, but sometimes stories carry us from the prosaic observance of parameters and into the realms beyond. I simply was lost in amusement!
MICROZINE IMAGE PROMPT #13 "Beyond"
"LURKERS FROM THE CHALLICE"
Maximillian rustled through the pages; each odd number warmed by the votive lantern burning away in the middle of the night. Only anecdotes from desultory sources abounded, but his curiosity required the satiation of truth, and he swore to spend eternity rummaging through ancient texts to find it.
Beyond the dusty curtains of the dormer, the moon shone through a billowing layer of clouds, rimming the tree line with a hoary lambency. The vista kindled his fervor as he searched and scoured the grimoire’s records, aware of his questionable standing among peers who thought his motives rooted in madness.
His eyes locked. The text jumped through the flickering pall like fleas from a mangy dog. The quirky tall tales from that crazy old man he encountered hobbling along the backroads finally conferred the once-undeserved merit of authenticity. Either this fellow similarly shared in the grimoire’s fancies, or his senior musings corroborated with the legends of the lurkers from beyond.
He read further.
The name 3C-8 Crateris leapt out at him. He blinked. Why the astronomical reference? The old wanderer mentioned something about a cup in the sky, but its references got too entangled with his ramblings about a transcendental race that merged with the stars.
How was that possible? Was it steeped in metaphor, or axiomatic of historical events? None of it made sense, of course, but according to this time-forgotten legend, the constellation Crater harbored the pantheon of spirits that roamed the Earth since the dawn of time, proving only a dollop on how long these creatures have been around. A diagram beside the mysterious monograph illustrated a host of spirits, banshees, demiurges, and gods bursting from the rim of a giant chalice, an image easily imputed to the effects of too much vermouth. It could have been the ancient’s way of masking a reality that only a mythological façade could, at least in part, validate for the commoner’s sake.
The text continued, and he flipped the page. Underneath the wall of text, stood a series of verses. The language itself was unknown, either fictitious or serving as a relic of the past. The passage spoke of a ‘dream tongue,’ its influence on the modern human psyche indeterminate until someone mustered the courage to willingly recite it. Maximillian, pursed his lips. He became all too aware of the inherent perils delving into what he didn’t fully understand. But someone had to scoff the fates.
Seizing the moment, he shrugged off the implications and uttered the stanzas aloud.
The candle flickered spasmodically as if the wind picked up. Emotions, images, and subconscious engrams milled through his brain, stirring him into a bout of delirium. Cryptic sounds echoed, building in their sensory violence, and slowly resolving into non-verbal speech. The dream tongue!
Then the words, indescribable except as engrams, became clear: Look around, my friend. We surround you…in every tree…every animal…every bottle of gin!
A knock from downstairs. Roused from his trance, Maximillian bounded from the garret, disturbing the grimoire and nearly toppling the candle, shuffled down the rickety stairs, and flung open the front door.
Silhouetted against the ghostly pallor of the midnight moon, the old man stood, his countenance sage and resolute. Maximillian froze.
Thoughts eddied into a digestible semantic; Remember us…your heavenly progenitors…lurkers from the chalice!
I've also revised "Lurkers." Check out the rewrite here: https://substack.com/@robgarron/note/c-75029955?r=336zru
Word length: 156 words stacked story
Story Title: When You Wish Upon a Star
Story:
A galaxy VERY far far away.
Carly liked to sit on the windowsill and look out at the night sky. For some reason it drove her older brother crazy. “You’re always staring out the stupid window. I know you say you don’t like sci-fi. But I always catch you gazing at the stars and the moon.”
Carly took a long breath and turned to face her brother. “I do hate sci-fi. I’m looking out and up at my future. Past what we are stuck with here today. I’m looking at a day when a girl, any girl, especially one who looks like me, can be and do anything she wants.”
She watched him standing there dumbly in his Star-Lord tee shirt. “You look out there and see stupid robots and space blasters. Some cartoon battle. I see a real fight. For hope. Change. Opportunity.”
“Ha,” her brother sneered, “I thought you said you don’t like sci-fi.”
Word length: 156 (Stacked story)
Story Title: The Window Into Beyond
Story:
Magic beckoned beyond the open casement.
She couldn’t see anything from inside. But if she stepped through the window, everything changed.
Once she found herself in a forest shrouded in darkness. A rust-red moon filled a quarter of the sky but did nothing to illuminate ghostly shapes flitting through the trees toward her. Terrified, she retreated.
The lure of the magic portal was impossible to resist.
She stepped from the coolness of an October morning into a sun-splashed meadow. A rainbow of flowers seduced with their perfumed breath. A stream giggled as it tumbled over mossy rocks.
Tiny winged creatures clustered around her, whispering. To her delight, they resembled miniature people with iridescent wings.
Laughing, she followed them, deeper and deeper into the enchanted glade.
She no longer knew how to get back to the portal, but she didn’t care.
The winged creatures began to pull at her hair, tear at her skin. She couldn’t escape.
For Erica Drayton's Microzine from Sharron at 🌿Leaves
6-word story with "Beyond" as the prompt
DISINFORMATION
Beyond repair. Beyond hope. Beyond caring.
Why post this if opportunity closed Oct 2?
The date is incorrect. When I am next at my computer I will fix it. Thank you for pointing this out.