some sexy dark and bloody writing for Magaly

This is for Magaly's 3rd blogoshpere anniversary party.

13 April 2012 is the 6th anniversary of my divorce from Husband #1, who is my child's father. In fact, the 13th of April that year, the day the divorce was finalized, was even a Friday. Just like this year.

Since that day, I've been rather fond of Friday-the-13th's.



Anyway, my entry is below, between the marks:


~

Agitation fluttered like an October wind through fallen leaves. Friday's moon made its wane appearance just over the high rugged horizon. Sól was long gone, having ceded the night hastily, and early. The fire's breathe subtly pervaded the witches' murmuring, steadying their hands as they reached for each other. The circle closed around the fire and the murmuring faded, replaced by a steady hum; the newly-distinctive breathe of the fire quieted, patiently.

The words came the way condensation becomes clouds; a leafy baritone coalesced above the hum, sending eager shivers down spines like drops from a warm spring rain.

My god is a Hunter
wielding his bow of stars.
He follows me
reminding me
to keep my aim true -
as true as my words,
as strong as my arms,
as fulfilling as my heart.
My god is a Hunter
wielding his bow of stars.

A thick contralto, dripping with sap, rose to join the melody, contrasting the lyrics.

My goddess is a seer
one hand in life and one hand in death.
She knows my heart and holds me
one hand in life and one hand in death.

Steeping in the fire, the low hum dispersed into thirteen contrasting sets of lyrics, fragmented and whole. They found each other, just as the moon was cresting its short journey, and united - a forest of choral implications.

Earth my body
Water my blood
Air my breathe and
Fire my spirit

The surrounding trees rustled encouragement, and the song grew.
The mist caressed the witches' shoulders like a lover offering ease.
The breeze livened their cheeks, cheering their skin.
The fire raised its breathy whisper to a hopeful harmony.


A distant caw edged ever nearer.



~

I may add to this later. I'm not actually a fiction writer, in practice. This was the first fictional piece I've tried since I was a small child. - And it wasn't even what I set out to write.

No, I don't know what I set out to write. I frequently venture out without a plan when I write. Bits such as this are prone to result. Only, the bits are usually not fictional.