QueenElf

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Forum topicthe Prey by Queen elf tcook618 years 9 months ago

My stories

A thought For Mother's Day.

Across the land people will be buying cards and bunches of flowers for their mothers this week. Duty visits will be paid; a lip service to the day that honours mothers everywhere. Many will be genuinely happy to honour this day, but how many people know of its origins?

Seeds of Destruction.

Are we born with the seeds of destruction already implanted in us, or do we gather them along the way like rosary beads counting out penances for sins past and yet to come? The psychiatrists and allied therapists grow rich with fat purses from those whose "quirks of nature do not conform to what is accepted as the norm. Yet who can say what is normal in a society that measures such things by old-fashioned, outdated rules? Freud and his followers have a lot to answer for. So do the latter-day "shrinks with their Rorschach tests and personality tests designed to show a predilection to neuroticism.

A Mother's Love.

When I remember my childhood it's with all five senses. Smells, sights, sounds, touch and feelings. Maybe that's not strictly true, but that's how I interpret the senses. Of the sixth sense I cannot speak, its too nebulous even now, long after those days. People speak of their past with exaggeration, one-way or the other. Either it was of deadly poverty or it was "the good old days. Neither is true, there is no black nor white, only shades of grey and these varied according to who is reminiscing about those times. That's why I'm so wary of writing about it, various authors, usually female, have made a small fortune over the years writing about slum-dwellings and the people who triumphed over their backgrounds. I dislike such stories, only reading a handful to gauge the truth of different locations.

The Serpent Queen

Grey light of Midsummer's dawn steals through the chamber. A shadowy robed figure enters, bearing a single rushlight, which reflects back the light in twelve pairs of sleepy eyes. Outside, a lone lark trills its joyful song heralding the coming of dawn. No voice is spoken as the acolytes are gently but firmly woken fully and are led from the sleeping chamber through winding corridors down to the waterfalls basin. They shiver in the pre-dawn light as; one-by-one they cast off sleeping skins and are lathed by the icy water. A single chime echoes off the rocks as they step out to be warmed by fleecy robes. In silence they follow the High Priestess and her attendants into the dining area, now bare expect for a white-clothed table. A servant enters, her bare feet making no sound as she brings in the great mead-pitcher.

The Hollow.

She tiptoes through the cobwebs of her mind, Afraid to disturb the lingering echoes of what Once were feelings, hopes and dreams. Those Doors were bricked up long ago, back in the Time when? She cannot remember, days blur

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