All of his life, the man had loved the sun.
The capricious glory that hid from them during times of cold, when the forests grew silent. When his people would huddle in their halls and tell tales by the fire.
The sweetness he felt when the days grew longer, and the air was filled with the scent of earth slowly coming out of the frost.
But the cold had not ceased this year. They were hungry.
So he was chosen, and he ate the grains. The blade was cold, and he fell into the ground.
The earth was water, silent, cold.
Sacrifice for others. The ultimate gift. How long will his sustain them? Nice piece of contemplative flash to start the day~
Ditto what Lee said. Nice work.
Hello K.V.,
A well-rounded tale in a flash!!! The inexorable flow toward the inevitable conclusion is brilliant.
My first suggestion concerns using concise language void of extraneous information to immediately engage the reader:
“The man loved the sun.
That capricious glory hidden during cold times, when the forests grew silent, and his people huddled in their halls telling tales by the fire. ”
I feel the power of this tale’s diluted somewhat by the last line. The cold blade on his neck is subtle, exactly the chilling effect I as a reader appreciate.
Cathryn
Awesome
Nice job!
Oooh. Chilling, and the prose and descriptions are lovely. Well done!
Beautifully written.
And soon, perhaps, the others would be chosen. Wonderful!