Colleen’s prompt words this week are cold and storm.
I have the perfect passage to share from my current, unedited WIP – Book Two – The Curse of Time, Golden Healer plus a Shadorma.
There is a very helpful post from Colleen on how to write Shadorma’s: https://colleenchesebro.com/how-to-write-a-shadorma-poem/
He stands clutching lies,
My power inflames brightly,
Longing to soar free.
I had a strange feeling that something wasn’t quite right, I couldn’t begin to explain it but I sensed it. The sky hid behind a dark unapproachable veil of deceit. All the clouds had lost their cheerful fluffiness flattening like a pack of shuffled playing cards. A storm battered the sky as loud claps of thunder and heavy raindrops fell.
Half an hour after the storm, Ryder arrived, drenched through.
On the way to mine, he’d obviously been caught in a thunderstorm. I reckon the sky had clouded over about the time he had ventured out and within seconds a very heavy downpour had started. Not satisfied with rain alone loud claps of thunder had followed. The lightning could have hit him but must have opted to barely miss him by inches. When he arrived his clothes were soaked through and his carefully maintained hair was flattened against his head by the force of the rain. Water dripped from his hair and clothing into a growing puddle on the floor to form a strange shadow, a dark jigsaw shape at his feet, which appeared to move with his body. I stepped back retreating from the threat of whatever this might be.
His usually arresting eyes were reduced to dark stagnant, pools.
He carried a bouquet of sad, tortured lilies. He handed them to me as a peace-offering. Their white flower heads were dripping and sodden.
The wet cuckoo from the play, that’s what I thought Ryder looked like! Could this be a warning, and if it was, would Ryder pay any attention? Somehow I doubted that he would.
‘These are in a bad shape,’ I said, a reluctant response escaping my lips. I longed to slam the door in his face but instead I held the thunder in my heart for later.
I let him in.
‘I’m not feeling too hot myself,’ he replied, that tiny detail was true.
I noticed Shadow watching him with interest, as if he was stalking a drowned shadow bird with weakened defences. Shadow’s whiskers pressed inwards, compressing in thought. He steeled himself, ready to pounce. Ryder saw the challenge, glared at him and uttered this inhuman, strangled noise. Shadow notched up the battle vibe with a ear-piercing hiss.
‘Stop that caterwauling,’ I yelled.
They heard my angry yell and backed off, but both of them were still blazing with an equally matched fury.
Jade heard the rumpus and appeared in a flash, eager to fuss over Ryder.
‘Are you okay?’
On cue he shivered. Shadow stood there trembling.
She asked for a towel and wrapped him in it as if she hoped to cocoon him from the elements. Shadow’s expression suggested that he would have liked the same treatment. Ignoring Shadow’s trembling she asked me for some clothes for Ryder to change into. Ryder disappeared into the bathroom to get changed. Shortly afterwards he came out looking like a new improved version of his usual charismatic self. Ugh, how irritating, somehow he managed to be even more handsome than usual, even though he was wearing unflattering, ill-fitting old clothes. It must have been the sleek, wet look of his hair.
This wasn’t good. Jade slipped her arm through his and they wandered off to snuggle up on the sofa. Before long he was warmed by her attentions and sprang back to life. He gave me a challenging look. I returned it. In no time at all they were locked in a lingering kiss. I didn’t know where to look. I wondered if he tasted like fag ash. Not because he smoked – no he didn’t need to. From my experience he tasted sour with no effort.
© M J Mallon
To enter Colleen’s weekly poetry challenge here’s the link:
Hope you enjoyed!
Bye for now,
Buy Book: myBook.to/TheCurseofTime