Monday, October 24, 2011

The Muse Is Mecurial

please click here for part 1

Standing on a rocky ledge overlooking a rain drenched valley, a lone figure on horseback raises her staff to the heavens and implores the rain gods to show mercy on the misguided village nestled deep within that valley. An intense lightning bolt buries itself a few feet from the battle weary steed and briefly illuminates her mistress.

She is of average height and lithe, with a burnt umber skin tone and a face decorated with intricately designed tattoos. The strong breeze blows open her robe to reveal fitted armour covered with studs and spikes, and still more intricately designed tattoos covering her exposed skin. The same breeze catches the underside of her hair and even though the rain is thoroughly drenching the ledge, her hair flows cleanly and burns brightly in the darkened sky.

She stands in the stirrups and unsheathes a thick seven inch knife dripping with blood and also raises that to the heaves. Another bolt of lightning is hurled from the heavens and strikes the tip of the staff. It quickly jumps to the knife tip and creates a fiery blue arc of death. A few seconds later it jumps again and knocks the lone figure off her battle weary steed.

Enraged by this brazen act of insolence, she flings her knife to the heavens. She waits for a minute or two, before coming to the realization that her plea had fallen on deaf ears.

Crestfallen, she grabs her knife and jumps back on her battle weary steed and gently presses her heels into her flanks. Giving the mare a couple of gentle pats on the neck, she takes hold of the bridle and allows the mare to carefully pick its way down from the rocky ledge and towards the valley.

Just before they disappear into the rain soaked forest, she stands in the stirrups and throws off her robe. She then undos the buckles holding her armor in place and throws that off as well. Nearly naked and with the cold wind causing her tattoos to surface, she again draws her knife, but instead of raising it to the heavens with staff, she slices each forearm and waits for the blood to run down to her hands.

She takes a deep breath before raising the bloody knife and staff to the heavens. As the blood runs down her arms and into her face, she urges her battle weary steed onward through the trees and hopefully to a village that was shown a modicum of mercy by the rain gods.

(c) 2011 by GBMJr. All rights reserved


  1. Ouch! Beautiful writing - is this a fantasy story/novel? Now I am curious why she cut herself though.

  2. R: It was something I wrote on the spur of the moment. I needed something as a companion piece to the other post.

    I wanted to write something that stayed within the issue of the muse riding the horse, so this little piece of flash is what I came up with.

  3. Your muse is much more badass than mine. Let's agree to never let them do battle, alright?

  4. A Beer For The Shower: Many thanks for stopping by and making a comment.

    My muse is so badass that she beats up on me with great frequency if I don't write something that meets with her approval.

    Agree. :D

  5. Such a dramatic twist there at the end. I can picture this scene completely. Nice piece of flash! ;)

  6. Scarlet: Thanks for stopping by, and thanks for the compliment.

    It's funny, but it seems that my flash can work only when I don't try to think about it too much while writing it.


Originality. Is. Good. Be original. Be thoughtful. But most importantly, make me think.