The Edge is a cracking clay pot. Flowers of red and golden lillies lay on lavender roses.The cold wind blows softly as if to caresss the flowers.Down below the patchey Edge is an abyss, dark and haunting.The site of it leaves me feeling daring,and impulsive.I love it. Holding a breath I step over the edge. The is sweet. As I plummet towards the earth I seesmall birds with painted wings of grey, orange,and blue. I land harshly on the soil. Standing, coverd in blue dust I see manythin trees covered in pink patchey moss. Their leaves soft as kittens fur. As I emabark futher the trees grow in width and srink in height. The petals changing drasticly. They are placed close to The Path. The Path, if you can even call it that, is winding, with …show more content…
The wispering calls of, what I assume is a birds cry. The shrill bark of a ,dog perhapes? Maintaining my stride the soft singing of a Snake startles me. I freeze and examin the creature. The Snake, ever so cautious, raises his head displaying the easter egg coloration in what I assume is domince. I stay still and hope he leaves. Holdig steady seems to have angerd the long creature. So quickly shoving the key in my pocket I swing the kettle wildly, efficently startling the colorful antagonist. Sprinting I find myself more paronoid and cautious of my surroundings. Looking forward, a small cave comes into view. " Maybe a bear lives here." There is a fence I notice as I get closer to the quaint home. The gate is tall and imtimadating. The omounis gate is rusty and uncared for. " How frighting." I stop in my tracks and obsurve the innocent home behind the menacing barrior. The door is round with aged bricks surounding it. Yellow buttercups engulf the door. Squinting I can see something skittering across the petals. Taking a timid step back, I focus on the long oak tree. It has black bark and red leaves circling its base. Its barren branches seem to embrace the small home. The home make a sudden pang hit my chest." looks like a mothers …show more content…
Steppig towards the oak , touching its bark. I inhale the smell of butterscotch. Walking past the tree I enter the round door, noting how tall the arc is. Clutching the kettle close I push he door open. As I peer inside I see a fire place in the center of the home. Next to it are tools for the fireplace that apear to have been filed down. Their is an entry way to what I assume is the kitchen and a hall way to the right. A tall purple table with four chairs. On it was a vase full of Yellow Buttercups. On the right of the fireplace was a reading chair with velvet cousions. In the far right of the room is a tall book shelf full of
I also don't own the idea, it was requested to me by the wonderful Amanda. Thank you so much! I hope I did this idea justice.
I stumbled onto the porch and hear the decrepit wooden planks creak beneath my feet. The cabin had aged and had succumb to the power of the prime mover in its neglected state. Kudzu vines ran along the structure, strangling the the cedar pillars that held the roof above the porch. One side of the debacle had been defeated by the ensnarement and slouched toward the earth. However, the somber structure survives in spite. It contests sanguine in the grip of the strangling savage. But the master shall prevail and the slave will fall. It will one day be devoured and its remains, buried by its master, never to be unearthed, misinterpreted as a ridge rather than a
I tracked over to my favorite spot on the edge of the wood: a clearing encompassed by thick trees. The area had many sweet-smelling balsam trees that reminded me of Christmas back home. A few of the remaining leaves fell from the branches of the maple trees above me.
The unwelcome haze trails toward me, slowly growing more focused and intense. A light flickers from deep inside it, like a blue flame pulsing through its surface. It invites me to run my fingers through its surface. If I could move, I'd try to swipe the temptation of death
Usually, their home is silent, but when one day the narrator suddenly hears something inside another part of the house, the siblings escape to a smaller section, locked behind a solid oak door. In the intervening days, they become frightened and solemn; on the one hand noting that there is less housecleaning, but regretting that the interlopers have prevented them from retrieving many of their personal belongings. All the while, they can occasionally hear noises from the other
“Ugh.” I muttered, staring at the ceiling of our little cave. There were cars crossing every second, ready to fall through and smoosh us like the penny on the train track, and I traced their imaginary path across the metal and cement with my eyes. “I know I said it first, but I don’t want to talk about the next generation. Our generation is still the next generation, and I really don’t want that to change. I want us to always be the next generation.” I bit my lip and watched the shadow of Carter walking off to piss into the stream. My voice dropped until I was whispering, hiding my words from the echoes of The Cut. "I wish, when somebody wrote the story of my life, it actually had a plot. You know? With an enemy and a beginning, and an end. You know... interesting. But it's just us,
... wandering through innumerable tamarac and arborvitae swamps, and forests of maple, basswood, ash, elm, balsam, fir, pine, spruce, hemlock, rejoicing in their bound wealth and strength and beauty, climbing the trees,
As I crept out of the window around a quarter to midnight, I ran to the barn to saddle Chestnut. I had to be very quiet so the master would not be disturbed. My pockets were filled with potatoes and bread. Although I was hungry and could smell the aroma of the freshly cooked bread from the night before, I knew I needed to lead the horse out with food to keep him in my favor. The horse neighed softly and followed me out to the pasture. Gaining his trust, I hoisted myself on his back and off we trotted. Miles later, I stopped behind an old abandoned barn to rest for the night. As the morning sun began its journey, I noticed something familiar a patch of woods with a frozen lake. If I remembered correctly, my dad’s old master owned these woods. I spent my childhood running
It was bare, nothing but an overgrown jungle of brown grass and weeds. Maybe, it had scared everyone away, leaving the house abandoned and neglected; I certainly wouldn’t have wanted to stay there knowing what’s inside. However, that was the exact reason I had to go in. Turning my sights from the garden, I faced the front where the entrance to the house was staring right at me. It was morphed into a vertical maze as twisted vines wrapped their tentacles around the door.
The stairs are suspended over the water. When the hatch is open, sounds from the waterfall and nature fill the area. As you enter the dining room you see the fireplace and beside it the wine kettle, a red circular container with hinges. Beverages can be placed in the kettle and it put over the fire to warm them. “It is about 22 inches in diameter, and it was fashioned…from cast iron three-eighths of an inch thick.”
Once one got nearer, the archway opened up until one could see the whole front of the house in a somehow eerie way. Around the windows grew ivy and creepers, twisting their way up to the roof in a claw like fashion. The windows themselves were sparkling clean, but the curtains were drawn in most of them, even though it was almost noon. The doors were of solid pieces of dark oak and the two windows above it seemed to give the whole house a rather formidable look.
“Hmm, it’s awfully quiet for a party” I mused; as I got closer to the seemingly silent house. “What the…….” I uneasily whispered I stopped right in front of the house, as I noticed there were no lights on and the main door was broadly open. I gazed at the seemingly cold, dark house; cold shudder trickled down my spine as if ice had replaced my spine. Glancing around fearfully I released a shuddering breath, and slowly without making any noise and went into the house.
Inside the nicely decorated room with taupe walls just the perfect hint of beige, lie colorful accessories with incredible stories waiting to be told. A spotless, uninteresting window hangs at the end of the room. Like a silent watchman observing all the mysterious characteristics of the area. The sheer white curtains cascade silently in the dim lethargic room. In the presence of this commotion, a sleepy, dormant, charming room sits waiting to be discovered. Just beyond the slightly pollen and dust laden screens, the sun struggles to peak around the edges of the darkness to cast a bright, enthusiastic beam of light into the world that lies beyond the spotless double panes of glass. Daylight casts a dazzling light on the various trees and flowers in the woods. The leaves of fall, showcasing colors of orange, red, and mustard radiate from the gold inviting sunshine on a cool fall day. A wonderful world comes to life outside the porthole. Colossal colors littered with, abundant number of birds preparing themselves for the long awaited venture south, and an old toad in search of the perfect log to fall asleep in for the winter.
We took off down a path covered softly with moss and tiny pink flowers. Off to the side of the path were endless green trees and pants all nestled together to make one beautiful piece of art. After a while, we reached a sparkling, clear brook. It was about twelve feet deep and nearly three feet deep. The path wound right along side the water. Down the brook a ways, we came to a deep water hole where the fish danced in the swirling current. I noticed the brook was beginning to flow a little faster now, and I could hear the steady, rushing noise of the water falling over the cliffs that lied ahead. We walked to the cliff's edge to look over at the crystal clear lagoon that lay below us. The falls dropped about thirty feet down before it met the pool of water below. To the sides of the waterfall were moss-covered rocks, ferns and other green plants, growing from the crevices of the cliffs.
Many sands had the tree known; many green neighbors had come and gone, yet the tree remained. The mighty roots had endured such whips and scorns as had been cast upon it, but the old tree had survived, a pillar of twisted iron and horn against the now sickly sky. In the waning light of evening, the tree waited.