Tag: Myth

Flash: Persistence

Erin Penn

Photo by Andre Sebastian on Unsplash

Constantly looking over her shoulder was not enough to see the one tracking her, Rani could feel it in her hollow bones. Closing her eyes and inhaling deeply, she chased her trail back.

There. Slippery.

Disguise. Masking. Camouflage.

She clawed back the concealment.

Hunting. Purposeful hunting. Specific hunting.

The creature, the being, had her scent, her spoor.

Intelligent.

Persistent.

Rani’s eyes popped open in fear.

Human.

Limited lifespan but unlimited patience. Each night it … he? She? Came closer.

Did it want her harpy feathers? A clipping from her hooves? A strand of hair?

Her life?

… Her soul?

 (words 99, first published 9/14/2022  – from a picture prompt for a Facebook writing group. Aim is about 50 words)

Flash: Bragi

Erin Penn

“Bragi” by Carl Wahlbom (1810-1858), Public Domain

There are those who claim the long-bearded one was just a ninth century midgard man named Bragi Boddason who traveled from hall to hall, plying gay tunes and romantic verse for an evenings meal. I say Nay, for I was blessed to hear the tales spun from the bardic god.

Twas only chance his and my paths crossed one night in a northern meadhall. He honored me with first tale after the king had waved us forward. And so I, with my merger skill, did share of news from my travels and twisted a tale about the Pennsic Wars.

Then he, Odinson and spawn of the giantess Gunnlod, did touch his hand to golden dwarven harp. Rune-shaped words fell from tattooed tongue and mesmerized with tale and song. Poetry is too mild a word for what I heard. Epic epeitath fell fire for armshiver. Warrior wept from sodden woesounds. Larksong and buoyant bells flashed forward for feastfamily festivity.

And I, not a sound could make.

My ears still rung with the runewords and yet my mind can not comprehend. Some mornings I wake hearing the harpstring, tears flowing for I will not hear it again.

Blessed are you who haven’t experienced this glory, and I fully pity you its lack.

But know you, the first thing you will hear in Valhalla’s hall after being let down by the Valkyrie maid will be Bragi’s harp for he is the Skald of Asgard. While he, for a time, did walk the earth in the guise of a midgard man, he is god born from a honeymead night.

(Words 265, first published 10/20/2019)

Flash: Saint David

Erin Penn

Appears multiple places on the Internet, no attribution given

One of the miracles of St. David, saint of Wales, retold in a bardic manner, meant to be performed

St. Dewi, pious and true saint of Wales, known in the English tongue as “David the Waterdrinker”, was man, monk, and missionary throughout Wales after making his right pilgrimage to Jerusalem where he was made Bishop.

During one of his missionary trips, he found himself at the Synod of Llanddewi Brefi. A large crowd gathered as he spoke, so large those in the back of the crowd asked him to speak louder. So he did, his powerful, God-blessed voice carrying and even more gathered until, again, those in the back of the crowd asked for him to speak louder. He reached within himself, drawing on his faith in the Christ, and his voice boomed. Even more gathered until, once more, those in the back of the crowd asked for him to speak louder. The Welsh Saint, feed only on water, bread and vegetable, who pulled his own plow instead of putting God’s creatures to work, looked to the heavens for help.

A dove, white and holy, flew down from the clouds and alight on the Saint’s shoulder. The ground his blessed feet stood upon started to rise and rise until a hill formed. Everyone now had a good view of the nephew of King Arthur who resumed his sermon, his voice carrying to everyone present. As more gathered, the hill would raise a bit more until finally the day and the sermon ended.

Upon the miracle hill a church was build.

As for Saint David, he continued to travel. He never again had difficulty with a crowd unable to see him or hear him speak. At home, he continued to eat only bread and vegetables, drawing his own water and pulling his own plow. Upon his deathbed he encouraged those around him to “Do the little things that you have heard and seen me do.”

Pope Callixtus II, during the 12th century, declared St. David’s Cathedral to be a place of pilgrimage. With two such pilgrimages being equal to one to Rome, and three such pilgrimages being equal to one to Jerusalem.

(words 342; first published 9/15/2019)

Flash: Thebe Loses Day Job (attempt 3)

Erin Penn

Image courtesy of Ambro at FreeDigitalPhotos.net

Surviving the first three days of the Nymphs and Satyr club’s Halloween competition meant Thebe needed to call her day employer and beg for time off. She hadn’t expect it to go well, and she was right. Bryson fired her.

Fortunately the $3,000 she had already pocketed from making it this far would easily cover her until she found another retail position. Her night job had given her a week’s vacation before signing in, so she had something if she was kicked out tonight.

Thebe wished she could talk to Rhene, her best friend who dragged her into this mess. But since Rhene had pulled a blue and white domino and Thebe’s mask was the green and black of forest, her confidant was on a different team. Celestial to her team of Nature nymphs. Their two teams, plus Fire and Water, made the four-way competition. No contact or collusion between teams except during head-to-head matches.

She really could use an ally. The competition was not only between teams, but also had one winner. Each day saw another woman kicked off each team. Thebe still wasn’t sure how her two hundred and forty pound ass had gotten this far. Sure her six foot frame distributed the weight so she wasn’t a butterball like Cristina on the Fire team who weighed the same but was an entire foot shorter, but Thebe knew her teammates hated her chunky butt. The mix of team and individual results drove paranoia within and without the teams. The high-scoring Water team was pulling away from the pack in more ways than one. Thebe gave them one more day before self-destructing.

Having used up her one personal call for the competition, and her daily break from one-way mirrors and web-cameras, Thebe returned to her team’s room for a quick shower as the rest of the girls got their daily privacy break.

Thebe played it up for the camera as water sluiced over her. She was pretty sure she had gotten a following on the members-only website. No way her teammates hadn’t put her head on the chopping block. Yes, Daisy had been a no-brainer the first day, but since then … According to the other girls, who have actually watched this competition on the web, ejection votes were only part of the mix. The winning team gets to “immunize” one member from each of the other teams. The object is to weaken their chances by forcing the other nymphs to keep weak players.

The balance of the decision came from audience. People could pay up to $100, $10 per each keep vote. Anyone making it five days gets to take home 10% of their supporter’s payments as a bonus. So Thebe soaped up her D-cups, trying to find the balance between titillating and tawdry. 

Meryl was tawdry and had come screaming in the room yesterday. Once during the week each competitor can find out how the vote work – she could find out how everyone voted on every team for that day only, or she could find out how her team voted that particular day plus her standings for every day before. … Meryl’s slutty and superior behavior was playing well for the hard-porn audience the competition catered to, but not her team. After Meryl’s initial rant about how many ugly and fat girls were in the competition this year, including but not limited to Cristina and Thebe, Thebe hadn’t changed her eject vote once.

Heavy breathing echoed through the speakers signaling the next competition. Thebe wrapped a towel around her and rushed into the main room.

A photo shoot, each girl dressing up as the winner. The Nymph Mistress to a Satyr Master. The shoot would be in the Elemental mask and nothing else.

Seeing no reason to dress , Thebe followed the other women into “magic” room. Today it was a …

(and this again is too much for a simple flash I am aiming for)

(word count 643; first published 3/3/2019)

Flash: The Archer (Part 1) – The Action

Erin Penn

Image from freedigitalphotos.net

 

The archer stopped just past the bus’ commuter card swipe. So this is what humanity has come to. They who challenged the gods. They who ripped deity from Olympus and claimed equality.

 

They who discovered the great burden divinity carries. To be responsible for oneself and others. Not a single face carried joy. Those by the dirty windows watched the grey world with defeat. Those in the middle seats fixed their eyes on the floor and bore holes to Hades’ realm. Reaching back to pull two arrows from his quiver, he compared what he saw with Charon’s passengers. Charon’s clients appeared more animated.

 

He had toyed with the thought of not following through with Lachesis’ request. After all, humans had pushed them away. But the Fate was right, even when the worshippers leave their gods, their gods cannot forsake their worshippers.

 

“I have a chance to add some brilliant color to the tapestry.” The Moirai had said when she had tracked him down in the marble halls. “If these two threads can just be twisted together, they will brighten a whole segment.”

 

She had played with the strands until they would be side-by-side for a moment and asked him if he could fix them together. He had agreed … for a favor. A favor from a being older than the Titians is something to be seized whenever possible.

 

The male Lachesis had manipulated came beside the empty bus seat and turned his head to examine the window seat occupant. The arrow’s shaft rested against the ash wood for only a second before its whistling release. No one noticed the missile’s flight or its piercing of the man’s back.

 

The archer had asked Lachesis what would happen if he did not bond the threads. With her typical pragmatic temperament, “Together the brown threads take on the Iris’ hues and bring attention to the colors around them. But separately … brown threads abound. My sister will need to cut one shortly, likely both.”

 

The seated woman raised her head from something the man was asking. A miracle as far as the archer was concerned. No one on the conveyance looked anyone else in the eye and his magic required eye contact.

 

Eros quickly loosed his second arrow and watched in satisfaction as it buried itself in the woman’s heart. Everything else is up to the would-be-gods. May they and others like them return the gift one day.

 

(words 405; first published 12/5/2012; republished 2/3/2019)