There were a lot of wild animals in the vicinity, and I was concerned something had happened to them, but finally, after waiting nearly an hour, I heard them approaching the area where we had uncovered the fabled tomb’s entrance.
It sounded like they were dragging something heavy through the sand, and they were breathless from the exertion.
It was a large wooden podium, with a slanting top.
I shook my head in disgust as they collapsed at my feet with exhaustion.
A strong set of stories for this prompt … I almost decided not to show; I’m a bit out of practice with one thing and another. But here goes:
Beacon (100 words)
She licked cracked lips, tasting the salty rage of wind-lashed seas. Wild raven-black hair was tamed momentarily under her grandfather’s frayed fisherman’s cap. Her family harvested the oceans but not like the scavengers gathered down the beach. Their dark intentions pecked at the morals of honest seafaring folk. Lanterns glowed, summoning poor souls to the reef, their ships drawn to the false safety of a flame’s warmth by cold-hearted wreckers. Screams pierced the pitch darkness of a moonless night. She shivered, cold fingers of fear constricting her courage. She watched, hoping the Excise responded to her summons before evil prevailed.
That’s so very kind. I’ve just committed (to myself) to write a 100-worder every day for the next 30 days so hoping that will get me right back into practice!
A soft-edged, warmish-yellow glow hinted at warmth and softness on the other side of the window, inside that room where her memories had first seen the light of day.
For now, here in the thick dark of a black night, the glow failed utterly to illuminate anything around her, if anything, serving only to emphasise how alone she was.
She shivered, wrapping her woollen cape tightly around her shoulders but it was not from cold that she sought protection, not on this night.
She felt, rather than made her decision, and immediately sensed her strength returning.
“For now, here in the thick dark of a black night, the glow failed utterly to illuminate anything around her, if anything, serving only to emphasise how alone she was.” That’s such a strong line Matthew.
When people think of a lantern, too often they think of the flame, the light. And yes, a lantern with no light is dead, but a light by itself is ephemeral, endangered. It needs a lantern to protect it. I imagine us as a lantern. You are the flame, you’ve already guided me, although you don’t know it. Not to you, the route to that location is still dark, mysterious. Even with the light you’ve shown I cannot find it, but guided me to your vicinity. And I, merely stolid, am the frame of the lantern, waiting for the wind.
The siblings had been fighting through out the hike. She couldn’t believe her brother lost the map. He even forgot the powerbank. They started turning back midafternoon, but yet to find the way home. She regretted leaving her flashlight. They hadn’t planned to stay till dark.
The night insects got louder. Their hunger and thirst got worse.
‘Look….!’
She kept walking.
‘Look….!’
‘What??!’
Her brother pointed up.
Dozens of golden beacons flew past, each inside the bucket-shaped holders.
‘Lantern festivals!!’
They both shouted, laughing with relief.
If they could trace back the lanterns, they’d find the way back to town.
I remember telling Grandfather magic wasn't real. He grinned down at me, "Let's just see about that."
He led me out to the old pasture. At first I could see nothing, but then I saw them, hundreds of fireflies, each bearing a magic lantern, blinking and swirling, putting the ancient stars to shame. So I believed.
Fifty years later, I know about bioluminescence, but when I step outdoors on a warm summer night and see the fireflies dance, I remember Grandfather's teachings. If I listen very carefully, I can hear him chuckling among the crickets - I still believe in magic.
The street lamps appeared to hang by themselves, like lanterns held by invisible fingers. Rain made the smooth cobbles glimmer under the gas flame.
The warm spotlights bathed the road in yellow. But he was more interested in the darkness between.
His boots clicked on the stone as he prowled narrow paths. It was a balancing act, maintaining anonymity whilst also not looking suspicious. It wasn't his first outing, and he'd found success on three previous occasions. Tonight the air felt tighter, the ring was closing in.
But none of that mattered as he spied her. Standing there. Alone.
Foxfire, mushroom lanterns in grassy circles; held in our hands. The fairy ring encircled. Knew danger ensued. We leapt into time. The ring expands slow. Inside we were ageless. Engulfed by lanterns glow. The ground was moist. Lights flickered blue green to yellow. Ethereal youthful, fireflies,flash, dazzle-dash, dance, lights, mimic, and precision our every move. Synchronize, burst our brain cells behavior. We respond in kind. The lanterns, abdomen’s glow; send potential signals to mates. We randomly blink, ininfer attraction. Evolution scratches a match; paternal behavior becomes luminescent light. Radiating rings, tossed to the ground. Fireflies lantern’s dim. Memories fade.
Packy never got past 6th grade. But for Bostoners some stories are ingrained.
At midnight by the harbor, he waited for the delivery van slated to come up 8th Street. Getting antsy as time dragged, he noticed in the distance two blinks of an iPhone flashlight from his lookout at the entry to the pier.
He wheeled in time to see two armed frogmen in a rubber raft behind him in the harbor. He emptied his clip, thankful he’d remembered the famous poem about Paul Revere and lanterns in the North Church. One if by land, two if by sea.
PROMPT: LANTERN
THE LANTERN
My assistant had been gone for quite a while.
There were a lot of wild animals in the vicinity, and I was concerned something had happened to them, but finally, after waiting nearly an hour, I heard them approaching the area where we had uncovered the fabled tomb’s entrance.
It sounded like they were dragging something heavy through the sand, and they were breathless from the exertion.
It was a large wooden podium, with a slanting top.
I shook my head in disgust as they collapsed at my feet with exhaustion.
“You were supposed to get a lantern”, I said… 😎
I place this old brass lantern on my Thanksgiving table,
positioned carefully between turkey and cranberry mold,
telling my friends how my grandmother
used it every year for the principle of the thing,
even though they had electricity by then.
.
The truth is, I found it at a yard sale last month,
dusty and dented, but something about its glow
made me want to give it a better story,
the way we polish ordinary things into heirlooms
until we can't tell memory from wish—
and my friends, kind enough to nod along,
know this is what holidays are for:
turning simple brass into precious gold.
❤️ Beautiful. Giving things meaning is so fun. A simple pencil can mean so much if given the right story :)
A strong set of stories for this prompt … I almost decided not to show; I’m a bit out of practice with one thing and another. But here goes:
Beacon (100 words)
She licked cracked lips, tasting the salty rage of wind-lashed seas. Wild raven-black hair was tamed momentarily under her grandfather’s frayed fisherman’s cap. Her family harvested the oceans but not like the scavengers gathered down the beach. Their dark intentions pecked at the morals of honest seafaring folk. Lanterns glowed, summoning poor souls to the reef, their ships drawn to the false safety of a flame’s warmth by cold-hearted wreckers. Screams pierced the pitch darkness of a moonless night. She shivered, cold fingers of fear constricting her courage. She watched, hoping the Excise responded to her summons before evil prevailed.
Mate. I wish I would write as vividly as you “out of practice” Good thing you decided to join.
That’s so very kind. I’ve just committed (to myself) to write a 100-worder every day for the next 30 days so hoping that will get me right back into practice!
Awesome! Can't wait to see your stuff!
🙌
A soft-edged, warmish-yellow glow hinted at warmth and softness on the other side of the window, inside that room where her memories had first seen the light of day.
For now, here in the thick dark of a black night, the glow failed utterly to illuminate anything around her, if anything, serving only to emphasise how alone she was.
She shivered, wrapping her woollen cape tightly around her shoulders but it was not from cold that she sought protection, not on this night.
She felt, rather than made her decision, and immediately sensed her strength returning.
She would go in.
“For now, here in the thick dark of a black night, the glow failed utterly to illuminate anything around her, if anything, serving only to emphasise how alone she was.” That’s such a strong line Matthew.
When people think of a lantern, too often they think of the flame, the light. And yes, a lantern with no light is dead, but a light by itself is ephemeral, endangered. It needs a lantern to protect it. I imagine us as a lantern. You are the flame, you’ve already guided me, although you don’t know it. Not to you, the route to that location is still dark, mysterious. Even with the light you’ve shown I cannot find it, but guided me to your vicinity. And I, merely stolid, am the frame of the lantern, waiting for the wind.
That is beautiful! I love it. Every flame needs its lantern and every lantern needs its flame to be complete.
I'm lucky to have a muse. But am I unlucky to have this one?
Microdosing - 100mg of Lanterns
===
The siblings had been fighting through out the hike. She couldn’t believe her brother lost the map. He even forgot the powerbank. They started turning back midafternoon, but yet to find the way home. She regretted leaving her flashlight. They hadn’t planned to stay till dark.
The night insects got louder. Their hunger and thirst got worse.
‘Look….!’
She kept walking.
‘Look….!’
‘What??!’
Her brother pointed up.
Dozens of golden beacons flew past, each inside the bucket-shaped holders.
‘Lantern festivals!!’
They both shouted, laughing with relief.
If they could trace back the lanterns, they’d find the way back to town.
That's lovely! True light in the dark moment
Especially in festival mood....
Great one today, back to the usual vibe :)
Graveyards and spirits are often a theme around here haha.
I remember telling Grandfather magic wasn't real. He grinned down at me, "Let's just see about that."
He led me out to the old pasture. At first I could see nothing, but then I saw them, hundreds of fireflies, each bearing a magic lantern, blinking and swirling, putting the ancient stars to shame. So I believed.
Fifty years later, I know about bioluminescence, but when I step outdoors on a warm summer night and see the fireflies dance, I remember Grandfather's teachings. If I listen very carefully, I can hear him chuckling among the crickets - I still believe in magic.
Fireflies are magical buggers. They always fascinated me.
They're definitely one of my favorite critters.
Lantern
The street lamps appeared to hang by themselves, like lanterns held by invisible fingers. Rain made the smooth cobbles glimmer under the gas flame.
The warm spotlights bathed the road in yellow. But he was more interested in the darkness between.
His boots clicked on the stone as he prowled narrow paths. It was a balancing act, maintaining anonymity whilst also not looking suspicious. It wasn't his first outing, and he'd found success on three previous occasions. Tonight the air felt tighter, the ring was closing in.
But none of that mattered as he spied her. Standing there. Alone.
Such a strong atmosphere! Great work NIck.
Thanks!
Foxfire, mushroom lanterns in grassy circles; held in our hands. The fairy ring encircled. Knew danger ensued. We leapt into time. The ring expands slow. Inside we were ageless. Engulfed by lanterns glow. The ground was moist. Lights flickered blue green to yellow. Ethereal youthful, fireflies,flash, dazzle-dash, dance, lights, mimic, and precision our every move. Synchronize, burst our brain cells behavior. We respond in kind. The lanterns, abdomen’s glow; send potential signals to mates. We randomly blink, ininfer attraction. Evolution scratches a match; paternal behavior becomes luminescent light. Radiating rings, tossed to the ground. Fireflies lantern’s dim. Memories fade.
Excellent story, Miguel! I love it.
Thank you Dustin, glad you liked it!
I loved your story, Miguel. You did a beautiful job of building atmosphere in only 100 words. I'm going to give it a try. Thank you for your story.
Thank you Sandy! Looking forward to reading yours :)
In the meadow, under a pale moonlight, a vampire named Lucien sensed a human presence. This human’s blood vibrated in his being, sang to him.
Her name was Lilith. The lantern she carried flickered in trembling hands as she realized her mistake.
Lucien smelled her fear, tasted it on the tip of his tongue. He advanced slowly, relishing her terror.
Lilith summoned her courage, swinging the lantern toward Lucien, shattering its glass. Lucien hissed in surprise, momentarily weakened.
Lilith fled. Lucien gave chase, stopping at the meadow’s edge, roaring in despair. He had forgotten the curse forbade him to leave.
Vampires don't have it easy man.
Packy never got past 6th grade. But for Bostoners some stories are ingrained.
At midnight by the harbor, he waited for the delivery van slated to come up 8th Street. Getting antsy as time dragged, he noticed in the distance two blinks of an iPhone flashlight from his lookout at the entry to the pier.
He wheeled in time to see two armed frogmen in a rubber raft behind him in the harbor. He emptied his clip, thankful he’d remembered the famous poem about Paul Revere and lanterns in the North Church. One if by land, two if by sea.
Beautiful.
Thank you! I really tried ❤️
This one's lovely...
Thank you! Had it in the notebook for a while, couldn't really figure out the atmosphere right :)