I wave hello, and walk beside you for a few precious moments. You walk beside a relic of so many years of your life. Your gait is his and our conversation is of him. You are both thin, and tentative.
I’m a relic too. Sometimes, as I walk next to you, I imagine that the years have taught me what I need to know to love you and be content. Sometimes I know I am just a fool.
As I say goodbye, I wonder what you will be like when he is gone. Perhaps you will, finally, need me?
Oh bless him. This really made me feel such a pang of sympathy for poor Vince. This was beautifully written. I am always amazed at how you pack such a punch into so few words!
I'd reached into the china cabinet, when I felt the wine glass stem brush the back of my hand, followed by a heartrending, crystalline crash as I knocked it over. One of the pair of champagne flutes from our wedding fourty-odd years ago, smashed to smithereens.
I began to weep. My husband rushed over, established that I hadn't cut myself on the shards, and pulled me into a firm hug.
"I love you. I don't need that old relic when I have you." My tears subsided as I settled into his arms. Love is more important than mere things.
He arrived after a long hike up the mountain. He could see the temple’s roof of red-painted wooden beams. He could see broken pagodas next to the entry gate.
He had responded to a job ad providing meals and board.
A man came out and cheerfully greeted him.
‘You’ll be guarding the place. We had some robbery attempts.’
The man pointed to the broken pagodas.
‘There were rumours about some holy relics that could make you live forever.’
‘We don’t need relics to live forever….,’ the man laughed, ‘we already are! It’s just… inconvenient, to keep fixing the broken items.’
Relic - Chapter One, Paragraph One, Sentence One. (Stay tuned for next instalment)
Every night, for over a century now, when the village was pretty much all asleep, the whole house quiet – apart from the small dog whose snoring belied his size – he lifted the covers, slid soundlessly from the bed, descended the stairs (avoiding three steps where the loudest creaks were kept), donning coat and boots over pyjamas, he slowly unlocked the French doors and went out, taking care to ensure the gate latch fell gently back into place so the slight clang, so familiar a harbinger of daytime visitors, did not happen and no one was alerted to his nocturnal wandering.
He holds the silver sliver close to his face. Squeezing the loupe tightly to his eye, he turns it over several times before dropping it on a mountain of other slivers in a bin to his left. He stretches his neck and shoulders before reaching into the metal box on his right. It is his fourth day on this site, and he isn't convinced that the relic he seeks will be here. Deep research brought him here, to this flat acre of land, so he continues searching for a needle in an endless expanse of needles, shimmering in the sun.
"Hexagons. What do you make of all this?" The astro-archeologist adjusted his posture, struggling not to stumble in the low gravity.
The director stared into a honeycomb sprawling deep under the icy ridges of Enceladus. "I'm sure they had their fill of phosphorus. They must have harvested the hell out of it to provide the energy to build something like this."
"I’m sure. It's nearly half a kilometer. But something else is seriously off."
The director remained in situ, securing himself on an outcropping that extended into the greater periphery of the labyrinth. "They're all empty. I'm sure time had a lot to do with that."
"Except for one thing. My team retrieved this..."
The archeologist transferred an image of a relic found by the excavation crew. The biggest surprise came with its soft luster that stood out from any natural rock formation outside of Earth.
Not for the first time, I'll have to explore this story more. Reckon there could be something fun here.
Relic
The corridor loudly echoed Finley's footsteps as he wandered the museum. Some found the building unsettling at night, but the silence of the hallways allowed time for reflection. Besides, this felt like home, he was a relic among relics. Unlike the grander museums in the city, most believed there was little of known value here.
But he knew better, and he opened the glass panel and gently lifted the book out once again. “Where to tonight?” he asked himself. The old, tattered book was his tunnel to anywhere in the world where on of its brothers or sisters sat.
Andy Rooney(60 Minutes) praised women over 50 for several reasons. Once you get past a wrinkle or two, a woman is far sexier than her younger counterpart. They’re honest; tell you right off you’re a jerk. For every hot woman over fifty, there is a bald, paunchy RELIC in yellow pants making a fool of himself with some 22 year old waitress.
Men say, ‘Why buy the cow when you can get the milk for free?’
“ Listen. Many women are against marriage. They realize it’s not worth buying an entire pig just to get a little sausage. “
You know I love what you do. If you tightened this one up you could bring richer detail to the story. Lots of extraneous words you could cut in favor of more powerful choices.
Yeah, you're right. I had it in drafts for like two weeks, and kinda couldn't find the right approach which shows in the word choices. Well, not every story can be a banger haha. Thanks for the feedback :)
The ancient temple stood broken but unbowed as the raider looked upon the ruin, his greedy dark eyes scanning the ivy chocked brick and faces of kings long since dead.
With a dismissive sneer the raider disappeared into the shadows of the temple.
He was looking for the relic known as the Necromancer Stone. The locals said it had the power to bring back the dead. All the raider cared about was that it would fetch a good price.
Seizing the stone from the dead hands of the priestess, the raider laughed-until the priestess came back to life and screamed.
I wave hello, and walk beside you for a few precious moments. You walk beside a relic of so many years of your life. Your gait is his and our conversation is of him. You are both thin, and tentative.
I’m a relic too. Sometimes, as I walk next to you, I imagine that the years have taught me what I need to know to love you and be content. Sometimes I know I am just a fool.
As I say goodbye, I wonder what you will be like when he is gone. Perhaps you will, finally, need me?
Thank you for joining in!
I don't know whether this counts as a story. It's more of a vignette.
Oh bless him. This really made me feel such a pang of sympathy for poor Vince. This was beautifully written. I am always amazed at how you pack such a punch into so few words!
Thank you! :)
I'd reached into the china cabinet, when I felt the wine glass stem brush the back of my hand, followed by a heartrending, crystalline crash as I knocked it over. One of the pair of champagne flutes from our wedding fourty-odd years ago, smashed to smithereens.
I began to weep. My husband rushed over, established that I hadn't cut myself on the shards, and pulled me into a firm hug.
"I love you. I don't need that old relic when I have you." My tears subsided as I settled into his arms. Love is more important than mere things.
I love this one! Two sweet stories for the price of one. 😊
Thank you! I have to balance the dark here and there
what an adventurous grandfather you have!
Microdosing - 100mg of a Relic
===
He arrived after a long hike up the mountain. He could see the temple’s roof of red-painted wooden beams. He could see broken pagodas next to the entry gate.
He had responded to a job ad providing meals and board.
A man came out and cheerfully greeted him.
‘You’ll be guarding the place. We had some robbery attempts.’
The man pointed to the broken pagodas.
‘There were rumours about some holy relics that could make you live forever.’
‘We don’t need relics to live forever….,’ the man laughed, ‘we already are! It’s just… inconvenient, to keep fixing the broken items.’
Relic - Chapter One, Paragraph One, Sentence One. (Stay tuned for next instalment)
Every night, for over a century now, when the village was pretty much all asleep, the whole house quiet – apart from the small dog whose snoring belied his size – he lifted the covers, slid soundlessly from the bed, descended the stairs (avoiding three steps where the loudest creaks were kept), donning coat and boots over pyjamas, he slowly unlocked the French doors and went out, taking care to ensure the gate latch fell gently back into place so the slight clang, so familiar a harbinger of daytime visitors, did not happen and no one was alerted to his nocturnal wandering.
The Eye of the Needle:
He holds the silver sliver close to his face. Squeezing the loupe tightly to his eye, he turns it over several times before dropping it on a mountain of other slivers in a bin to his left. He stretches his neck and shoulders before reaching into the metal box on his right. It is his fourth day on this site, and he isn't convinced that the relic he seeks will be here. Deep research brought him here, to this flat acre of land, so he continues searching for a needle in an endless expanse of needles, shimmering in the sun.
love that inspiration! So sweet.
He's awesome haha. He always tells us the same stories when we visit him but it's a lot of fun to meet him.
Microdosing - 100mg of "Relic"
LABYRINTH
"Hexagons. What do you make of all this?" The astro-archeologist adjusted his posture, struggling not to stumble in the low gravity.
The director stared into a honeycomb sprawling deep under the icy ridges of Enceladus. "I'm sure they had their fill of phosphorus. They must have harvested the hell out of it to provide the energy to build something like this."
"I’m sure. It's nearly half a kilometer. But something else is seriously off."
The director remained in situ, securing himself on an outcropping that extended into the greater periphery of the labyrinth. "They're all empty. I'm sure time had a lot to do with that."
"Except for one thing. My team retrieved this..."
The archeologist transferred an image of a relic found by the excavation crew. The biggest surprise came with its soft luster that stood out from any natural rock formation outside of Earth.
"Composition: Glycerides and fat. Why thats...?"
"Fresh beeswax!"
Muldoon clocked a cloudy quarter glass of Glenlivet, pounding against a half dozen empties.
Unforgiveable sin, to waste a decent scotch.
Tonight's game was high risk, high reward relic hunting, a full half hour after the bell rang for last orders.
Easy.
Pirouetting through the punters unseen, he snaked and sidled until the warm neck was finally within his grasp.
Firm fingers shot around his wrist.
He was a dead man. This would be the beating he was long overdue.
‘Well, well,’ came a female voice.
The disco light strobed in her amber eyes.
‘Is that a double?’
Muldoon gulped.
Not for the first time, I'll have to explore this story more. Reckon there could be something fun here.
Relic
The corridor loudly echoed Finley's footsteps as he wandered the museum. Some found the building unsettling at night, but the silence of the hallways allowed time for reflection. Besides, this felt like home, he was a relic among relics. Unlike the grander museums in the city, most believed there was little of known value here.
But he knew better, and he opened the glass panel and gently lifted the book out once again. “Where to tonight?” he asked himself. The old, tattered book was his tunnel to anywhere in the world where on of its brothers or sisters sat.
oooh. nice!
America Unveiled
I'm reading the news this morning
over coffee gone cold and bitter,
when memory floods in like rainwater
through a cracked foundation.
.
There's the girl I was, clutching my textbooks
as slurs flew from passing cars,
and my friend Sarah, showing me
how many inches of hair she was "allowed" to keep.
.
Some say they don't recognize this country,
but I see it in the mirror of yesterday:
in the history teacher who'd trade blood for cheaper gas,
in the suited men who watched us enter their marble lobbies
like birds that had flown through the wrong window.
.
The truth is, this pot was always boiling—
someone just lifted the lid
and called the steam rising
by its proper name.
.
I think of my parents in their dirt-rich fields,
how the doctors spoke to them
in syllables slow as winter molasses,
assuming wisdom couldn't grow from soil.
.
Today's headlines aren't news to those
who've been reading between the lines
all along, who know that power is a religious relic
that wears a familiar face,
and that some would trade their neighbor's rights
for a few dollars more in their pocket,
like children swapping gold
for candy-colored stones.
Andy Rooney(60 Minutes) praised women over 50 for several reasons. Once you get past a wrinkle or two, a woman is far sexier than her younger counterpart. They’re honest; tell you right off you’re a jerk. For every hot woman over fifty, there is a bald, paunchy RELIC in yellow pants making a fool of himself with some 22 year old waitress.
Men say, ‘Why buy the cow when you can get the milk for free?’
“ Listen. Many women are against marriage. They realize it’s not worth buying an entire pig just to get a little sausage. “
Haha! Those lines at the end there are fantastic... 😎👍
hahaa!
Lmao that made me chuckle
Love this! It's so you, Richard!
You know I love what you do. If you tightened this one up you could bring richer detail to the story. Lots of extraneous words you could cut in favor of more powerful choices.
Yeah, you're right. I had it in drafts for like two weeks, and kinda couldn't find the right approach which shows in the word choices. Well, not every story can be a banger haha. Thanks for the feedback :)
I just posted mine. I’ll tag you. They won’t seem to let me do it in the story share intro
The ancient temple stood broken but unbowed as the raider looked upon the ruin, his greedy dark eyes scanning the ivy chocked brick and faces of kings long since dead.
With a dismissive sneer the raider disappeared into the shadows of the temple.
He was looking for the relic known as the Necromancer Stone. The locals said it had the power to bring back the dead. All the raider cared about was that it would fetch a good price.
Seizing the stone from the dead hands of the priestess, the raider laughed-until the priestess came back to life and screamed.