She carefully poured out the dark powder, measuring and ensuring not a fragment was wasted. She then placed it in the pot, and lit the stove. Zoe watched as slowly a thick ribbon of the elixir oozed out of the chamber engulfing the air with it's heady dark aroma. Then as the pot gurgled and frothed, she took it off the stove. She poured out the enticing dark nutty liquid into a cup and soaked in the smell. It beckoned a sip. The hazelnut and chocolate notes always lifted her spirits. Brewing coffee was her favorite morning ritual.
I seriously do love the aroma of freshly ground coffee beans and then when the mokka pot brewing the coffee,; my kitchen is engulfed in that coffee deliciousness. Who wouldn't want to get out of bed?
Rituals created civilizations. Superstitions. Sneezing requires a ‘bless you’. Knock on wood for luck avoids/prevents spirits from depriving you of good fortune. Rituals, a return to primitive times. Druid oak was considered sacred/holy. Spilling salt at dinner table— dangerous omen. Never scrape it up! Take a pinch. Toss it over your left shoulder with your right hand. Salt was worn as talisman to keep witches/devils away. Salt preserves food, a symbol of eternity and immutability. Then there’s salt in your wounds.
It really is so important, so fundamental, to make escaping a daily ritual, a habit that transforms your world as you reflect and re-energize your heart for this challenging game of life. Rituals sustain life. Rituals anchor us. They are handles — places to hang on to. Rituals guide us. They help to balance us. Rituals connect us and reconnect us. Coming together in ritual binds us in community. Rituals strengthen us. Rituals keep hopes alive and carry us forward into our uncertain futures. We can be buoyed by the power of rituals. The importance of rituals is… they save us.
I’ve got to say that your posts always set off some creativity in myself. It’s so nice to see that it can “just” be a 100 words and still be so engaging. This is probably one of my favorites so far
Yes, it's nice when writing can do that. And you're right, these stories are always great inspiration to help you explore the prompt more yourself... 😎
My mornings probably look different to yours. My mornings probably last longer, take longer; but it’s a necessity - I swear. It’s to protect you, to protect them. To protect me.
I start with the kettle. Wait for the click. Empty it. Refill. Turn it back on.
I head into the lounge, reach for the light, one click, two click, three clicks, four. One more and the light remains on. I breathe deep.
I head back into the kitchen as the kettle announces its completion. I empty the scalding water into the sink. Fill it back up. Flick the switch.
I walk back into the lounge. One… two… three… four… five. It’s still dark, but it’s ok. Everything is neat, everything is tidy. Everything has its place.
I sit at the table, reach for my make up, pull it to. I line up everything I need. Primer. Concealer. Liquid foundation. Matte power. Blush. Eye shadow. Liner. Mascara. Lip liner. Lipstick.
I head back to the kitchen, reach for a tea bag and place it at the base of my mug, careful not to touch the sides. Pouring in the water, I begin to count. I stop at thirty and remove the bag. Milk next. The light of the fridge illuminates the kitchen as I open it. Darkness as it’s closed. Open. Close. Open. I reach in. Poor a thimbleful. Light. Darkness. Open. Milk back in. Close.
Back into the lounge. Five flicks. Lights back on.
“Park Ride Operator”—his shirt read, but “Carnival Jock” was his preferred title. 365 days a year, his thoughts ran on a loop: Seat the customers, pull down the safety bar, press the launch button, listen to the screams on ascent, then cheers on decent.
Tonight the carnival buzzed with energy, still his process was ritualistic: Seat the customers, pull down the safety bar, press the launch button, listen to screams on ascent, then cheers on decent.
“Damn, she’s pretty.” his gaze veered off into the crowd. Seat the customers, press the launch button, listen to the screams on ascent…
Every night, after the curtain had come down on the stage, and after the audience had finished applauding and had filed out, it was their turn to enter the auditorium and get to work.
They would go from seat to seat, and row to row, meticulously finding every crumb and every scrap of food that had been dropped on the carpet, making sure they were all gone before the next performance started.
It was a laborious job, and it was a monotonous job, which had become their nightly ritual.
Chip Ruffles was running late. Not too late mind you, but enough to piss off his hosts. He’d been given a free ticket to this thing. That sort of thing didn’t happen to Chip every day. He couldn’t afford to make it worse by not being on time.
Chip found the entrance to the place. It was a little hidden, behind vines. He squeezed through the door into a long candlelit tunnel. He took the opportunity to sprint, to make up time. He made it. Turning a corner he saw his hosts.
She carefully poured out the dark powder, measuring and ensuring not a fragment was wasted. She then placed it in the pot, and lit the stove. Zoe watched as slowly a thick ribbon of the elixir oozed out of the chamber engulfing the air with it's heady dark aroma. Then as the pot gurgled and frothed, she took it off the stove. She poured out the enticing dark nutty liquid into a cup and soaked in the smell. It beckoned a sip. The hazelnut and chocolate notes always lifted her spirits. Brewing coffee was her favorite morning ritual.
@Miguel S. Prompt: ritual.
Thank you for joining in Lydia!
Waking up and smelling that brew!
I seriously do love the aroma of freshly ground coffee beans and then when the mokka pot brewing the coffee,; my kitchen is engulfed in that coffee deliciousness. Who wouldn't want to get out of bed?
We are off on a 100+ kilometre cycle and the brew has been part of the pre-departure ritual. Freshly ground coffee but a lazy cafetiere!
I can smell it wafting in the air
Rituals created civilizations. Superstitions. Sneezing requires a ‘bless you’. Knock on wood for luck avoids/prevents spirits from depriving you of good fortune. Rituals, a return to primitive times. Druid oak was considered sacred/holy. Spilling salt at dinner table— dangerous omen. Never scrape it up! Take a pinch. Toss it over your left shoulder with your right hand. Salt was worn as talisman to keep witches/devils away. Salt preserves food, a symbol of eternity and immutability. Then there’s salt in your wounds.
🥰🥰 such lovely monster creepiness. Really liked this one.
Thank you Andrei! I started playing a game with cultists and old gods so I had to make my own micro version haha
Which game? Is it Cult of the Lamb?
It is a Cult of the Lamb
It really is so important, so fundamental, to make escaping a daily ritual, a habit that transforms your world as you reflect and re-energize your heart for this challenging game of life. Rituals sustain life. Rituals anchor us. They are handles — places to hang on to. Rituals guide us. They help to balance us. Rituals connect us and reconnect us. Coming together in ritual binds us in community. Rituals strengthen us. Rituals keep hopes alive and carry us forward into our uncertain futures. We can be buoyed by the power of rituals. The importance of rituals is… they save us.
Oh wow. Dark and twisted. Love it! Now I have to go another direction and make mine sickeningly sweet 🥹 haha. Let’s see what I can do
You don't have to ALWAYS go against me y'know? haha
I just hate microfiction so much!! And you for dealing the doses!! 😎
I’ve got to say that your posts always set off some creativity in myself. It’s so nice to see that it can “just” be a 100 words and still be so engaging. This is probably one of my favorites so far
Being inspired by my stories is probably the greatest compliment I can get. Thank you 🙏
Yes, it's nice when writing can do that. And you're right, these stories are always great inspiration to help you explore the prompt more yourself... 😎
Ooh! All great Cuthulu's out. Guess I won't have to do that job. Great work Miguel! I love the description.
Here is my take.
Prompt: Ritual
I awoke feeling drowsy. The room was still. I checked the time and realized it was an hour later than when I had intended to get up.
Damn, I could use some more time. Oh well.
I slowly rose. Creak! Crap!
I glanced sideways. There was a slight movement. I instantly froze and waited a few minutes. The movement stopped and I sighed in relief.
Halfway to sitting now, I continued rising like a zombie. Good!
I slid myself ever so carefully. Creak!
Crap! Not again! I froze. I was almost out of the bed when...
"Mommy!"
Stupid creaky bed.
---------------------
Being a mom can be quite full of suspense.
Haha, being a parent must have its moments of horror!
Indeed it does. Keeps the heart pumping in more ways than one
Too long…. 🤦🏼♀️
Ritual (100)
My mornings probably look different to yours. My mornings probably last longer, take longer; but it’s a necessity - I swear. It’s to protect you, to protect them. To protect me.
I start with the kettle. Wait for the click. Empty it. Refill. Turn it back on.
I head into the lounge, reach for the light, one click, two click, three clicks, four. One more and the light remains on. I breathe deep.
I head back into the kitchen as the kettle announces its completion. I empty the scalding water into the sink. Fill it back up. Flick the switch.
I walk back into the lounge. One… two… three… four… five. It’s still dark, but it’s ok. Everything is neat, everything is tidy. Everything has its place.
I sit at the table, reach for my make up, pull it to. I line up everything I need. Primer. Concealer. Liquid foundation. Matte power. Blush. Eye shadow. Liner. Mascara. Lip liner. Lipstick.
I head back to the kitchen, reach for a tea bag and place it at the base of my mug, careful not to touch the sides. Pouring in the water, I begin to count. I stop at thirty and remove the bag. Milk next. The light of the fridge illuminates the kitchen as I open it. Darkness as it’s closed. Open. Close. Open. I reach in. Poor a thimbleful. Light. Darkness. Open. Milk back in. Close.
Back into the lounge. Five flicks. Lights back on.
Now, to get dressed.
That is fantastic. So vivid, real and raw, and it captures the anxiousness of it all perfectly. Well done... 😎
Ritual:
ancient dance
of humanity,
delicate tapestry
woven from
threads of
tradition, belief,
and
collective memory.
Like whispers
in the wind,
it connects
us to
the timeless
rhythms of
the
c o s m o s,
grounding us
in the
here
and now
while reaching
out to
t o u c h
the infinite.
portal to
other worlds,
where mundane
meets the
m a g i c a l,
ordinary transforms
into the
extraordinary.
In the silence
between words,
spaces between
a c t i o n s,
lies the heart
of the
r i t u a l,
sacred moment
of communion
with universe
and
o u r s e l v e s.
“Park Ride Operator”—his shirt read, but “Carnival Jock” was his preferred title. 365 days a year, his thoughts ran on a loop: Seat the customers, pull down the safety bar, press the launch button, listen to the screams on ascent, then cheers on decent.
Tonight the carnival buzzed with energy, still his process was ritualistic: Seat the customers, pull down the safety bar, press the launch button, listen to screams on ascent, then cheers on decent.
“Damn, she’s pretty.” his gaze veered off into the crowd. Seat the customers, press the launch button, listen to the screams on ascent…
The mundane task is horror in itself. Nice one.
PROMPT: RITUAL
THE THEATRE
Every night, after the curtain had come down on the stage, and after the audience had finished applauding and had filed out, it was their turn to enter the auditorium and get to work.
They would go from seat to seat, and row to row, meticulously finding every crumb and every scrap of food that had been dropped on the carpet, making sure they were all gone before the next performance started.
It was a laborious job, and it was a monotonous job, which had become their nightly ritual.
But it had to be done.
Because mice had to eat... 😎
Chip Ruffles was running late. Not too late mind you, but enough to piss off his hosts. He’d been given a free ticket to this thing. That sort of thing didn’t happen to Chip every day. He couldn’t afford to make it worse by not being on time.
Chip found the entrance to the place. It was a little hidden, behind vines. He squeezed through the door into a long candlelit tunnel. He took the opportunity to sprint, to make up time. He made it. Turning a corner he saw his hosts.
“Welcome Mr Ruffles. Your ritual can now begin.”