It was there again. Faint, lingering in the hush between breaths. She recognized the tune but couldn’t place it—something from childhood, perhaps? A lullaby, half-remembered, curling through the air like mist. Over the next few days, it clung to her, threading through her thoughts, playing like a stuck record. She hummed it absentmindedly, the melody settling into her bones. Then, one night, a second voice joined in. Soft, just behind her ear. Cold fingers brushed her shoulder. The air thickened. The tune was no longer hers alone. It had found her. And this time, it wanted her to remember.
Huddled within a cave, made by ancient volcanos, Freya’s baby slept contently under her protective wing. She listened to the tornado as it whistled a lullaby outside.
The frail humans feared everything of true strength. They saw only the devastation.
The sky was dark though still solid with clouds. No stars to guide us. The wind, now calmer, whistled gently in the empty rigging. What remained of the torn sails flapped softly. Against the hull waves took up the rhythmic bass undertone.
Exhausted I curled up in the foot of the small yacht allowing the oceanic lullaby to send me into a dreamless sleep. It was the cry of seagulls that alerted me that land was approaching.
I blinked into the rising sun.
I absent-mindedly reached across to hold his hand.
The baby sleeps in the cradle. When I go in, the little music box is still playing. I know I'm listening to a lullaby, because the heartbeat-like rhythm can lull even an grown adult.
The baby sleeps peacefully.
John is the name written on the cradle. I wonder what John will be like when he's grown up. That's the magic of a baby who sleeps peacefully, he could become anything from a doctor to a writer.
Who would I have wanted to be when I was a baby? I can't remember. But I ended up a psychotherapist and a writer
Bit of a cheat today. The opening lines taken from a Strawbs album in the last century that stuck with me soothingly and joyfully ever since.
Lullaby
Close your eyes
And go to sleep
The night will soon be gone
There’ll be nothing here
When the light goes out
That wasn’t here
When the light was on
.
I was seventeen the first time I heard this. And that was also the first time I noticed that we do not pass through ages, going from one to the next as if we were passing through stations on some non-stop express train.
.
The reality is that we collect each moment, each year, each age and carry them with us.
Forks of lightning split the sky. Three seconds later, the thunder boomed out a minor chord that faded into a whisper. While her neighbors scampered into basements to wait out the storm, Anne took her cup of tea to a front porch swing. Protected from the wind and rain, she settled in. She had always preferred nature's pyrotechnics over artificial fireworks, and living in the South, thunderstorms were a regular feature of summer.
Anne's favorite thunderstorms were late at night. For her, the roll of thunder was a perfect lullaby. Closing her eyes, she breathed in rhythm with the rain.
wherever i can say something meaningful that comes to mind it's the least I can do and because i know how I feel when people comment on my work. sharing the love 😀
The princess couldn't sleep. Her desperate father offered a great reward for her cure.
None succeeded, until a decrepit old woman offered her aid.
Raising her arms, she produced the sounds of gentle breezes and softly falling raindrops. She twirled, and a chorus of tree frogs and crickets joined in. When the king looked down at his daughter, she was fast asleep.
He cried, "Oh, sorceress, what boon can I offer you?"
She replied, "I've already taken it," and disappeared. The king rushed to the window and saw his city was gone, replaced by a primordial forest, singing nature's lullaby.
Petra remembered. The song, the soft and melodic voice of her mother, Eva. Remembered the warm caress of her hands cupping Petra’s. Remembered staring into her Mutter’s candlelit eyes, and drifting off.
A cruel winter fever took Eva. Her father, Reinhold had done his best, in all things, but he had no talent for song in him. Just a deep voice.
This night he stopped singing. Looking down at Petra’s solemn sad eyes he whispered, “Liebchen, eine Fabel vielleicht?”
She nodded with a shy smile.
Born was a natural storyteller. Born too, was a new kind of lullaby for Petra.
The cold afternoon had gotten worse with the storm. Horizontal rain, like small arrows, shot at them. Hours of trudging on the mushy field, with no one else around. Not a shelter. Not a tree.
When the darkness arrived, her legs gave up and she collapsed. He nudged her with no avail. Her eyes were closed.
He laid down beside her. His head on her chest. She let go of his collar, her hands fell on the ground. Even his furry body couldn't warm her anymore. He felt the slowing lullaby of her heartbeats, and he closed his eyes too.
Mom died while I was overseas. Now, I am back to grieve and empty the house. It’s as if time stood still inside. The dusty furnishings bring back youthful memories.
There, on her dresser, sits her wooden music box. The haunting Lullaby still lingers in my ears as it had soothed my bumped knee and pinched finger as a child. The musical chest is now silent, probably broken for years. Alone in the quiet of the night, through the wall grate of the adjoining bedroom I hear it…”Yes Mother! 🎶One season following another, Laiden with happiness and tears.”🎶
It was there again. Faint, lingering in the hush between breaths. She recognized the tune but couldn’t place it—something from childhood, perhaps? A lullaby, half-remembered, curling through the air like mist. Over the next few days, it clung to her, threading through her thoughts, playing like a stuck record. She hummed it absentmindedly, the melody settling into her bones. Then, one night, a second voice joined in. Soft, just behind her ear. Cold fingers brushed her shoulder. The air thickened. The tune was no longer hers alone. It had found her. And this time, it wanted her to remember.
I did all 3 from live chat within 60 words….
Huddled within a cave, made by ancient volcanos, Freya’s baby slept contently under her protective wing. She listened to the tornado as it whistled a lullaby outside.
The frail humans feared everything of true strength. They saw only the devastation.
Freya knew better, and could be patient.
It might take centuries.
In the future…
One day…
Dragons will rule again!
That's a good one! I especially love this line: "The frail humans feared everything of true strength. They saw only the devastation."
Thanks you can tell I have been reading Rebecca Yarros!
Great prompts too!
PROMPT: LULLABY
THE SONG
She sang it to him every night, as they went to bed.
He said it helped him sleep.
It was a song her grandmother had taught her many years ago.
Not a lullaby, as such.
More an incantation.
But it worked.
And so far, his love had never wavered once… 🎶😎🎶
Lullaby – 100mg
The sky was dark though still solid with clouds. No stars to guide us. The wind, now calmer, whistled gently in the empty rigging. What remained of the torn sails flapped softly. Against the hull waves took up the rhythmic bass undertone.
Exhausted I curled up in the foot of the small yacht allowing the oceanic lullaby to send me into a dreamless sleep. It was the cry of seagulls that alerted me that land was approaching.
I blinked into the rising sun.
I absent-mindedly reached across to hold his hand.
It was ice cold still.
Might I suggest…. We were approaching land…. Because land doesn’t move.
But so reminiscent of Titanic
I did think of that but for one it would have been too many words :) But also I liked the idea of her feeling like she was static.
And thank you :)
is this... also another sad one? ;)
Fraid so :(
100 words of a Lullaby
______________________
The baby sleeps in the cradle. When I go in, the little music box is still playing. I know I'm listening to a lullaby, because the heartbeat-like rhythm can lull even an grown adult.
The baby sleeps peacefully.
John is the name written on the cradle. I wonder what John will be like when he's grown up. That's the magic of a baby who sleeps peacefully, he could become anything from a doctor to a writer.
Who would I have wanted to be when I was a baby? I can't remember. But I ended up a psychotherapist and a writer
Bit of a cheat today. The opening lines taken from a Strawbs album in the last century that stuck with me soothingly and joyfully ever since.
Lullaby
Close your eyes
And go to sleep
The night will soon be gone
There’ll be nothing here
When the light goes out
That wasn’t here
When the light was on
.
I was seventeen the first time I heard this. And that was also the first time I noticed that we do not pass through ages, going from one to the next as if we were passing through stations on some non-stop express train.
.
The reality is that we collect each moment, each year, each age and carry them with us.
.
I was seventeen.
I was seven.
I still am.
100 words
Forks of lightning split the sky. Three seconds later, the thunder boomed out a minor chord that faded into a whisper. While her neighbors scampered into basements to wait out the storm, Anne took her cup of tea to a front porch swing. Protected from the wind and rain, she settled in. She had always preferred nature's pyrotechnics over artificial fireworks, and living in the South, thunderstorms were a regular feature of summer.
Anne's favorite thunderstorms were late at night. For her, the roll of thunder was a perfect lullaby. Closing her eyes, she breathed in rhythm with the rain.
He struggled in the arms that held him. He wanted to run free, run around, play with his iPad, jump on the trampoline.
A hand smoothed his hair.
There was something on the couch, something in the hall, the dog needed him to pet her.
Gentle hands changed him, put his soft pajamas on.
Teeth were brushed, the TV was off, the lights turned low.
No, no, no, he yawned.
He was carried to his bed and his curly hair placed on the pillow.
Grandfather sang him a lullaby. His eyes slid close. Content snores were bundled in a blanket.
The sound of the sea sings me to merciful sleep .
A lullaby of static.
Swelling waves.
Nauseated with sadness
Days of loneliness. As our bodies gently rocked together
Our lives eternally separated.
Rising Hopes
But empty horizons.
Please forgive me. I love you but cannot bear to see you.
So we hold hands
Still. Cold.
Empty, empty Skies.
Black, orange, gold. Then every shade of blue then red...then black. Again.
Hours measured in colours.
Time passing.
Past caring now.
Sun blinded eyes.
Cracked lips
Hot fever dream visions
And the lullaby of the sea takes me to you.
Lullaby
An echo of love lingers in the hush of night,
past and present woven in whispers,
grief a shadow, bittersweet and steady.
She carried a weight unseen,
left behind in silence,
not mine to bear, yet it settled in my bones.
Loss hums low, unnecessary, but real.
Life moves in strange, crooked ways—
teaching me when to let go,
when to walk away,
when to stand still and listen.
Her absence opened me,
not to emptiness,
but to the song of my own healing.
A lullaby not of forgetting,
but of finally seeing.
beautiful.
Nick that means a lot. Thank You for voicing your thought.
wherever i can say something meaningful that comes to mind it's the least I can do and because i know how I feel when people comment on my work. sharing the love 😀
Nick, I appreciate that deeply. It means so much to me that you’re sharing the love and kindness with your words.
im sure ive already said this was excellently creepy... but somehow my comment is not here... also creepy
There’s so many ghosts jn these comments that they made your comment vanish 😂
The paranormal influence is taking over Substack!
The princess couldn't sleep. Her desperate father offered a great reward for her cure.
None succeeded, until a decrepit old woman offered her aid.
Raising her arms, she produced the sounds of gentle breezes and softly falling raindrops. She twirled, and a chorus of tree frogs and crickets joined in. When the king looked down at his daughter, she was fast asleep.
He cried, "Oh, sorceress, what boon can I offer you?"
She replied, "I've already taken it," and disappeared. The king rushed to the window and saw his city was gone, replaced by a primordial forest, singing nature's lullaby.
I went to see the Cure play live.
Four times in a row. consecutive nights on my own.
You weren't there but you were there in my heart.
Yeah, I had faith in those days.
I don't remember the lullabies.
I never had them.
My parents hurt me.
I've always wondered what it must be like to have parents who love you. Adults who look after you and keep you safe.
Disintegration.
But this soul survives.
This soul.
Survives.
I love this.
painfully good. I have that album. soundtrack to my university days
Lullaby / 100 words
Petra remembered. The song, the soft and melodic voice of her mother, Eva. Remembered the warm caress of her hands cupping Petra’s. Remembered staring into her Mutter’s candlelit eyes, and drifting off.
A cruel winter fever took Eva. Her father, Reinhold had done his best, in all things, but he had no talent for song in him. Just a deep voice.
This night he stopped singing. Looking down at Petra’s solemn sad eyes he whispered, “Liebchen, eine Fabel vielleicht?”
She nodded with a shy smile.
Born was a natural storyteller. Born too, was a new kind of lullaby for Petra.
I want to know more. Feels like the start of something
Microdosing Fiction - 100mg of a Lullaby
===
The cold afternoon had gotten worse with the storm. Horizontal rain, like small arrows, shot at them. Hours of trudging on the mushy field, with no one else around. Not a shelter. Not a tree.
When the darkness arrived, her legs gave up and she collapsed. He nudged her with no avail. Her eyes were closed.
He laid down beside her. His head on her chest. She let go of his collar, her hands fell on the ground. Even his furry body couldn't warm her anymore. He felt the slowing lullaby of her heartbeats, and he closed his eyes too.
Oh so lovely and so sad
thank you
Lullaby 100 mg
Mom died while I was overseas. Now, I am back to grieve and empty the house. It’s as if time stood still inside. The dusty furnishings bring back youthful memories.
There, on her dresser, sits her wooden music box. The haunting Lullaby still lingers in my ears as it had soothed my bumped knee and pinched finger as a child. The musical chest is now silent, probably broken for years. Alone in the quiet of the night, through the wall grate of the adjoining bedroom I hear it…”Yes Mother! 🎶One season following another, Laiden with happiness and tears.”🎶
The spectral goodbye 😭