Is it really a trap when you want the outcome? A dialogue between Weaver and her captor. 310 words.

“Great. Now I can add delusions of grandeur to my list of psychoses. Especially after yesterday’s meltdown. This is not going to look good on my resume.” Bones sorted and proper fires lit, I knew I would have to post the entire script. I have seen too many clues in other people’s words to know the Grey Sky is spreading. Someone is intentionally hijacking the dead on a level that hasn’t been seen for centuries.

I am quite sure I am not the first to sound the alarm. I am most likely the last knowing how I tend to stumble onto the last moves of a game in play. But it is my duty to sound the alarm when it is called.

I’m sounding it.

1,397 words.

“The hell you think you’re going?” Wrong question, I thought. Where the hell do I think I am? I had just stood up from a perch on a prone log. A campfire burned in the middle of the night. Around it was the remnants of carved stone and large chunks of rough hewn wood. I had been in raven form before I stood up. The act of standing transformed me from raven bird to raven-cloaked Weaver.

“Sit your black ass down. After your bullshit today, I’m not letting you out of my sight.” The speaker shifted position, filling the silence with soft rattles. I looked to my left and saw Mxtl (the closest this American English speaker can come to pronouncing Snake Dancer’s preferred name) in her beaded regalia sitting on one of the carved stones. It was not lost to me, that her current seat looked like a giant snake’s skull that was collared with large feathers. She didn’t look up at me, but was visually focused on a small handmade rattle in her hand. The shaft looked familiar.

3,029 words

Where Keri receives three messengers, and is later one of three messengers herself, and in doing so, receives a lesson about expectations and recognition.

731 words.

Some red-headed step-child stops by for a chat and an invitation. 604 words are spoken. I walk away unencumbered.

The ground is soft under me. The new boots hold my feet in warmth and comfort. The sound of my feather cloak against my traveling clothes drowns out all else. It is only when I stop to look around, do I hear my breathing, and a softly sibilant hiss.

418 words.

This morning, I thought more on the unfortunate comments and found myself quite angry about the situation. The god in question doesn’t matter. The devotee picked on, doesn’t matter. Neither one of those Anons were thinking of this. They saw someone behaving in a manner they did not agree with and took it upon themselves to “correct’ the devotee and to do so in an abusive manner.

Well.

Can’t have all this rage built up, right?

1,133 words.

“You mention being suddenly aware of the multitude of divination devices around you in the Waking. Have you considered you are also suddenly acquiring ancestral spirits?” Snake turned her statue slightly, squaring it with the shelf.

“She’s not…”

“Nearly every European, and Americans of European descent, can trace a genetic lineage to Charlemagne.”

“And Africa is a helluva lot larger than Europe, and contains a helluva lot more ethnicities.”

1,244 words.

Playing with Puppy in the Gardens, followed by Tumblring in my dreams. Again.

936 words.

Returning to the corridor was easy. I had to make the willful choice to return to the entity. The hallway darkened as before. The hallway smelled like a freshly cleaned rifle still. The material felt neither stone nor metal still. The hallway ended at a pitch black expanse as before.

“I am Weaver. Who calls for me and by what name do you call?”

The wall moved back into view. The lone spotlight shown again over the relief carved statue. But this time I heard other blocks moving. The wall behind and above me teased my ear with the sound of something like thin stone moving.

884 words. As of this post, comments will be allowed for 14 days after post date.