Return to Magic

A scream of such anguish and torment echoes around the golden cliffs, is gathered up into the bosom of the wind, carried over dark brown sands and out across a steely, seething sea; the shrieks of a hundred startled gulls are mocking imitations, on and on.

A wiry woman, in light leather battle gear, on her knees in the sand, emanates an energetic ‘No!’ that rocks the very air and vibrates the planetary field so that every being within it feels the shock and sorrow. Before her, the crumpled bulk of a golden dragon, crashed and broken on the beach, lets go its last whisper of breath as its great spirit leaps to non-physical. In her sorrow, the woman cannot find her lives-long companion there.

How many moments she rails against the fates that brought them to this pass, she will never know, but in truth it is not long before the waves of agonised denial are sliced through by noises behind. She rises, turns slowly, her face a twisted mask. Her unbelieving eyes come to rest on a group of small men, a half dozen or so, watching her nervously, arguing with each other, each and every one of them pointing a crossbow straight at her. She begins to open her arms in the galactic sign of peace … and seven bolts hit her in chest and belly, picking up her already lifeless carcass and pinning it to the head of the dragon behind, a grotesque and bloody trophy of yet another war that makes no sense.

Collected Musings

Fiction, early morning ramblings, dreams, inner journeys, beginnings of novels, poems, and anything else that nudges itself into the frame - all here in a vast cauldron of experimentation :-)

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