Little Streams of Consciousness

I cleared some cobwebs and found my pen.

~ ~ ~

Contrary to public opinion, the hare raises no tail.  She prefers to count on her floppy ears for balance as she sets across the fallen tree spanning the width of the trickling creek.  It’s rained every chance the clouds have had of emptying their load, and so the creek now stands at two feet wider than its familiar berth.  Not really trickling, then, the hare thinks.  The hare burst into a full-on race with the clouds above as they burst their seams, spilling down all around her.  Drops splattered up toward the now slippery log forcing the hare to slow down, lest she fall into the creek.  Slow and steady, she made time, though, to reach the northern edge and rejoin her pack.

~ ~ ~

Without his cane, the old man stumbled and briefly caught himself against the blue sky.  Falling two-fifths sideways and in-between his shoulders, he stopped thinking and just let it happen.  Fighting would be futile. Fighting would not help him or his companion.  He couldn’t see the guard any longer.  He thought that maybe the guard had fallen off the cliff at the moment it all turned around.  Not being able to see the other side of the cliff from behind the mountain, he knew he’d lost touch of his surroundings and all may as well be lost to him.  But, to go on, he must.  Struggling to gather the weight of an old man, he shoved at the ground beneath him and was soon up on one knee.  Using the remainder of his strength, he teetered but rose up like a fledgling phoenix.  Once up, he straightened to his full height, reaching for youth.  Behind the bushes, he spotted his companion and walked slowly and carefully to retrieve his old, reliable friend.  Once supported, he again, looked the world squarely in the eye.

~ ~ ~

Forced to surrender under the familiar circumstances, she laid down her musket and raised her hands and her head.  Swiftly, she was taken prisoner by the two bandits wearing face masks.  Their shifty eyes still bare, she looked into the shorter man’s.  She inhaled sharply and shallowly at her recognition of his pupil-less gray orbs.  This was no man.  She quickly looked at the taller one, but he had just as quickly turned away.  Panicked now, she searched her spinning mind for a plan for escape or rescue, and survival.

 

 

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Brainfluffs

Writing by Marnie Mitchell

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