Protocol – Sunday Photo Fiction

Here is my offering for Sunday Photo Fiction this week, inspired by the photo below.  Why not take part? And why not visit Alastair’s photography and writing blog to take a look at his other photos…?

34-11-november-17th-2013

Copyright – Kattermonran

– Protocol –

“Your father’s honours, my lady.”

My hands reached out for the crown, orb and sceptre as if controlled by another mind not my own. Every fibre of my being wanted to turn away, or throw the hateful object on the floor. But protocol won. As always.

Winning the kingdom had cost father his life and had made orphans of us all.

Now the ‘honours’ were to be laid in the hands of my little brother, whilst I, as the eldest female, would be forced to physically pass them to him in a public ceremony.

I would be signing his death warrant, if recent events were to be our compass to the future.

A servant burst into the room, panting, sweating, distraught. Could it be…?

“The young sire has gone missing, my lady! He is nowhere in the palace!”

I placed a hand over my mouth, in apparent shock.

“Oh! How… Terrible!”

We wouldn’t try too hard to find him.

Isolation – dVerse Poetics

This week’s dVerse Poetics is asking us to look to the future and wax poetic on what we see there. I’m not sure if this fits the sci-fi that Bjorn would like to see, but I’m all about the dystopia, so this is what you’re getting! It’s partially inspired by the Silo series of books by Hugh Howey which I absolutely adore.

I hope you enjoy my creation – and please visit dVerse to read the other imaginings of my fellow poets!

– Isolation –

Trapped beneath the earth’s crust

We only have the myths, encased in dusty pages

Of books never read

To help us imagine what Above

Is

We forgot to communicate

To breathe, to appreciate the wonders

Of days spent outside

In fresh clean air, with people we love –

Loved

The young went first, weakened

Lungs not developed, muscles made frail

By atmosphere choked

With acid rain, fallout from fossil

Fuels

We dug deep, in souls and dirt

Racing hard, dropping the baton, running

To stand still whilst Nature

Wreaked her havoc, unleashing

Hounds

Of Hell, firestorms raging

As we closed the trapdoors above

Sealing our fate –

We don’t know when we will rise, or even

If

…Time passes so slowly here.

All Whipped Up – dVerse Meeting the Bar

Here’s my latest entry into the dVerse Meeting the Bar. This week, Gay is urging us to explore American Sentences, 17 syllables of deliciousness a little like haiku, but sentence-style and jazzed up, beat poetry style. Allen Ginsberg, anyone?

My selection are inspired by the sudden cold-snap we seem to be experiencing (I love a clear night sky with a bright, white moon!), plus a remembrance of the Great Storm of 2013 we were hit by a few weeks ago. Oh, and the sea, because that’s where I live!

*****

– All Whipped Up –

My beach is glorious in winter, few choose to brave the elements.

My cheeks, whipped raw by sand and spume, rosy testament to Nature’s gifts.

My waves suck and draw shingle, crush shells, shred seaweed, salt crusting old boots.

My shuttered shops, empty carousel, cacophony for eyes and ears.