DarkAutumnWrites
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whimsicalwraith.bsky.social
DarkAutumnWrites
@whimsicalwraith.bsky.social
140 followers 590 following 41 posts
Spare/alt account for my literary musings and geeky adventures. Forever lost in the pages of books and the worlds of games. I'm exploring the art of storytelling, one pixel and paragraph at a time! #Writer #Bookworm #Gamer #StoryADayKeepsTheBoredomAtBay
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#ORV #DokjaKim #OmniscientReadersViewPoint #Reader #BookSky
A white background with a black square frame outlining a quote of black capitalised text. Quote reads "I HOPE YOU ALL ENJOY THE SHOW. BECAUSE SOONER OR LATER... YOU'LL END UP PAYING THE ADMISSION FEE WITH YOUR LIVES" Dokja Kim And the 'epic quotes' logo beneath
December 20, 2025 at 7:09 PM
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#BookSky #Reader #CarlSagan #BookQuotes
A page from a book, with yellow highlighted text of a Carl Sagan quote: "One glance at a book and you hear the voice of another person, perhaps someone dead for 1,000 years. To read it's to voyage through time".
December 20, 2025 at 12:46 AM
whimsicalwraith.bsky.social
Part 4 #CreativeWriting #WritingCommunity #SciFiFantasy #PetLove #Cat #AfterLife #AmWritting #StoryADayKeepsTheBoredomAtBay #ShortStory
Black background with white text reading: Daniel didn't hesitate. "Do I get to check on Sasha?" "Eventually. Once the training phase is complete. And perhaps, a few other cats, dogs, or even hamsters who need a little TLC" Daniel pushed through the phantom stiffness in his joints. His uneventful life had finally provided him a purpose, and he didn't need an eternity to even answer. "Sign me up."
December 19, 2025 at 6:35 PM
whimsicalwraith.bsky.social
Part 3 #CreativeWriting #WritingCommunity
#SciFiFantasy #PetLove #Cat #Afterlife #AmWritting
#StoryADayKeepsTheBoredomAtBay
Black background with white text reading: The being tilted its head, a motion that caused the starlight reflecting through to bend slightly. "Daniel," it said patiently. "You have been allocated only a brief window for review. Your life has ended, rather abruptly. We are here to process your final inventory and determine your next available assignment." "Assignment?" "You had one life. You lived it," the being stated, simply, the musical note deepening slightly. "Now you have a choice. Reinsertion into the cosmic cycle, or… The being paused, and a single point of light in the inky blackness flared, expanding to reveal an image: Sasha, curled up on a worn blue armchair in a sunbeam, looking decidedly alone. "...or we have a specialized division. A niche, if you will. For those whose final, primary concern was the welfare of a dependent creature. We just call them Soul Guardians" Daniel stared at the image of his cat. Lonely. That was the word. "What do they do?" Daniel asked, the idea of an eternity watching over lonely creatures sounding suddenly far more appealing than any promotion he'd ever chased. "It entails being very good at mundane tasks," the being said, the shimmering light seeming to convey a slight amusement. "Unseen. Unacknowledged. But undeniably crucial. You would be one of the select few who become Guardian against Loneliness. A cosmic, highly effective pet sitter."
December 18, 2025 at 5:27 PM
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#Hirasawa #AjinDemiHuman #亜人 #NagaiKei #AnimeQuotes
A screenshot of a manga panel of two men looking towards the audience. Kei on the left, Hirasawa on the right. The quote "You're fine as you are." By Hirasawa is in a black banner with white text except the word "fine" in blue text, runs along the top. The handle "allanimemangaquotes.tumblr.com is at the top above it.
December 18, 2025 at 12:27 AM
whimsicalwraith.bsky.social
Part 2 #CreativeWriting #WritingCommunity #SciFiFantasy #PetLove #Cat #Afterlife #AStoryADayKeepsTheBoredomAtBay
Black background with white text reading: "Sasha," Daniel managed, the word a dry, rasping expulsion of air. "She needs the blue tin, with the gravy, she hates the pâté…?" A figure coalesced out of the darkness nearby. It wasn't tall or short, male or female. It was just… a vague form. It looked like a column of light filtered through water, shimmering and vast, yet he also somehow knew that it had scaled itself down to suit his immediate proximity. "Sasha, the calico tabby felis catus, prone to late-night pursuit across any and all flat surfaces, partial to cheese, and… carrot?" the voice confirmed. "Yes. We know Sasha well. But we are currently only concerned with you, Daniel." "I... I should be dead," Daniel whispered, the gravity of his situation finally sinking in, even though gravity itself was nowhere to be found. Along with the distant sound of the vehicular impact tearing through his mind. "You are now, for all intents and purposes, fiscally defunct," the being replied. "And technically, temporally dislodged. Your soul is currently set in the Transition. We pulled you out just before the final, messy deceleration." Daniel looked down at his borrowed body. It seemed fine, no blood, no broken glass. Just the unsettling sensation of weightlessness. "Look, I don't care where I am," Daniel said, his uneventful life giving him an unexpected revenue of frustration. "I left my apartment key under the ceramic gnome outside the back door. If I could just borrow your phone, I need to call someone to look after Sasha” then, his voice cracked, “I'm... all she has".
December 17, 2025 at 1:14 PM
whimsicalwraith.bsky.social
#Afterlife #SciFiFantasy #PetLove #Cat #CosmicSilence #Transition #ShortStory #CreativeWriting
#AStoryADayKeepsTheBoredomAtBay
Black background with white text reading: "16/12/25 He wasn't falling. He wasn't… anywhere? One moment, the world was a deafening soundscape of twisted metal and screeching tires, the air thick with the smell of gasoline and ozone. Then, there was only utter silence. A silence so complete, that it felt less like an absence of noise and more like a thick heavy blanket draped over the universe. Slowly, his consciousness seeped back in, not as a jolt, but as a dull, irritatingly insistent hum behind his eyes. So, he opened them. He expected concrete, perhaps the mangled twisted wreckage of his car, or maybe even the clinically sterile white ceiling of a hospital. Instead, he saw the stars. Not the faint, washed-out pinpricks of light visible through urban smog and too much light pollution, but the dizzying, brilliant spray of the cosmos, spanning out up over and above him. And yet, he was floating in absolute blackness, utterly weightless. The cat, his mind insisted, ignoring the physics-defying reality. Who is feeding Sasha? “An admirable final thought, Daniel,” said a voice nearby. The voice was smooth, resonant, and utterly lacking in human inflection. It sounded like a note held perfectly on a worn and well used cello, vibrating softly in the void. Daniel, whose life had been so unremarkable that his own consciousness was struggling to even remember his name, tried to turn his head. But his body felt like a borrowed suit, heavy, strange, and highly unresponsive."
December 16, 2025 at 9:26 PM
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Part 10 #CreativeWriting #AstoeyADayKeepsTheBoredomAtBay #GreenFingers #Complicated #Feelings
Black background with white text reading: ​"It was dizzying," she continued, pushing past his hurt, "but I liked the feeling of chasing something that couldn't be caught. So it was easier to frame you in my head as the 'unavailable bad boy', than to admit I was terrified of being the one left behind. Easier to chase the tequila regret than the real thing." "And then that last night, the one before I disappeared," Leo continued, his fingers tracing the perfect curve of Peter's new pot. "I remember you ordering that last shot. The moment you ordered it, it felt like you were putting up a wall. Like you wanted the night to end before it could actually begin." Clara’s memory of that night was still hazy, dominated by the rhythmic thumping of bass and the harsh metallic tang of cheap spirits. But she remembered the feeling: a sudden, paralyzing fear that if she let him take her home sober, they might wake up and discover something that actually mattered. "The tequila…" she confessed. "The moment I got drunk enough, I knew I could sabotage whatever was happening. It made the morning… easier." ​Leo finished the planting, smoothing the last layer of soil. Then, he pulled off his gloves, revealing his hands, the same hands that shook drinks and poured fire, but which had just handled her most delicate plant with care.
December 16, 2025 at 4:00 PM
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Part 9 #CreativeWriting #AStoryADayKeepsTheBoredomAtBay #GreenFingers #Complicated #Feelings
Black background with white text reading: “Then we start by being honest about what can be sustained, and we give him space to breathe." She gently tapped the side of the pot to settle the soil around the Bunny Ear Cactus. "And right now, that means finishing Peter's repotting, and then we talk about your planned next move." Leo nodded, focusing on the task. He picked up a handful of the mixed, gritty soil and carefully filled the space around the base of the plant. "Okay. Honesty," Leo began, his voice low and concentrated as he worked. "You spoke once about my unavailability, and I get that. I'm a bartender; I work nights, I thrived in the unpredictability, and I finished at 4 AM. But I think you chose that, Clara. You chose the hours that guaranteed we were always disappearing, right when things got real." Clara stiffened slightly. It was a difficult truth, but it didn't hurt. It felt like a necessary correction. "Maybe," she admitted, carefully tamping down the soil with the back of a small trowel. "The disappearing act was the point. You were a perfectly temporary distraction” Leo’s hands paused instantly, freezing over the gritty soil mix. He didn't look up, but the tension in his shoulders became rigid. "A perfectly temporary distraction?" he repeated, the phrase stripped of all humor. He exhaled slowly. "Wow. That's... Some brutal honesty. But," Leo continued, his voice tight, "the problem with calling me a perfectly temporary distraction is that it ignores the fact that I was being real for the few hours I was there.”
December 16, 2025 at 3:35 PM
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#TerryPratchett #DiskWorld #Books #WritingQuotes
A paper background with black text of a quote reading: "The first draft is just you telling yourself the story" by Terry Pratchett
December 15, 2025 at 7:20 PM
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Part 8 #CreativeWriting #AStoryADayKeepsTheBoredomAtBay #GreenFingers #StillGoing #Cacti #Plant #Love
Black background with white text reading: "Fine," Clara conceded, reaching into the cupboard again, this time for a bag of specialized arid types soil mix, broken pumice pebbles, and pulling out a pair of thick gardening gloves too. "But you're wearing these," she said, tossing the gloves to him. "And if you get dirt on my kitchen counter, you're cleaning it up. And if Peter has root rot, it's entirely your fault.” The kitchen island, usually reserved for batch cooking meal preps, was quickly transformed into a makeshift plant lab table. Clara meticulously laid out a large plastic tray, followed by a sheet of butcher paper, establishing an area for the upcoming mess. Leo, despite his claim of being "great with dirt," fumbled clumsily into the gloves. He watched, fascinated, as Clara picked up the chosen terracotta pot, checking the drainage hole was clear. "Why the gloves?" he asked, picking up a bag of gritty, mineral-heavy cactus mix. Clara looked at him "Really? Because, it's still a cactus?" Pulling on her own pair and carefully lifting Peter, she continued. "Those little fuzzy dots? Those are glochids. They might look soft, but they're tiny spines, with backwards facing barbs. They’ll irritate the skin for days.” She spoke from experience, remembering trying to open a prickly pear in her youth, and wondering why they were named such… only then realising with the painful velcro feeling of her palms when touching anything, afterwards. “It's a great example of attractive danger. It looks deceptively harmless, but if you ignore the rules, you pay for it later." She glanced pointedly at him. Leo chuckled, holding his hands up in mock surrender. "Point taken.”
December 15, 2025 at 4:18 PM
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Part 7 #CreativeWriting #AStoryADayKeepsTheBoredomAtBay #Foliage #WildWalkPrompts
Black background with white text reads: That honesty was like a punch to the gut. It was… easier… When he was just that unavailable bartender. It was a hell of a lot harder when he was standing in her immaculate apartment, admitting that he, the source of all recent spontaneous turbulence, was just as lonely as her, too. Clara walked over to the kitchen counter and gently examined the new addition. The Bunny Ear Cactus, or ‘Peter’, looked only slightly less ridiculous now, settled next to a neatly stacked pile of gardening books and her horticulture magazines. She prodded the overly damp soil with one finger, and appraised the cutesy but too-small-a-pot with a critical eye. “He'll need a fresh start. I know I've a large enough pot around here that he can have” she started pulling out an array of terracotta plant pots, of various shapes and sizes from what Leo had wrongly assumed to have been a pantry cupboard. "I know already that Bartholomew's going to hate him," she murmured, quickly running through a mental checklist of repotting materials she had to hand. "He hates all new arrivals - he's very territorial about the south light” she went on “and I have it on very good authority that he views all non-spherical foliage as ‘vulgar’”. "Then we'll have to make sure Peter stands his ground," Leo replied, walking closer to stand beside her. He didn't touch her, but his presence was a warm, vibrant force next to her quiet neutrality. "Maybe I can help you with the repotting? I'm good with soil. Terrible with emotional commitment, apparently, but great with dirt?” She looked at him, seeing the genuine plea for a small, simple task and a shared piece of her structured life. The chaos was still there, but it was packaged differently now. It was holding a tiny spade instead of a tequila glass.
December 15, 2025 at 10:27 AM
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#CellsAtWork #はたらく細胞 #HatarakuSaibō #AnimeQuotes
An image with a screenshot of a character from the anime Cells At Work of a mutated person/cancer cell. The quote below reads: "lives that are necessary and lives that are not... Why does such a distinction have to be made at all? When is's so tragic for us to be taking lives or being robbed of our lives, why do we have to keep repeating the cycle over and over again?" - Cancer Cell Yellow text reads 'animemotivation.com' in the centre below the image but above the quote.
December 14, 2025 at 9:48 PM
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Part 6 #CreativeWriting #StoryADayKeepsTheBoredomAtBay #PlantCare
Black background with white text reading: "Peter?" He suggested, a glint of amusement in his eye. "Cliche, I know, but…” He pointed at the grey pot “Eh… What's up doc?" Clara stifled a laugh, a rare, rusty sound that surprised her. "Huh, maybe mixing up your references there, but, are you suggesting naming my new cactus after the patron saint of animated rabbits?" "Well, yes, and technically, no?" Leo countered, his mischievous smile widening. "Peter is the solid foundation—dependable, cute, always getting into trouble. But 'Eh… What's Up, Doc?' is more the existential question we're always asking ourselves when we're staring down the barrel of forty. It's duality, Clara! It's deep." He gave the Bunny Ear a dramatic flourish. “Or, you know, just because? He looks like a happy wabbit.” "And hey, he's got the ears for it?" Leo added, gesturing to the plant with a flourish. "Look, his painted whiskers are even sort of twitching in anticipation. Plus," he leaned in conspiratorially, his voice dropping slightly, "Peter is the kind of name that says, 'I'm slightly chaotic, probably going to dig myself into a few holes, but ultimately harmless and yet, surprisingly resilient.' Sound familiar?" The comparison, a thinly veiled reference to his own behavior, was spot-on. It forced another, easier smile from her. "Well, that sounds like you put entirely too much thought into this apology plant, Leo." "Nah, only the required amount for a commitment," he said, holding her gaze. The lightness had faded, replaced by the sincerity she'd glimpsed on the doorstep. "Look, Clara, I'm genuinely sorry for the whiplash. I liked the chaos, but you're not really chaotic, are you? You're built for structure, and I respect that. I really do. I just... I missed you."
December 14, 2025 at 6:43 PM
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Part 5 #WriterSky #CreativeWriting #StoryADayKeepsTheBoredomAtBay #PlantCare
Black background with white text reading: "I’m sorry, Clara, really" he said, setting the newest addition on the table and turning back towards her, his expression instantly sombre. "Not just for the ghosting, but for the… Everything? It's no excuse.” he added as he met her eye, “I was in a bad head space, overworked, and I just acted like a…” “Prick?” Clara supplied, helpfully. “I was going to say ‘a total jerk’?” He looked at the window full of resilient, silent life, and sighed, heavily. "It's like you've got your whole life figured out here, haven't you? Everything’s thriving." Clara felt a flush rise in her cheeks. He saw the set structure, and not any of her fears. He can just see her plants thriving, not the desperate work, research that kept them alive. "They just need some attention, Leo," she muttered, gesturing vaguely at the bunny ear cactus. "And less buzzing fluorescent light." "Right." he said, nodding decisively. "Well, I guess this guy needs a name, then. Maybe something a little less... judgmental than Bartholomew?" He winked, a clear acknowledgment of the spiked sentry lurking down the hall. “Bartholomew is a great name and you know it.” She retorted, "and it suits him to a tee.” So, Clara, somehow reluctantly, had let the chaos of ‘Leo’ back into her life. This time, he came bearing sharp, green gifts and a surprisingly humble apology. "I haven't decided," she said, finally managing a small, hesitant smile.
December 13, 2025 at 3:45 PM
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Part 4 #WriterSky #CreativeWriting #StoryADayKeepsTheBoredomAtBay #Bush #WildWalkPrompt
Black background and white text reading: She stepped back slowly, her movements stiff. "Fine. You'd best put him on the kitchen table.” Leo grinned, a flash of white teeth that momentarily banished her resolve. "Yes, ma'am." He sidled past her with ease, moving with the sure confidence of someone who spent their life navigating crowded rooms and demanding attention. As they moved toward the kitchen, the bathroom door, which Clara had only partially closed, swung slightly ajar. Bartholomew, in all his rotund glory, sat on the edge of the tub, perfectly framed by the soft gloom, his spiky silhouette seemingly glowering in judgment at the intruder. Leo, however, didn't seem fazed by the silent, spined chaperone. He stopped in the living room, taking in the neat bookshelves, the vintage record player, vinyl collection and the large, brightly lit window where her main collection of cacti and succulents sat displayed. "Wow," he breathed, genuinely impressed. "This is... really calming. I can see why you bailed on the shots. You have a perfect little jungle here." He walked over to the window, leaning closer to inspect a small, woody portulacaria that, with optimal healthy conditions, had started to resemble a miniature bush.
December 12, 2025 at 8:14 PM
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Part 3 #WriterSky #CreativeWriting #StoryADayKeepsTheBoredomAtBay
A black background with white text reading: He stepped forward slightly, revealing the plant in his hands. “And I brought him a friend?” It was a charming, slightly ridiculous Bunny Ear Cactus, its segments shaped like two lopsided, bright, fuzzy green ears. It was potted in a chic, minimalist grey ceramic container, with a painted pink nose and whiskers. "A peace offering?" he said, holding the prickly trophy out to her. "Or... an apology in plant form? I know you're busy with your cacti, but I figured this little guy would be appreciated at least.” Clara stared, not at him, but at the absurd, charming plant. It was the antithesis of a drunken regret, it was a sweet, yet complicated, but utterly sincere gesture. The tequila was long gone, but the adventure, it seemed, had just rung her doorbell, and offered her a very demanding, spiky new roommate. "Leo," she managed, her voice barely a whisper. “I'm not really sure if this is…” He chuckled, the sound warm and genuine. "I figure you can handle it. You know, you seem like the kind of person who knows the difference between a real problem and a little… surface irritation?" He cocked a half smile, shifted the bunny ear, glancing past her into her neat, minimalist hallway. "Can I... bring him in? He's probably getting cold out here." Clara hesitated. Letting him in meant inviting the chaos, the confusion, and the undeniable magnetism that he represented, right past the threshold of her carefully curated domestic peace. But the sight of the opuntia shivering slightly in the evening air was too much for the nurturing side of her brain.
December 11, 2025 at 10:47 PM
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#AnimeQuotes #BlackButler #CielPhantomhive #Truth
An image of the character Ciel from Black Butler, looking towards the camera with an eye patch on. A quote beneath in white reads "There's nothing more deceiving than an obvious truth" - Ciel Phantomhive Text in the bottom left corner in yellow reads animemotivation.com and @animemotivate at the right hand side.
December 11, 2025 at 11:56 AM
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Part 2 #WriterSky #CreativeWriting
#StoryADayKeepsTheBoredomAtBay #Vein #WildWalkPrompt
White background with black text reading: She placed the mist bottle on the vanity, running a hand over the dry, stiff bristles of Bartholomew. The calm she’d felt a moment ago was being eroded by a different kind of pressure. A persistent, throbbing question that always surfaced in the quiet moments. That same relentless query that ran through her life like a deep, persistent vein of dissatisfaction: Why couldn't I just want the easy thing? It wasn't that she actively craved the late-night chaos anymore, but Leonardo... Leo... represented that easy, beautiful, but complicated thing. He was the adventure she’d prematurely declared dead. The way the low bar light had hit the sharp planes of his jaw, the sheer, intoxicating unavailability of him, it all pooled in the empty spaces the tequila had once filled. Get a grip Clara! Knock. Knock. Knock. The sound was sharp, insistent, and highly unexpected. It wasn't Sarah, she always texted before showing up. Clara froze, peering through the peephole. Standing on her landing, looking slightly rumpled in a black shirt and holding something bulky wrapped in florist’s tissue, was the unavailable, instantaneous Leonardo. She fumbled with the chain, pulling the door open just enough to reveal her face. "Leo? What..." He offered a sheepish, incredibly handsome smile. "Clara. Look, I... know I'm an ass. And... I know I ghosted you after that last... night... But I saw Sarah’s post, and I figured... Well, I had to come see Bartholomew."
December 10, 2025 at 10:34 PM
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Today's write 🌵

#WriterSky #CreativeWriting #StoryADayKeepsTheBoredomAtBay #Cactus #WildWalkPrompt
White background with black text reading: One moment you're downing another shot of tequila, then the next you're sat debating if the bathroom light is too harsh for your indoor cactus. Blessed Mother, what was she even doing with her life anymore? Clara sighed, the sound muffled by a bright green, fluffy, oversized towel wrapped around her head. She didn't have to debate; the answer was a resounding yes. Those cheap, buzzing fluorescent lights were an environmental, and horticultural, crime. Her poor old Ferocactus - she'd named him Bartholomew - had barely recovered from the fungal gnats he’d acquired after the move, and now to suffer this indignity. Sighing, yet again, gingerly she rose from the edge of the tub, wincing as her knees cracked in quiet protest, a sound she definitely hadn't heard when she was twenty-six and confidently ordering her third round. She pulled the switch cord, plunging the bathroom into a softer, less menacing gloom courtesy of the overhead LED vanity lights. "There, you go Bart. Better?" she murmured to the rotund spiky green ball, which obviously offered absolutely no opinion back. Of course. The sad truth wasn't just the tequila-to-cacti pipeline; it was the sheer, baffling speed of the whole transition. Last month, she'd been convinced she was having a renaissance - a flirtation with a handsome, perpetually unavailable bartender named Leonardo, fuelled by late nights and questionably poor decisions… but, she'd told herself she was spontaneous.
December 9, 2025 at 7:58 PM
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Today's #QuickWrite

#Storm #Dragon #CreativeWriting #WriterSky #DragonStory
White background with black text reading: As the rain battered down, the great Drake sensed it, Her. He lifted his head skyward expectantly, and shook out his wings in preparation. His anticipation building further as the pressure dropped while he stretched, and raked the soft ground with his talons. His tail twitched, to and fro, as he looked up at the darkening sky, eagerly searching. Tonight, he thought, Tonight, I will catch her. Thunder rumbled low and ominous, the deep growl of a Sky Dragon reverberating through his chest and body, as if in challenge. And it was one he was eager to accept. Suddenly, a bright streak appeared as a fork of lightning cut through the thunder clap, and split the sky apart. There! In a powerful burst of movement he launched himself from the ground, vertically skyward into the air. With his wings outstretched and beating mightily, he pushed himself harder with each downdraft. He threw himself at the streak of static that was dancing within the arc of each lightning burst. The Sky Dragon's Daughter, Thundrah, was his quarry, and her playful, tempestuous spirit responded to his audacious chase not with indifference, but with invitation. The air itself became a living thing, crackling with ozone and the scent of freshly charged rain mingled with wet grass. The wind currents, once a hindrance, now seemed to guide him, pulling him deeper into the very heart of the storm
December 7, 2025 at 1:47 PM
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Today's #QuickWrite 🗡️

#CreativeWriting #ShortProse #WriterSky #BlackSmith #MetalWorking
#AStoryADayKeepsTheBoredomAway
A white background with black text reading: The quenching steam hissed and spat as the twice heated metal was plunged into a dousing bucket. The sharp crescendo of hammer on iron was a sound relentless; yet welcoming. It was the true heartbeat of the Forge.” The Smith pulled the now rapidly cooling steel from the bucket. A momentary hush fell inside the shop, broken only by the rhythmic puff of the bellows, drawing air into the furnace pit. The bucket water, dark and slick with scale and carbon, continued to bubble softly, releasing the last of the captured heat. She ignored the smoke and the dry heat that radiated off the flame pit like a living thing, a captured dragonet. Her eyes, permanently narrowed against the glare of the white-hot iron, focused on the delicate workpiece. A blade, a long, elegant dagger. Its edges clean, and its lines, true. It felt solid and keenly obedient in her tongs, with all the promise of sharp perfection. A knife like this was not meant for cutting bread.This was a tool meant for extraction, whether of information or life, was a choice left entirely to the client.
December 6, 2025 at 12:22 AM
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A little longer #QuickWrite today, I wanted to see where it went!

#SpectralMoon #Siren #Mermaids #Folklore #CreativeWriting #WriterSky #SeaStories #StoryADayKeepBoredomAway
Image 1 White background with black text Reading: 04/12/25 The ship lurched and fell through the dark seas’ swell, a pale moon illuminated the deck and foredeck in an ethereal light. He wouldn't be surprised if ghosts arose, and walked… or swam… this night. Sighing, and gripping the salt stained guard rail, as the ship peaked through another trough, he stood, his thumb rubbing absently a smooth knot in the wood as he looked out. He watched, as his breath began to mist, and he faintly heard… a song? “... And, when the Spectral Moon comes a’calling, a'calling...’’ Through the briny darkness came a strong, yet haunting, melody. “... My wayward thoughts, they turn only to you…” Not a gruff sailors tenor, this was like honey on wine. He turned once to look about the deck, but he was the only one to draw the watch tonight, while his men were snoring in their hammocks. The melody grew in tempo, abandoning the slow pace for a quicker, more seductive rhythm. “... So, lay down your anchor, lay down your dread...” “... And sink your warm thoughts inside my cold bed...” Image 2 White background with black text reading: Every note was an answer to a question he hadn't ever known he was asking. The coldness of the deck, the loneliness of his watch, the endless labor against the unforgiving ocean - all felt suddenly unbearable. He didn't just want the promised cold rest; he felt he deserved it. His life had been nothing but salt, wood, and hardship. Why should he fight for another dawn? Somewhere far away, in the back of his mind, he knew what sang, and what its cruel design entailed. It wanted the ship to capsize, and it wanted him. His hand instinctively loosened its grip on the salt-stained rail. The misting of his breath seemed to grow heavier, catching the ephemeral moonlight and forming a shimmering veil between him and the rest of the world. He closed his eyes, inhaling deeply, letting the song fill his lungs instead of the night sea air. “... Come, to the current, where silence is gold...” “... And let our deep water, the weary one, hold.” His free hand was already lifting up and out toward a sheet rope, ready to pull up and swing his leg over the side. The voice was both everywhere and nowhere. Its source, impossible to pinpoint, and yet he knew if he opened his eyes, he would see it: a flash of iridescent scales, and an impossible shadow in the lunar light. Image 3 White background with black text reading: But then, his thumb, still absently rubbing that smooth knot in the guard rail, found a splinter, with a sharp, sudden intrusion of pain. It was minor, meaningless, yet the unexpected physical sensation was like a spark of fire burning through the smooth current of the song. The pain anchored him, momentarily overriding the honeyed promise floating in his ears. He gasped, a sound lost beneath the swell. Duty. The word was sharp and bitter, utterly lacking the siren's simple sweetness, but it was solid. If he went overboard, the ship would continue without a watch, rudderless, risking his sleeping men. With a grunt that was more strain than effort, he slammed his hand back down onto the rail, gripping the splintered wood until the unholy pull of temptation in his chest was replaced by the throbbing pain in his hand. "Not tonight," he whispered, his voice rough and unused. "Not this watch." He didn't quite trust his feet to move him away. Instead, he dragged his gaze away from the sea and focused on the foremast, to a solid, man-made structure piercing the spectral sky. He needed noise, real noise, the noise of work, and danger. Image 4 White background with black text reading: He staggered back to the binnacle, fumbling for the lanyard of the great ship's bell, and pulled it, hard. The harsh clang shattered the hypnotic melody, painfully loud in the sudden silence. The bell rang out twice more, a waking alarm for a call to deck. The song stopped instantly, replaced by the frantic, muffled sounds of confused and groggy sailors scrambling from their hammocks below. He leaned against the rail, heaving and shaking, as he waited for the righteous anger of the newly-woken crew.
December 4, 2025 at 8:40 PM
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Another day, another #QuickWrite

#WriteADay #CreativeWriting #WriterSky #Gladiatorial #Spectacle

⚔️ 🛡️ 🎭
A piece of text, white on a black background reads: "03/12/25 They both stood, bloody, radiant. The crowd roared, as the sun beat down on the unfortunates, scattered amongst the arena. Only three remained, and they stood, trembling, in painted wooden armour. A cheap, pale mockery of the full steel splendour that adorned them both. The three had lost their weapons in the chaos, too. Although, not that wooden training daggers, mere props, would've done much against them and their forged plate, not really. And their five comrades were of little further help. The coarse, baked sand had already gorged itself on them, drinking their spilled life with a greedy efficiency. All in all, they would dominate this spectacle, but… he huffed in contempt. A challenge would've been nice.
December 4, 2025 at 12:52 AM
whimsicalwraith.bsky.social
#BookQuotes #Advice #TheOdssey #Homer #ClassicalLit #BookSky
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A black background with a pair of large yellow quote marks at the top, white text that reads "Words empty as the wind are best left unsaid". By Homer. By gracious quotes.com
December 3, 2025 at 6:58 PM