The first time was an unexpected annoyance, the second one was treated with a touch of humor, but this third time, is just... tiring. It has been confirmed by the very venezuelan government that electric power "rationing" will be kept for the whole extension of april, and I put it betweet quotations because in the past week, the schedule has been disrespected to death. I'm writing this at 4am because its usually at this time when we have electric power for a couple of hours,only to get cut of for another twenty or so, if we are lucky.
This intro has become longer than intended, so to finish while my phone charges: this encompases from saturday (march 30) to tuesday (april 2). This will be my last scheduled/"daily"/"continuous" post for a while, until things get more stable around here (posting daily is just impossible like this and my mood just isn't all that good). That doesn't mean that I won't post at all, but rather that anything that I'll post will be some more "special" in the sense that it will be longer and more "polished" than my usual writings, and only a couple of times a week, if even that is possible. I`ll miss the freewrites, and I'll certainly try to keep up with them, even if only on pen and paper, but this will be the last freewrite-related post in a while.
Saturday (March 30), "Warning, A Weekend Freewrite"
Greta thought that she was going to a year-round playground. Xavier knew better. He had seen the adults talking in hushed tones, and managed to catch some words like “Bastard Noble”, “army”, “killing” and some others belonging to those they were told kids should never pronounce. This wasn’t a normal travel, these weren’t vacations.
But the group kept going forward, even though the dogs pulling the sleds were having difficulties traveling through the snow. They were mostly kids, with some armed adults as their custodians, and their family valuables well stored in hides and chests. At his side, Greta kept talking non-stop about the many games they could play there, and the many others they would invent, and when he looked at her weirdly, she playfully hit his shoulder and told him to not be so grumpy. But Xavier couldn’t stop worrying.
Some sleds ahead, Albert's hair was the color of poached Salmon, product of the very peculiar shading snow produced in his pale red hair. He appeared to be quiet, but the hand constantly moving close to his bow, and his piercing blue eyes scanning the environment betrayed the anxiety he also felt, but when they stopped to sleep for the night and one of the kids asked if they were close to the place, he just smiled and softly told them no, that the playground was still far away.
He offered to be the first on guard duty, but avoided telling that he was thinking on staying up all night. The soft reddish glow of the closed stove they used to heat themselves up made him think about that moment some nights ago when the foreigner woman cornered him in a dark corner of the Lord’s Castle Barracks while he was visiting an old friend. She told him to keep quiet while she explained something: the new guest weren’t foreign politicians, but mercenaries hired to ravage the lands and purge it from whatever the lord considered a threat, and that he needed to alert as much villages as possible.
In her face he saw two things: that she was serious, and that after everything was done, she would be coming home drunk. He tried asking her why was she telling this, and she just answered “I’m tired of this” and went away, leaving him alone with his thoughts, like just now. The wind was howling a little louder, and he could picture in his mind the red armors of the lord’s guest closing in on the small patch of civilization he called home, and a feeling of dread invaded him.
Why?, they were far away now, they were safe, right?. He looked towards the tight bundle that held the sleeping twins Greta and Xavier, and wished for them to be safe. But something in the night’s air, in his memories of that woman’s eyes told him that a blaze of fiery death was still coming close. Meanwhile, the stars above shone brightly, and the moon spoke that silent language that he somehow understood, it told him that his bow wouldn’t fail, and his oath wouldn’t falter.
Sunday (March 31), Prompt 527: "Will be Checking on You"
She looked at Fabricia like a friend-lover of years, even though they had met only a couple of days before. The green-eyed mercenary had only wanted to stay at this in for a night and then keep traveling farther south, away from the place where she left someone who deserved to be betrayed. But warm words and tender caress kept her longer.
Even then, this wasn’t her place, not after all she had done in the past years. That is why her heart was heavy, with a new source of regret and shame while she went down the road, away from the Inn and the girl whose last words to her were “I’ll be checking on you” the night before, before she dressed in shadows and escaped the possibility of a new victim of her red curse.
Monday (April 01), Prompt 528: "Rainbow"
Say Boddynock, what are rainbows? –asked the elf girl while eating a new portion of purple ice cream. In the sky, a so called “rainbow” was showing itself after a brief rainfall.
Well little one, some say it’s the bridge towards a banquet hall of rowdy people, boring people say it’s light twisted by small droplets of water, but I have a theory of my own… -said the gnome with a serious expression.
Really?, you must tell me, come on! –prompted the youngest (but not the smallest).
It’s all about Unicorn farts, really.
Tuesday (April 02), Prompt 529: "Gold"
He preferred silver over gold. It didn’t matter if the latter was more valuable and useful in Alchemy, there was something about the colder-looking metal that enticed him. Maybe it was its association with the moon, a celestial body he generally preferred over the burning gold of the sun, or maybe it was its effectiveness against spirits and shape-shifters. That last one would be his de facto answer every time someone asked about it, and a truth that saved his life more times that he would have liked to count.