The Pillar

This week's prompt from Velvet Verbosity was the word pillar. The challenge is to write exactly 100 words on this topic, in any form you like. In my mind, I saw a pillar standing alone, rising out of desert sand. I wondered why it was there; then, all at once, I understood. Read my story to find out the answer.

The Pillar
Gawen sweated and struggled, setting each segment in place, but finally the pillar stood, alone in barren sand. By day he lived in the hidden chamber of a cave nearby. The pillar served as he’d planned, a spot travelers could find again. Some hoped to avoid tax collectors, others didn’t like bringing all their cash into the city. By night, Gawen crept out to dig it up. In three years he had enough to buy Morgan’s freedom, pay their passage to Albion, and secure their future.

The archaeologist scratched his head. “Who put this here, and why?” He never learned.

Treasures

This week's prompt from Velvet Verbosity was the word treasures. The challenge is to write exactly 100 words on this topic, in any form you like. I thought of all the word brought to my mind, and wrote this poem which catalogues my own personal hierarchy of treasures. Perhaps some of you will have the perspective to understand.

Treasures
Stacked banknotes,
Stock certificates,
Bonds.
Paper reminders,
Promises easily broken.
Elusive, illusory wealth.

Finely-wrought gold,
Diamonds blazing purest fire,
Carven jewels,
Rubies, emeralds, sapphires.
Ivory graved in darkest ink.
Oddly stamped coins,
Heaps of silver,
Mounds of gold.
Ancient statues,
Clay vessels
Shaped by artisans long dead.
Bits of rare jade.
Solid, enticing.
Treasure.

Words,
Scribed, printed
Engrossed.
Meaning traced
On paper or parchment,
Bound, captured,
Shelved, available.
Storehouse beyond measure
Brimming,
Wisdom, imagination, thought.
Priceless heritage.

Curled shapes,
Furry flanks,
Whiskered muzzles,
Wide bright eyes
Glowing mischief, love.
Velvet paws,
Purring breaths,
Living cats.
More precious than everything.

City

I nearly missed this week's prompt from Velvet Verbosity. Last Wednesday, I developed heat exhaustion, and by the time I recovered, I figured it was too late. However, since I see the new post isn't up yet, I'll add this entry. The prompt was the word city. The challenge is to write exactly 100 words on this topic, in any form you like. This time, instead of a poem or a brief prose musing, I've written a short science fiction story for fun.

City
Our voices still as we enter the ancient village. Even crumbling, smothered with new growth, the ruins are impressive. I know the stories, how they choked on their own folly. I wouldn’t wish to live crammed in with countless others, to smother in the reek of endless fires.

Still, they had powers and knowledge I cannot imagine. They reached to the sky, they dreamed, even their failures scarred the earth for generations. I wonder what my ancestors were truly like. I crouch to study the figure the hunters found, tail outstretched for balance, but it is only a hairless monkey.



Read the explanation below only after you've thought about it, and really, really don't get it...



Oh, come on! Who do you think would take over the area around a city if everything fell apart. What creature does everyone associate with cities; the first to establish a symbiotic relationship with man without becoming domesticated? The city rat, of course!

And, yes, you guessed it, I'm not much of a city person. Forests, mountains, streams, oceans and meadows for me.

Final Hour

This week's prompt from Velvet Verbosity is the word hour. The challenge is to write exactly 100 words on this topic, in any form you like. This time, instead of a poem or a brief prose musing, I've written a short story. I find it more interesting to explore different forms, just as I enjoy seeing the different angles each contributor approaches the word from.

Final Hour
A short, sharp knock, the sound I’ve been expecting - and dreading - for months now.

A guard thrusts open the door, not waiting for my reply. “You have an hour to prepare.”

My goodbyes have already been said. If God has rejected my earlier pleas, all I can do now is accept His decision. I pick up my pen. So many ideas, so many observations jostling to escape before darkness erases them. Their loss seems sadder even than my own. Which shall I save? My pen wavers in midair.

Another knock, and the guards come in. How brief an hour is!