After weeks and months of no #200WT … today is a personal victory for me. Despite the huge thunderstorms we had that knocked the electricity out!
It would have been a nightmare, to let something as loved as 200 Word Tuesdays. This was the beautiful creation of @ReeDwithaBee, and entrusted to us, and now it’s part of Musae Mosaic …and it wouldn’t be the same without it. There would be a hollowness nothing we could do would fill.
For a while back there, I thought there would be no saving it. I really thought it would be one of the things I had to farewell in this New Year and here we are, still endeavoring to be stronger than ever, dedicated to what we love.
This is wonderful!
This feels right, because the art of conserving and sustaining art is impassion, even when it’s like looking through a rose tainted window on an empty world. Even when it feels like there’s nothing there. A blind faith in something that feels as though it’s fading, this is what renewed my enthusiasm in #200WT. That if I continued, I would see it thrive again. And that brings us to today, where even with a small start, there is more love and hope for this program than ever before.
And so I’d like to say thank you to each and every one of you who has participated today and in all the #200WT Editions past. Thank you for sharing your words and keeping us going, throughout the ravages of real life, and so on. Thank you for believing in us enough to share your words through our little operation here.
Every step of this journey would have been impossible without you.
Thank you for everything. We won’t stop this journey, not for any impediment in its path.
And with that said and done, I present to you … the Fantasia #200WT Edition!
By Stabdagger Junior
Chapter 1: The Northumbrian Landing.
In Northumbria 866 AD, my ship ended its long voyage at the shores of Northumbria, not too far off Hadrian’s wall. We set up a camp and waited for the other ships to arrive at the shore lines. It was but 4 days later that we received notice from the second ship that the other three of the five ships had been lost and taken by the storm. We carried on our journey to a nearby Anglo-Saxon village. We gave no warning, and attacked. Their defence was a disrespect to our power. They put up a decent fight, but heeded the first few minutes of our attack; calling their men to arms, at too late a time. We had already ransacked most of the homes and killed their people. It was too late for them to win, but they did not retreat. Instead they were stupid, yet not cowardly; they stood, they fought, they died. But as true men, not as weak boys. We took the village and fortified it. We left some men behind to take care of the place, whilst me and the others set out to make more homes for our kin. We went onward to battle again. I hold this amulet that my wife has bestowed upon me. For good luck.
Chapter 2: The York Preparations.
We soon found more of our men who had landed by the shores of Mercia. We set foot North and prepared for battle. Our leaders, Halfdan and Ivar The Boneless, lead us into battle with care. We set up camp just ouside of what we now call “York”. They devised a battle strategy, in which I helped as i was valued for my tactical prowess in battle and my ability to improvise a plan to get my men out of any situation. We agreed that we should attack on the 1st day of the 11th month. All Saints Day, one of the great festivals in York. This gave us an advantage as most people were open to have our swords staked through their guts and arrows burrowed into their heads. We stayed put, hidden from the enemy line. They did not suspect a thing. We made sure that our weapons were in fine condition, and our spirits just as sharp as our swords. Little did we know that this was going to be a hard battle to win. We made more preparations over the days and had our men training. We continued to devise a strategic formation for our kin. I prepare myself for the coming days and pin the amulet around my neck. For hope.
Chapter 3: The Invasion of York.
At last, the 1st came and we set foot for York. We attacked with haste and made sure to protect all of our numbers. The enemy were very much surprised with our method of attacking, as they’d heard many rumours of how we usually fight. We flooded the gate with the blood of our foes and charged forward. Then we went all out blood shedding crazy. We were an unstoppable force. Thor cast a storm o’er the battle field and gave us strength. After a short time the enemies still stood strong. It was a bloody good battle if I hadn’t seen one before. I took a moment to admire the pure beauty of the world around me; but it wasn’t what I thought it was. I looked behind myself and saw that there were many ally bodies lying there. Weaklings. I looked forth and took up arms alongside my kin, Ivar The Boneless. It was hours before we started to hear the sound of dying men and screaming families silence itself. We continued forth and fought with all our might. They knew in their hearts that there was no defence that could withstand Vikings. Ren Skønhed, pure beauty. I cleanse the blood off of the amulet. For purity.
Chapter 4: Danelaw.
The battle was won, at last. We burnt their bodies and let the smoke head towards the south of Mercia. We later received news that one of our fortifications had failed in Wessex. Twas a mere distraction. We had taken the strong point of the English North. We now owned Northumbria and Mercia; but not completely. They had still managed to hold off certain villages from our ultimate forces because of the shortage of men. We lost many good souls, but weak ones. I was instructed to stay in York and protect it from invaders. Others set foot for East Anglia and Wessex to finish off what our other kin could not. From there was a lot of blood and ale. More ships were lost in the storm, and we wonder why the Gods took them. We held York for a year. And now, I, Beowolf, stand to defend York against the ones whom I took York from. It should be a blodig smuk kamp, bloody beautiful battle. However, my age has worn onto me and I’m most likely not going to see the end of this moment. I clutch my dead wife’s amulet and stand ready to fight. “Charge!”
Now the amulet… is shattered. And my cold corpse lays dead. In death do we part.
Author: Stabdagger jr
By Thomas Thayer
A young man in a white labcoat lifted a small beaker of a clear liquid in front of his bespeckled face. His coworker, beard obscuring a narrow jawline, began to speak and a conversation ensued:
Labcoat: “Now THIS is impressive stuff!”
Labcoat: “This is definitely the purest shale gasoline ever harvested on the continent.”
Beard: “Actual clean slate. Whodathunkit?”
Labcoat: “Yessir. Once Operations are informed that focusing on shale deposits with critical slate composition garner pure shale gas, they will revolutionize fracking by cleaning the refining process.”
Beard: “That’s cool, but what about all of the chemicals used in the process itself? –“
Labcoat placed the beaker beside his workstation, took off his glasses, and proceeded to massage his furrowed brow.
Beard: “–It’s a multisyllabic cornucopia of unknown consequences. Did you hear about that farmer from Wyoming who set his tapwater on fire?”
Beard: “Or about the increased cancer rates due to proximity of frack ops?”
Labcoat: “Fake news.”
Beard: “But it was docum-“
Labcoat: “Planted by environmental groups to further their cause.”
Beard: “What about the earthqua– ”
The ground shook noticeably for about three seconds.
Labcoat: “Just shut up and take your bonus.”
Author: Thomas Thayer
In the dark hours
By Becky Spence
After midnight I stare. Into a mirror. Into another me. I see you, my broken reflection, cracked. The glass smooth as ice. I touch the surface, unblemished. Yet in shattered glass you’re there. Caught in a gleam. A hint of a dream. Behind you dusky mountains, a sun that burns hot, that stings at my face. Here on my landing, stood barefoot on the carpet I touch my cheek raging red. I know the scent of the meadow. The taste of the wind. The sound of the waves in the great oceans of Ophin.
I close my eyes, sit knees held tight. I’m here. In my home. My landing. My stairs. Yet I know these things. Though I don’t know you. Night after night I’m drawn. Into the world through the mirror. The world I cannot touch.
Seasons move, colours dance. Red to yellow, brown to grey. A crisp white that blinds as the snow falls. You grow closer, never changing, moving to the foreground in stop motion. You have my scar, my speckled eyes. Our hands reach out. Fingers stretched, inches and a world apart. I touch the glass. Fall away. Into the mirror, broken dreams.
We are one and you are free.
By Lara Meone Savine
She leaned against one such wall, plastered in psychedelic graffiti, staring musingly at the slime slathered ground.
She didn’t move. Not even when the man staggered by into the alley.
And she breathed in, tasting the wine, whiskey and cheap sex scented aura he left in his wake. Good meal, she thought.
The underbelly of the city was starving. It hadn’t fed since the plague, and it was hungry. The Mouth liked new flavors, these sweet, salty fresh reprobates, gorged upon a diet of sex, drugs, and rock ‘n’ roll.
She followed him in.
‘Got time for a bite?’ she said cheerfully, gripping the huge silver skewer behind her back.
‘Whaa –uuugh!’ he began incredulously, and ended choking, his vital organs flooding with blood. It trickled out of his mouth as he stood there, impaled against the stone, a vast blue gratified mouth behind him.
‘Time for a bite?’ she asked again, eyes flickering to the Mouth.
The wall rumbled with dark, soft, laughter.
And the Mouth’s comical tongue flicked the dead man’s blood, the ground shuddering. Its painted jowls gaped; the metalwork in the building forged itself into teeth, tearing into sin-soaked flesh, the symphony of tearing meat and metal screeching, sprays of blood decorating its lips …
The tongue licked it off, tatters of skin hanging from the teeth, grinning.
‘It was delicious.’
The wall rumbled and closed, brick by brick, painted mouth resuming its everlasting smirk, burying the remains of its meal under the foundations of the city.
‘Until breakfast, then,’ she said. ‘Goodnight, baby!’
Author: Lara Meone Savine
By Thomas Thayer
“I’m sorry, but we have to let you go.” The HR rep didn’t even want to make eye contact. Neither did his bosses. He had asked them multiple times over the course of the weeks leading up to the meeting about his fate with no response. “You’ll do great things. This is just a speed bump.”
Yeah. Speed bump.
One’s speed bump is another’s ramp into the stratosphere, he thought. He shook hands with the figures around the table – luke-warm sentiment as far as common business practices go – and promptly stepped out into a damp streetscape.
He was oddly relieved. Losing your job and sole source of income should have been shocking. It should have induced some form of panic. What will I do now? How will I make ends meet? How do I explain this to my wife? All valid questions, but accompanied by no alarm.
This was the quintessential clean slate. His mind pinged with opportunity and anticipation. New adventures and chances to learn and grow beckoned down the road and this was just the ticket.
The bus rolled up and stopped. The doors swung open.
It was a February afternoon. Leap day. Your speed bump is my….
Author: Thomas Thayer