Dec 27
poem 0 comments challenge: Snow
Olivia White's picture

Winter Came

Winter came 
and all around the table frost cracked and grew like fungus,
icicles crept down from the noses of frozen men and women,
who sat like chiseled marble statues.
Some, with their hands full of sugar plums
some, poised, porcelain teacups halfway to their mouths, 
the liquid turned to ice,
others, their mouths open
waiting for the frozen gingerbread on their silver forks.

The chandelier above was crisscrossed with ice fractals
and sparkling frost.
And the wallpaper, no longer red and gold,
had sunk to silver-blue.

A boy,
the age of twelve,
knelt, mid-struggle 
in the corner of the room
his hands frozen around the leather collar of a weary hound.

The scene was forever still in its time,
the logs in the fireplace would never burn,
the tall clock would never strike to signal the new hour.

And the wind blew in from the North,
Oct 15
fiction 0 comments challenge: Fable
Olivia White's picture

A Story for Pangea


      "A long, long time ago, when the stars shone much brighter than they do now; when the Dreaming World stood back to back with ours, hands clasped; and when the land was united and called itself one: 'Pangea'. That was when my dear; that was when the gods walked the earth.

"Their crowns of daisy chains scraped the sky, and their sweet humming could be heard from afar. And wherever they went, frowns turned to smiles, enemies became allies (perhaps even friends), and bloody battlefields were combed over with the shine of a thousand golden sunflowers. 
Oct 02
Olivia White's picture

How the Unicorn Went Extinct

It was something the Sandhill Crane said. At a great harvest party, his silver fringed feathers shining in the firelight. We were all gathered round, munching on the last rinds of zucchini and acorn squash; the Leopard Tortoise, the Bay Cat, the Java Sparrow, even the Groundhog was invited that day. Their faces showed no signs of disturbance in the honeyed, flickering glow, but I have been unable to shake his words since they left that sharp golden beak of his the very evening. 
He was commenting on one of Mrs. Sparrow's messy homemade scarves. She was rather beside herself this time, for it had come out poorly once again with a great big bite taken out of the silken blue thread. But the Crane, in attempts to console her, said: "Everything happens for a reason Mrs. Sparrow; everything happens for a reason."