Flashathon 2012 Hour Twelve

We’re two thirds of the way through the Flashathon, right in the heart of it no matter which coast you’re on. So let’s try something different. I wanted to mix up the types of prompts, so this time we’re going with a piece of audio. The song is under three minutes. I’d suggest trying to ignore the title, but it’s hard not to show it. So give a listen, then give a write.

Best of luck this hour!

  1. avatar

    #1 by DLThurston on October 27, 2012 - 8:28 pm

    Something floated over the water. Something that was once someone. Now it was a shade, a shadow. It had forgotten its former self. What it was. What it had been. Snakes of frost traced out over the surface when it moved too close, cracking and melting as it left.

    With the ice floated bits of memories, traces of identity, little dribbles of self. Each speck of frost took something from the shade, something it couldn’t get back. Something it wouldn’t know it lost. Memories of other ice, cracking and spreading. Mingling. Forming small floes over the surface of the water. They floated together for awhile. It could remember now only that loneliness was not a constant. That it could feel other sensations.

    That would always remain. That was its torture. The torture of all shades. That they would meet, remember what compansionship felt like. Retaining that.

    Not remembering why.

    Not remember who else they met in this existence.

    Or what they’d meant to each other once before.


    Had to walk away for awhile to be daddy. Life sometimes gets in the way. This was completed hour seven of my goal of eight.

  2. avatar

    #2 by Dana Gunn on October 27, 2012 - 8:31 pm

    The ballerina twirled around the dance floor in slow circles. Her partner stepped on to the floor to meet her. Ribbons from her arms fluttered behind her as a tease to the man. As he chased her across the floor, there were fleeting glimpses in the mirror that did not seem quite…right.

    Although her partner wore blues and blacks, and she wore pink, flashes of red in the mirror caught her eye. But, when she tried to trace the source of the color, the dance took her eyes away from the mirror or the color had retreated into hiding once again.

    Gently, the man pushed her away in the way of the dance, then drew her to him once again. The ballerina’s heart fluttered as she put all her emotions into the music and into the dance. When the nape of her neck came close to her partner’s face, she could hear him breathe and that breath nearly caused her to stumble. Her own breath was interrupted by the sensations she was beginning to feel in her chest…her heart.

    The red came again as she leaned against the man and faced the mirror directly. This time, she saw the source…something behind her. She used the dance to turn herself and saw nothing other than her dance partner, the blues and blacks of his leotard. The music picked up slightly, but it was only leading to another “chase” as she once again led the man across the dance floor.

    She reached out with her hands to grasp for his before pulling away one more time. Her escape led her right to the edge of the dance floor and holding on to the practice bar. Bending down, but still on point, she used the bar in her dance. Tips of her hair brushed the floor, once, twice, and in a prelude to coming vertical, ended her on point stance before staring straight into the mirror.

    Over her shoulder, a nude, red, muscular demon with large horns from the sides of its head reached out its hands for her. The ballerina turned around to scream, to verify what she had seen in the mirror was really there. Only her partner waited for her with outstretched arms. She shook her head to throw off the illusion that surely had been brought on my the dizziness from her head dipping dance moves.

    As the music neared its end, she missed a beat, but was brought back to the dance by her partner. His hands were strong; his arms were sure. In an unscripted gesture, she twirled toward him ending her dance with hands on both sides of his face, as if to feel if the horns were really there on the man she thought she saw in the reflection. They weren’t.

    She smiled at her partner when the music stopped and turned to retrieve a towel. And there, in the mirror, was the red skinned demon once again. This time, wearing a leotard of blues and blacks.

    • avatar

      #3 by Day Al-Mohamed on October 27, 2012 - 8:54 pm

      Is it weird that the music felt like a strange love child of Tchaikovsky and Danny Elfman?

  3. avatar

    #4 by Dana Gunn on October 27, 2012 - 8:58 pm

    No, Day. No, it’s not weird at all. That’s exactly what it felt like to me.

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