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MIKAEL DELVING'S story

It came to a day, where the sky was lit up like a fire in the rising of the early summer sun, and Terry Potts was doing rounds in his milk cart near the edges of town. It was nearly the end of his shift and the empty glasses of milk clunked softly against each other like a gentle chorus of windchimes whispering about his ears as the little float trundled quietly along.

Then he saw Mikael Delving walking solemnly on the road, padding right past the milk float without a care, focussing only on his own journey.

Terry was puzzled, wondering why this man; this mysterious, solitary figure, was out at such an early hour. And with such conviction in his stride.

The second thing he noticed was that young Mikael did not carry the bucket filled with the pile of rocks with him this time, but on his back was a big pack and his head was bowed to the sparkling asphalt. His expression was drab and unreadable.

Unable to help his curiosity, Terry brought his milk cart to a slow stop and stuck his head out from the driver's seat, staring at Mikael's back, watching the man march convictedly up that long lane toward the green, wild hills which fenced in the village. At once, Mikael Delving disappeared around the gentle bend in the road and over the brow of the hill.

Terry stayed for a few moments, bringing up many ideas of what the stranger might be doing, or where he was going with such conviction in his stride. He remembered how often he would see Mikael out in the town on afternoons, like a phantom who comes and goes as he pleases and always carrying that plain plastic bucket full of rocks. He was silent and spoke to nobody but he was always there and people always noticed him. Like a big spider clinging to the wall of a room or a blotch of ink at the corner of a painting, and wherever he wasn't, talk of him would spring up out of the ground.

Terry shrugged, put his hands back on the wheel and set off again. And it was the last time anyone living in the middling village of Sunning Valley saw Mikael Delving ever again.

#writing practice #literature #short story #storytelling #novelist

SHORT STORY (The Pile of Rocks)

A bucket in a lonely old shed was filled with a pile of rocks. Coarse and rough, scraggy little chafes from some coast or cliff. Looking into the bucket one could see the rocks; some were grey and white, some were darker. Cracked and obtuse, some, while smooth little pebbles rested on the surface.

Look closer and you'll see things other than rocks - here a sharp screw and here a piece of broken pottery or porcelain from a plate. Perhaps the disposed offal of some floor tiles. And the nails, lost from a larger project, doomed by some causality to their penance inside this bucket.

The bottom of the bucket seemed full with dust or white sand and crusting the rim and insides of the bucket were small, pale splatters of dull red or bronze brown like rust on plastic.

This bucket was a topic of curiosity for the village, not only because keeping a bucket full of rubble and debris seemed odd, but because resident loner Mikael Delving carried this bucket along wherever he went. That heavy thing was widely known as his sole companion.

#writing #short story #rocks #owch #ow my hand #literature #popular

targetedknowledge

GOODNIGHT. (A writing exercise in trying to write a beautiful passage about something mundane)

The room I see before me is dimming. Outside it is dusk, and the darkening, blue sky leaked a pale light between my halfdrawn curtains. The ghostly light of dusk would spill across my bed and my blank walls until at least it reached the far corners of my room, where it could not quite catch the shadows of night which clung wanly to the nooks, waiting for the evening to swallow me whole.

I see in the grasp of those shadows, vague shapes of books on the bookshelf and of clothes on their clotheshangers, their sleeves and features melting into each other, hurting my eyes as I squinted to try and differentiate each article.

At the end of my bed, over the top of my dog's curiously tilting head was the halo of light from the hallway, eclipsed by that thick wooden door which stood closed in the frame. Like an eye, a slit of amber light peered in at me through the empty keyhole. This warm light was locked away, and for that I was happy. Because my eyes had become heavy, my thoughts foggy with the onset of dreams I might fall into between waking and living. These white walls watched me anxiously, waiting for me to fall into my sleep. My body felt faraway and before I could know it, I wasn't in my room anymore and darkness had taken me.

A click, and the light disappeared from behind my door.

#writing #writers on tumblr #writing practice #creative process

tinselol

Say hellow to The Symptoms

#the simpsons #Simpsons #Simpson #Simpso #Simps #Sim #Si #S

clownkiss3r

learning a lot toda✍️y

5bi5

Yelling “we got company” right before being attacked by a horde of enemies probably feels good as fuck for an action protagonist

ineedtherapyofc01

I tired I will not put all characters tag XD

brush-421

@rueckus

coolstrangerwhispers

Yukio Mishima loved cats deeply and kept many of them at home. His cats frequently appeared in both his work and his personal life, offering us a glimpse of his tender side.

He once wrote an article about cats:

"I simply cannot help but love that melancholic beast.

It is not that it cannot learn tricks — rather, it considers such things beneath its dignity.

That cunning, sulky expression, the beautiful alignment of its teeth, its cold seductiveness —

for reasons I cannot quite explain, I am truly fond of it." - Yukio Mishima's Complete Works, Volume 25, "Review I", of "The Film: The Cat King"

He even wrote letters to his father, asking him to take care of his cats.

Please please please like my art

#artwork #classical art #renaissance #masterwork #drawing #spongebob #I love you spomgebob

dragongirlteeth

I am shocked at how many people don't have an actively hostile relationship with advertising

dragongirlteeth

I am skipping your ads as fast as I can. I'm skipping past your sponsor read. I'm muting the tv. I'm muting the tab. If they get too annoying I will simply stop trying to watch.

If advertisers can use every manipulative trick in the book to get me to buy their product, I am fully within my rights to do everything I can on my end to make their job impossible