#yonder hills

[betweenthetimeandsound]

--prompt from @flashfictionfridayofficial

The mist and the sky do not have any divisions-- they all obscure the path of neutral resistance, with thorns growing out of the undergrowth like mines disguised as daffodil bulbs. The yonder hills roll down in jarring slopes, sending its victims towards oblivion without the tender grace of a waterfall.

Some run away to lose themselves in its clouds; I only come because it's a myth beyond reality, where the ordinary ends and the story begins. I want to dance and find a rhythm when the spring begins, to know which gods are real and which ones will not come over to my aid, or for a little kiss.

Kiss me again, these cursed mists?

So that I would envelop in another world, where daisies will grow in the winter. The yonder hills will not know, for they wait for their victims-- they don't come for them. --Elda Mengisto

[theoriginalsapphic]

An Ode To A Childhood Love

For @flashfictionfridayofficial

Title: An Ode To A Childhood Love

Word count: 253

Wattpad

Picture me like this;

With my grass-stained white dress under the midday sun

Racing down that farm hill, attached to your interlaced hand

With numb and cramped feet but we ran and ran and ran

Until our lungs gave out and we laid on the clover-covered lands

Under the canopy of the blue sky, submerged in childish, naive bliss

.

I picture you like this;

With longer limbs and your patterned braids well done

And the clinging remains of youth in your tired glance

Always hiding and escaping the watchful eye of the hunt

Until the cabin floor creaked and we met the wrath of the older man

And when autumn ended abruptly, all I could still call mine was your phantom kiss

.

Remember what was true;

While in your voyages and facing an ocean storm’s brunt

You were the captain and I was the waves at your faithful command

When the surrounding daffodils died at the sound of the firing gun

Just a child, I was still willing to face the harsh winter winds and withstand

And survive a lifetime on a frozen lake if it meant being only us two

.

Meet me again where we grew;

Underneath the shadow of the willow tree, admiring the faraway creek

When we screamed at the vast nothingness so only us could hear

With new creases on our faces, and tired limbs and hands too weak

And by sheer will, I’ll close the space between and whisper in your ear:

Wherever you go, I’ll go too

[renee-writer]

For @flashfictionfridayofficial prompt Yonder Hills. In memory of my me'ma Cybelline Yancey, a strong Appalachian women. They don't make them like her anymore.

Yonder

A place where  me’ma sat and snapped beans on the front porch.

Where you and your cousins climbed trees and wondered as far as you could before you were called in for supper.

Where you brushed your aunt’s bum length hair out.

Yonder

A place where the chickens, dogs and cats all ran free.

Where pa pa told you stories about working in the coal mine.

Where there was always something boiling or stewing on the stove

Where me’ma’s quilting always set by her chair.

Yonder

Where every Easter the front yard is full of children searching for eggs while pa pa gave the youngest hints.

Where me’ma’s hair only came down for her husband and for her granddaughters to brush out.

Where the children rode in the back of the station wagon, down a road named after their family.

Where ‘going to town’ was a forty-five minute trip.

Where the mountains surrounded us and the screen door was always banging.

Yonder

Was home.

Family

A legacy that included me’ma’s own ma, still taken after herself at a hundred and proud of her native heritage.

Was eight children, that became parents, aunt’s, uncle. Raised on a miners pay.

Yonder

It was a way of life long passed but fondly remembered.

To be as innocent as I was when I lived down yonder.

Miss you me'ma.

[clad-in-sunshine]

A hill beneath the stars

Written for @flashfictionfridayofficial‘s prompt ‘yonder hills’.

To sleep on a hill beneath the stars

Brings blessings plenty

To joyful hearts

Okrel began his laborious journey in high spirits. What had always been an insurmountable distance between him and the hills finally began to close. They still lay out yonder, but they would soon be yonder no more. 

Mist rolled out over the fields ahead of him, trapping light above the grass. It swirled and parted as he walked, soaking his trousers in the cold dew and forcing them tight to his legs. Despite the damp, he continued with a smile on his face. His thoughts turned from his home as it was, to his home as it could be. 

Yet those who lay in misery deep

Brings shadows forth

That watch and creep

He smiled still when he reached the foot of the hills. All three of them that had stood tantalisingly distant his whole life, now before him. 

It didn’t matter which hill he chose, for each were the same, and he started up one. As he rose, he began to consider. What would he do when he reached the top? When he returned? This was the singular moment he had prepared for. Even if he restored his home, what then? 

His smile faltered as he reached the half way point. Does he turn back and say he failed? He couldn’t. In failure there would still be tomorrow. 

Every step was one step closer to the rest of his life, and he could not shake it. Each step, too, brought him closer to the sky; closer in a way he’d never felt, even in buildings far taller. The sky seemed to surround him, sweeping through him and into every part of him. 

He forced a smile as he neared the top. He thought on cakes and friends; family and games; flowers and smiles. Just as he’d practiced. He smiled and laid down.

The stars appeared: first one, shining brightly, and then the rest as the sun slipped below the earth.

Don’t meet the lights

That pass for eyes

For what you see

Is nought but lies

The pounding in his chest would not still, beating out the seconds until tomorrow. The stars pulsed and twisted, coming together in shapes that made the hills feel smaller than pebbles and him no more than an ant. Each shape knew its boundaries, but he did not know them. He felt he should, as each one appeared and faded. As though they belonged to a long distant memory. 

More and more shapes came, until the sky itself seemed to bend and reach out for him with tendrils of blackness that covered the stars. 

Then the sky was empty.

In the depth of shadow that stretched out on either side, solemn lights glinted in the dark. He watched them, trying to separate the shades of black. 

The darkness watched back.

[shaheenarnitipsyart]

The Hollow Hills

This is the 15th time joining @flashfictionfridayofficial ! Thank you for the interesting prompt! And a shout out to @clad-in-sunshine for setting a challenge! That was fun. The story is set in the distant future. Hope you enjoy!

Word Count: 920

TW: non

Zosia (they/them)

Part one

'So that was the end of the history class. Don't forget the test coming up next week!' Zosia paid no attention to whatever Dr. Nym said during the history class. Zosia was immersing themselves a little too much in the historical fiction, which was way more interesting than Dr. Nym's lecture. It was such an irony because the class covered the time and places that appeared in the novel. Zosia scrolled down their reading pad, eager to read the final chapter. The story was inspired by an actual historical event that happened a couple of centuries ago -  'The Project Mimisbrunnr.'

 'The Project Mimisbrunnr' was a well-intentioned plan at first. The intellectuals around the world decided to gather and save the valuable information of their civilisations. They aimed to build three gigantic libraries for specialists and numerous small libraries for the public. However, this seemingly harmless cultural plan caused a disastrous end. It didn't take a long time for those who were greedy for power to realise the true power of 'information.' The project itself became a bloody stage of power-game, riddled with corruption and betrayal. Two out of three gigantic libraries were destroyed by the riot. Zosia's favourite part of the novel was the chapter 'The Ragnarok,' inspired by that riot. The protagonist and her fellow hackers destroyed the two libraries but could not find the last one as it was under construction. They were disbanded, and each of them started their own quest to find the last library called Styx. The story ended where the protagonist disappeared into the wilderness of the frontier. 'She walked into the vast, empty land. Just green hills stretching towards the horizon. Nobody saw her ever again - maybe she was swallowed by the ocean of unknown.'   That was how the story ends. Zosia knew that Dr. Nym would hate this book and dismiss 'the hidden last library' as a mere rumour. Dr. Nym would say that the characters were all fictional and over-dramatised. But still, it was Zosia's one of their favourite stories, and they were quite offended when someone told them that the story was nothing but a product of imagination.

Part Two

  'We are arriving Unus-Oculus. Thank you for travelling with us. This train terminates here.' Zosia hops off from the white linear motor car and stretches their arms. 'Phew! Finally, holidays!' Zosia is no longer a school kid but a young aspiring researcher. Their favourite book is still the same, but now they don't believe in the existence of the last library 'Styx' anymore. It's almost impossible for anything to escape from high-tech satellites and drones. Zosia is the one updating a map for the public,  so they know it better than anyone else.   But they can't help themselves but remembering the closing line of the novel.

  'She walked into the vast, empty land. Just green hills stretching towards the horizon. Nobody saw her ever again - maybe she was swallowed by the ocean of unknown.'  

This is exactly what Zosia is looking at right now. The green rolling hills look like gentle waves under the blue sky. Maybe it is not a bad idea to explore the area like the heroine of that novel. It's my first long holiday, after all. They start strolling down the hills. The air is so clean and refreshing for over-worked Zosia. The footpaths are well-maintained. They can see some other holidaymakers here and there. They chose this secluded area because they wanted to avoid the crowd. It seems like they are in the right place. However, as they walk further away from the station, they notice something is slightly off. The path becomes narrower and less smooth. No bird songs, no holidaymakers. Although the eerie silence makes Zosia a bit uncomfortable, they are not worried about it that much.  They have a high-tech app that tells them an accurate location wherever they are. Whatever. After all, I came here for seclusion. I'll find my way anyways. Suddenly, a cool breeze sweeps their hair, and they look in the direction where the wind has just come. What the...? Zosia cannot believe their eyes. There is a small opening on the side of the hill that looks like a tunnel of water duct. It is well-hidden under the bushes, but the cold air is coming from the tunnel. Holding their breath, Zosia approaches the tunnel carefully. They can hear the echo of winds from there. Having the location detector makes them confident. This is a rare opportunity for a small adventure, right? And the flow of air means that this tunnel leads to the other side of the hill. As they push on their way, the tunnel becomes wider and more comfortable. Well, maybe it was just an old shortcut. However, there is no other exit. They find themselves in the middle of the hall with a massive, broken rose window. The scattered shards are all buried under the thick layers of dust and moss. There are old broken screens tangled with the trees and ivies. The walls of the hall are bare and cracked as if they have been here for hundreds of years. Zosia blinks at the streaming sunlight through the shuttered window. They look at their location detector in disbelief. It is pointing to the ocean, which is several hundred miles away from the park. They stumble on one of the shards, and it blows off some dust. What they find on the bare ground are four letters.

S-T-Y-X