There is a contest at The Tenth Daughter of Memory. I’m not really sure how it works, but there’s going to be nine muses (prompts) and you write something for each. Then all nine make up one whole story. I am behind. 5 muses are already up. The first muse is “A Random Memory.” Here’s my 1st.Dark
She screamed as the door slammed shut and the bolt slid into place. She banged her small fists on the aged wood, splitters biting into the flesh of her hands. She kicked at the barrier, doing nothing more than injuring her toes. She stomped in frustration. She yelled at the top of her lungs but no one came to let her out.
The cold and the dark of the attic room of the nine hundred year old farm house brought out goose bumps on her skin despite the heat her body produced from her fight. The old stones, thick deep slabs quarried from the Alps, kept out light and the sounds of the neighbors trying to come to her rescue. Her senses damped down, focusing to only those things her brain created.
Her seven year old mind conjured up monsters hiding in the deep shadows, with sharp teeth and long claws waiting to punish her for annoying the adults on the other side of the door. A cool draft brushed along the back of her neck, the breath of some long dead resident of the communal building, a whisper of an ancient mountain man with knarled fingers and long white hair and beard.
Talons from the serpent that lived in the salt caves high above the valley clicked along the marble floor, edging closer to her, forcing her to condense into a small ball for protection.
Holding herself still, she waited for the beasts to devour her. Instead, she felt a caress along her left cheek. She raised her head and looked into the glowing eyes of her angel. He folded her into his lap, his wings and arms hugging her small body and calming her shaking. He sang unintelligible lullabies in her ear and whispered soothing assurances. His familiar presence kept her quiet and she fell asleep curled into his warmth.
The morning and the afternoon passed without her notice.
She played games with her angel building castles and palaces in the black space surrounding her. Her angel introduced her to the dead old man. She talked to the spirit of his living memories: the frothy ale he loved, the cows he herded into mountain pastures in bright, sunny summers and his wife’s warm brown bread. She petted the dragon, her fear evaporating in her growing acquaintance with him.
She liked this world so much better than the one on the other side of the door.