Along with my conscious decision to stretch out my prose muscles in the coming months, I wanted to start developing an analogue note-taking/journaling habit (as it turns out, those muscles used for writing have atrophied as well, surprise surprise). In the early days of trying to move away from the keyboard to do some writing, I’ve discovered that my hands have lost all of their muscle tone when it comes to holding a stylus for any length of time.
gentle rocking, creaking wain twilight tints storm eyes returning to lost highways alone but for dense, winter fog
A poem prompted by a randomly selected Elder Futhark rune.
Today’s rune is raido, which has been translated as “ride” and the implied “journey”. This may be spatial and literal in practice (a physical journey), or it may be more figurative (an inner/shamanic journey, i.e., útiseta). The rune is associated with cyclic motion and the movement of the sun. Some consider the journey represented by raido to be that of returning.
Please visit my Elder Futhark pages at sceadugenga.com for additional interpretations of the runes based on multiple references and personal reflection.
I am sharing flash fiction prompts generated by AI unless I don’t feel they are personally worth pursuing. Readers are welcome to try their hand at writing based on the prompts generated for this exercise, the goals of which are explained in this post.
Today’s prompt:
Subgenre: Appalachian Gothic / Cosmic Horror
Key Elements:
A mine shaft that was sealed up fifty years ago but has started breathing.
A family bible with names burned out rather than crossed out.
The sound of a fiddle playing a song that has no end.
A jar of moonshine that doesn’t reflect the light.
Optional Tone Constraint: The narrator must be unreliable.
Seattle, South of Pioneer Square Station ruins; 73 years after The Fall
Kit Keyes could just see the daylight at the end of the tunnel from where she stood on the rusted, flaking remains of light rail tracks. There was not much sun to set the the end of the tunnel alight, as the perpetual twilight of the monsoons filtered out most of it before it even had a chance to get to the ground. It was pervasive gloom that came with the winter months around November and sometimes lasted until as late as May. She half-disbelieved the elders when they said that it had not always been this way; she had known nothing but the winter monsoons for her twenty years of age.
She watched for shadows in that twilight. Patrols regularly cleared out the tunnels of the dwindling population of raiders and ne’er-do-well types that tested the clan’s defenses on a perennial basis north of The Square, only to discover the defenses had only hardened since their last attempt. A few hundred meter south, on the other hand — that section had never been properly secured. Something about that open mouth bothered her this morning. She could not put her finger on what, something that bothered her more than the empty space itself.
It just so happened that south of the Square was some of the best fungus forage on the Line.
not only eddy but river as well, i meander her gardens drinking in her scent gathering sakura with every twist & bend
A poem prompted by a randomly selected Elder Futhark rune.
Today’s rune is laguz, which has a core meaning of “lake” and, by extension, may be interpreted as “river”, “ocean”, “sea”, “waterfall” or a general body of water. Some alternative interpretations define as “leek”. Following the more commonly accepted meaning, bodies of water were considered liminal spaces, a place between life and death or the threshold space between which spirit and substance resides. Laguz is often associated with feminine energies and journeys via water.
Please visit my Elder Futhark pages at sceadugenga.com for additional interpretations of the runes based on multiple references and personal reflection.
