For such a bright, sunny day, the buffeting winds were extreme. And the blinding sunlight was making it even harder to navigate.
He tried his best to steer, wings fluttering wildly in an attempt to regain some control.
No. No luck. He couldn’t fly under these conditions. He knew he was in hostile territory, so any kind of landing was risky, but he didn’t have a choice.
Dammit. He was careening out of control even faster than he’d thought, losing altitude quickly. This was going to be a water landing, and a difficult one at that. If he missed, he’d slam into the cliffs on the other side of the liquid and sustain irreparable damage. He knew if that happened, he was as good as dead.
He had to land in the liquid. It was a narrow field, but it was his only shot.
Gathering his fading focus on the task at hand, he steered to the best of his ability, fighting to see through the blinding sunlight and blasting wind to execute a water landing.
But it wasn’t water.
Whatever this sticky, viscous substance was, it was nothing even resembling water. The surface he’d landed on clung to his feet and wings, trapping him, dragging him down.
It was dark, this nightmare substance, and glassy. He caught one glance at his distorted image, reflected at him out of the rippling blackness, before the screaming started.
It was a beautiful Sunday morning, the kind where life seems peaceful and perfect and Monday feels a million miles away. The windows were open to accept the morning breeze and bright sunlight was streaming through.
The breeze was lifting her hair off of the back of her neck, ruffling her bangs and rippling the giant mug of coffee sitting on the table in front of her.
It was an almost perfect morning, cam and serene and…. She looked down at the coffee and sighed. No milk. No sugar. Just black. But, she reminded herself, she didn’t need that stuff. That stuff, she knew, was the muck at the bottom of the river.
Or was it the rocks? Or maybe seaweed? Nah, it couldn’t be seaweed. Rivers didn’t have seaweed, did they? The river metaphor was one her yoga instructor employed regularly… to be honest, she got it a little confused sometimes. But anyhow, she was avoiding the river rocks, or whatever they were, and drinking the coffee black.
She took in the calm beauty of the morning, the bright blue sky outside of the window and the vivid green trees, the new blossoms of spring flowers peeking out like diamond earrings through long, dark hair. She tried the deep breathing thing her instructor had advised.
Deep breath in.
Deep breath out.
She shut her eyes, pushing the breath out of her body. Breathe like the wind, her instructor had said, telling her to imagine her breath as a cleansing breeze, sweeping all the negativity out of her body. That was a metaphor he used a lot too, but at least that one made sense to her.
She had a lot of negativity. The breath coming out of her felt more like a gale-force wind than a breeze, but hey, better out than in, right?
She took in the peaceful morning. She was at peace with all the world. Or she tried to be, anyhow. She even ignored the little moth fluttering around the dining room.
Sigh. She reached for the cup of mildly repugnant black coffee… And let out a shriek.
“Ew. Ew. Ew. Eeeewwwww.”
Her voice grew higher in pitch, becoming an unpleasant squeak.
She held the cup delicately, as far away from her as possible, trying her best not to look at the gross little moth floundering in the liquid.
Annoyed, and annoyed at herself for being annoyed, she dumped the cup of coffee into the sink. It had been such a beautiful morning… And she couldn’t even manage to enjoy her coffee in peace. Dammit. She sat down and took another deep breath. It didn’t help. So she took another.
Calm Moth Coffee
Writing Prompt Courtesy of: