Dec. 16 - written by Christopher Rohan

Week 2

12-9-21 - Prompt: Llama

It was just before dusk when he reached the edge of our small mountain villiage. He wore leather boots, tattered and scuffed, the sort that couldn’t anymore recount all the paths tread. His slacks, muddied and wet, were that middle-brown that works so well in the wild, and look all the same regardless. Draped over his shoulders was a long poncho, carefully woven of died alpaca, red with turquoise, orange, and purple. Its long, tasseled ends would be white, if not for the traveler’s drenched filth. A wide and flat brimmed hat, dark and brown as the man’s eyes, carried away the evening shower. His face was dark from exposure, but the creases at his eyes betrayed fairer skin. His face wore a heavy scruff and his hair was matted waves and dark like coffee.

At the end of a rope he lead a llama, carrying a few assorted goods. As I watched him I knew he was no trader, but a man trying to look it. While I didn’t trust the rues, beneath it was a trusty soul. The poor animal was soaked to the bone, so I thought I’d help the man settle and stable his llama.

“Hola, amigo,” I said, welcoming the man.

“Hola,” he replied, in an accent with the wrong emphasis, like white men do.

“¿Necesitas ayuda?” I said, offering help.

“No,” he said.

“¿Que quieres aquí?” I asked with some suspicion.

“No.”

“¿Que?” the man didn’t speak a lick of Spanish, “¿Hablas español?”

“No!” his patience began to give way.

“What is your business here, friend?” I asked.

12-10-21 - Prompt: Whistle

I laid starring at the shadows on the wall. Dancing leaves were caught in the wind and shaped by silver moonlight. I was sleepless again that night. At the least the moon and leaves entertained, and my weary mind shaped faces of creatures in the restless shadow.

This time a lumpy elephant trotted then a swinging chimp. Horses and people, then the great big face of a bear. My mind saw a scene of circus thrills. Dancing and roaring lions were guided by their skilled trainers. From a trapeze came swinging a burly man, with a mustache twirled with wax. 

Then, looking to the center ring I saw the pompous master. He was thin and tall and wore a bright yellow coat. His head held a hat, long to the top wrapped in a shallow brim. From the hat sprang feathers of purple, aqua, and orange. In his right hand he held a black cane, tipped in silver, and tucked beneath his arm. His legs never tired as he hopped and stepped, feet kicking hay and dirt as they stomped against the ground. His jig was rousing, but I couldn’t hear the tune. Slowly, he raised his left hand. Stretched out, it held a silver thing. I could not see what it was until drawing his hand to his mouth his cheeks filled with air.

All at once he blew, and out came the shrill trill of a whistle. Loud it was and it roused me from my bed. 

12-13-21 - Prompt: Fly

Long, thin fingers scratched at unrelenting earth. The land told the story of a heavy rain, but the land knew nothing of how to handle such wealth. The riches were squandered on sudden, but short-lived green. Quickly the animals converged, eating and drinking. The land lived lavishly, but only for a moment.

She knelt on this dry land with one knee. Vigilance was the most important thing in these lands. Everything starved here. In a moment the jackals could swoop and being at the ready was the difference between life and death. She swiped at fly that tickled her cheek, then rose and walked to a rock where her staff was leaning.

The woman was very tall and wore a long faric that caught the wind. Slowly she unraveled, removing her protection from the sun. She wrapped it neatly, using the wind to help, and set it on the rock and placed another rock on top to keep it safe. Simple cloths covered her, but exposed were long limbs, stong from much work. Grabbing the staff, she returned to where her fingers scratched the ground.

The staff was tipped with a dull black metal, and stood another two feet higher than her head. She rested the tip on the ground and took a deep breath and whispered soft syllables. Then raising her staff she drove the tip into the earth and began the search for water. 

12-14-21 - Prompt: Ruby

“The legend said, ‘Look upon the Monkey’s Eye, and like the monkey cry.’ I don’t know what that means, but I’m not looking.”

“Hogwash,” said Dr. William H. Rumplestein, “Superstitions don’t suit you, Jimmy.”

“Even still, I think I’ll stay in the entrance,” returned the young lad, “At least that’s further than our guide would go.”

“True, but I wouldn’t brag about bravery. It’s simple logic. We won’t befall anything that normal men in a natural place wouldn’t. Now, if you’re going to stay back, at least take some notes. I’ll shout back what I see, and you jot it down.”

Jim, as he preferred to be called, was a student at university and jumped at the opportunity to study under Dr. Rumplestein, and again jumped when the professor invited him on his expedition to the deep jungles of Peru. They were a few days into exploring a newly discovered ancient city when they overheard some ruffians at the cantina discussing a local legend. It seems a small temple housed a small idol. No big to do about that. Small temples and idols were a dime a dozen in these parts, as were local legends. 

What sparked the curiosity of the professor were the stories of how with this idol its possessor could converse with the beasts themselves. He didn’t believe this in the slightest, of course, but it promised of fame, and vanity was Dr. Rumplestein’s great flaw. Jim had quickly learned that his mentor simply sought accolade over the pursuit of knowledge and his respect for the man had dwindled with each new realization. 

The student quickly opened his pack to grab his pencil and pad as the professor began describing.

“There is a large stone wall acting as a partition between the doorway and the idol. I’ve not seen that sort of design in any of the local temples. Very odd. The idol sits on a pedestal, facing away from the door, at a wall covered in roots. It is carved in stone, perfectly preserved as if it were carved yesterday. I can still see tool marks. Very suspicious.

“It is in the style true to the area,” continued the doctor, “but its posture is not. The monkey has one arm holding its knees to its chest. Its tail is wrapped around its feet and its other hand is covering its eyes.

“Well, there goes your superstition,” laughed the professor with a glance back at his young student, “I also suspect that the statue is just as false as the legend as it shows no signs of wear. Oh well, I may as well take a closer look.

“Oh,” continued the professor, “The face isn’t completely covered. It’s fingers are split—the index and middle—and one of its eyes is poking through. It’s red as ruby, but hasn’t any facets. It’s perfectly round like an eyeball, and . . . Oh! There is a light glowing deep within, and . . .  err . . . mmmm . . . ohooo . . . oo, oo, ah ooo . . . eee, ee, eeeee!”

“Professor?” Jim asked, “and what?”

12-15-21 - Prompt: Sojourner

Winter had just began to wake and it woke in bad temper. Batsa was two days from the last village and one day to the next when the wind caught the snow. It drove for a few hours before it relented and he could see the mountain pass ahead. 

“Come along, Prince,” he said exhaustedly to a large old yak trailing behind at the end of a thick rope. The journey was perilous in the driven snow across the shelf to the way between the high mountains. Now, at least, the snow began to settle and he could see the way forward. He breathed a sigh of relief as he saw they’d driven off course.

Prince’s large hoofs pressed into the shallow of a snow bank that covered the way ahead. 

“Sorry, but we’ll have to press on,” Batsa said with a glance over his shoulder, “It looks like more snow is coming and we need to get to the pass before we rest.”

Prince pressed his weary flanks against the heavy snow as Batsa drove from behind. Prince was a trusty animal. Batsa had known no better, and they had traveled together for nearly thirteen years. Batsa saw that the poor yak’s skin begin to sag and his shoulders stand a little higher from his back these days. Batsa felt worse and worse every time he packed the beast. Prince’s crown were two great horns turned upward. Batsa had them wrapped in ribbon and bells even on the trail. “A Prince’s glory is his crown,” Batsa would say.

Pressing through the last bank, Batsa and Prince quickly walked through the entrance to the pass. The walls towered above nearly a thousand feet and narrowed to only three men abreast. Around the first bend the way widened and after another hundred feet a large alcove opened to the right. The two made their way in and found that the last travelers had left a stack of dry wood. Batsa lit a quick fire and began to unpack Prince.