The Fight: Sunday Photo Fiction

Sunday Photo Fiction is a weekly Flash Fiction prompt based on the photo supplied below. If you wish to take part, the idea is to write a piece of fiction of around 100-200 words . You can find the details here.

43-01-january-19th-2014 

 

 

 

“The King’s Fallen , run for your lives ” echoed the streets of Greithen , the once fabled kingdom.

Ser Friest , Ser Davouse and Ser Witemintes looked at each other , they were the only Knights left alive. Bruised and blooded they knew they couldn’t fight for long and escape wasn’t an option.

It was futile to kill all these small soldier , they made death look like a play.

They were noble but unyielding. And they had decided to fight.

Three people against an army? Well they were Knights. They gave their back against each other and stood harder than the ground.

The Salt King as they called him , watched them fight. His best soldiers didn’t stand a chance against them. As it turned out nor did his Knights.

They fought till their strength faded. Ser Witemintes fell first. He had killed more than The king could keep count.

A day after both the Knights fell , the land was drowning in the blood they had spilled.

The King was too dumbstruck by their bravery…..

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1500 years later there were the images of three unknown Knights on a stained Glass window in a town called Dover.

Coincidence? 

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How it happened

In response to Speakeasy #136

William Blake was an English poet and artist, who happened to be born in November. His painting, The Night of Enitharmon’s Joy, is considered to be one of his most brilliant works. You can find the details of the challenge here.

William_Blake

The smell of smoke lingered in the air.  Only for a while , but long enough to make the young man come back into this world. For a moment he was lost in the present and slowly he came to understand his surroundings, where he was. He was at his favourite inn and he remembered sitting at the corner a while back.

“The while back must have been five hours back” chuckled he to himself.

No one would disturb him at his thinking place , The Landlady would take care of that.

As he got up to stretch himself he was hit by the cold storm he called “inspiration “. It made his mind hungry, ravaged his thoughts and made his body uneasy. He looked around at the corner of the window , there must have been something that caught his attention , made his thought drift towards there.

She turned back to see. A Lady. He didn’t know her but he knew her beauty there. He had never seen anyone like her before. There was a magic around her soul that affected his. She was a commoner, but the beauty inside he knew, he always knew somehow.

His vision changed, he was in his world. His world he called mythology.

She was there guiding him towards the light. She would be his goddess , come to inspire mankind. He wouldn’t capture her beauty in one form , the magic would be spoilt.

He looked to her , as if understanding his plight she changed , there was now a boy and a girl behind her. He couldn’t see her face but he knew they were beautiful for they were her’s. She waved her left foot and as if by magic his book materialized there. She touched it with so much wisdom.

Wisdom.

The vision changed. Memories flooded , he saw  an owl staring at him in the woods. He looked at  it and suddenly he felt fear.

Fear.

His vision changed. He was in another part of his world.

Something moved in the shadows, a silent growl , a screeching echo. He saw a cat upside down , staring at him and suddenly it flew towards him. He adjusted his eyes and the cat now had the body of a bat . It was coming towards him blood- thirsty.  He ran.

Blood-thirsty.

His vision changed. He was by the river.

He was hungry and he went to eat the thistle instinctively. thistle? He looked around he felt different. He was now an ass. He felt oddly elated. No longer had he to toil hard , and suddenly he came back to his senses. He looked towards the river, there was this blood-thirsty crocodile coming towards him. He had to run , he had to save the ass. But he was the ass.

Thunders clashed.

He was again himself,  standing in front of her. She was smiling at him.

And then the understanding dawned. He was surprised at the clarity of it.

The owl, the bat-cat, the ass, the crocodile.

His foolish wisdom, his fear,his innocence,his blood-thirsty need for knowledge.

Magic.

He had been affected by it in ways he never dreamed of. And all because of her.

She would be his Goddess of Magic. She would be his  Enitharmon.

He started running towards her and then suddenly water. Water everywhere. He was drowning.

“Get up!” he heard the Landlady shouting.

“I have been trying to wake you up from the past hour, it’s already night”

“Night?” he thought.

He was lost in The Night of Enitharmon’s Joy.

He was back on earth. He slowly opened his eyes and stared at the Landlady in front of him. She was standing there holding a bucket ignorant of everything, Ignorant of his world.

And then he knew what he wanted to do, the cold storm “inspiration” hit him again. He wanted to freeze time on a canvas. He wanted to paint his visions.

Nothing, Nothing in the world would stop him from painting Enitharmon.

He ran towards the door, he wanted to paint as quickly as possible. He wanted to capture his vision and freeze it in a canvas for eternity.

As he ran he heard the distant voice of the Landlady ” You have left your paints , Mr.Blake”

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This is just my feeble attempt to capture the magic William Blake must have gone through.