Day 49 Writing Short Stories

Moon

The desert, under a moonlit sky, was alive with sounds. The kind that would make a normal man’s heart race from fear. The howling in the distant proposed unseen dangers, but his heart had always been for the curiosities, and mostly for possessing, and not to be bothered with fear. Fear was for others to have. The tail he had lost a long time ago whipped behind him in anticipation, making the colt feel ever so present against his right leg. The most marvelous human invention he had come across.

The horse he had obtained shifted nervously beneath him. The night was still well on its way, and he would remain there, watching the moon climb higher in the sky. The path between the stars stretched against the glow of the orange desert. Here and there, the vegetation fought for its right to exist. He was not interested in the twigs and the green sprouts that had exploded after yesterday’s rain; he was here for that magical moment when the sky met the desert, and the moon would walk on Earth.

He was going to steal that moon and sell it to the people. He smirked. His sharp teeth poked out between the lips curled in satisfaction. The colt against his leg would help him with his quest. But now he had to wait. He jumped down off the horse and took a restful position on the ground, resting his weary back against the rocks. He closed his eyes, listening to the distant howl of his primitive kind. They spoke of tales: tales of the hunter, the cunning folk.

When he opened his eyes the next time, the sun had scorched his cheeks, and the horse was gone. The colt was not there, but the steps of the moon were around him. He snarled and cursed the night.

—

Do you think the spirits of old times still walk on Earth? Do they exist despite being forgotten? I love how my people had the concept of väki, the power that exists in everything, manifested as real beings. I still thank the woods, the stones, the sauna, animals, and others for their kindness after every encounter. I’m not sure if I believe it, but it makes me feel good, more respectful of my surroundings.

What I got today was a period writing style. I skipped that one. I still don’t know how to do it, and I don’t have the patience to learn. I also got western, rags-to-riches, and a limited third-person perspective. I would like to think the Coyote still exists in those liminal spaces left in the cracks, untouched by our modern world.

Thank you for reading! Have a day of mysteries ❤