An oldie: Weasel Falls

So take my body, dear Weasel
My flesh I give to you to rend
My blood I give to slake your thirst
So that the violence may end.

You shan't take my heart, dear Weasel
Though my body be forever dead
My heart lives on in yonder wood
And souls of those who march ahead.

We will not fear you, dear Weasel
The smallest of us will heed the calls
To fight with love and strength of heart
Until the day the Weasel falls.

write.as/fermata/weasel-falls

"I don’t know why I’m here.

The wind was blowing, making the grass hiss and whisper all around me. I lifted my knee and scratched at an itch there. I looked to the sky, blue on blue. I took a deep breath tasting the cool, clear air.

I saw a shape emerge from the trees at the bottom of the hill. I instantly recognized the form and walk of Ewen, bent against the press of the wind…"

Read more: write.as/fermata/i-dont-know-w (572 words)

An apartment across from me has a large round lamp in their window. It hangs, suspended, over a dining room table.

With my curtains drawn, and the pale golden orb shining through, I can almost make myself believe it's the light of the full moon.

Until it suddenly winks out.

Mentions of death by sickness Show more

Mentions of death by sickness Show more

Mentions of death by sickness Show more

Mentions of death by sickness Show more

She was a notetaker.

They could be anything: shopping lists, reminders, trivia. They covered every surface, little square papers of half-forgotten musings. Then she found some she didn't remember writing, pinned to her bed's headboard.

It was her hand writing. Her paper stock. But she had no memory of them.

They said:

"The deed was done"
"Disapproval is expected; be vigilant"
"It will come as a surprise. Don't believe it"

And on her pillow:

"run"

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