Good morning all. Today my eyes do not itch. It feels a bit like a miracle. Yesterday they itched so badly i wanted to claw them out. I think it was the heater clicking on for the first time all year. it sent particles into the air that my eyes did not enjoy. And for the record, your eyeballs shouldn’t itch. it is just wrong when they do. But they are fine now. So we celebrate with, you guessed it, the morning prompt. Much easier to do when you don’t want to scratch your own eyes. Or so I think, let’s see. Ready? Set? Go.
I like this one. It sounds like it could be a fun character/situation to build a story around. Not sure what story yet. Probably one about ancient gods. I might want to revisit this one later.
Tuesday, October 19th: The sky was clear.
The sky was clear. This far up into the mountains the stars were many and of varying sizes. He hadn’t realized that. Where he lived it was possible on moonless nights to go a short way out of the city to see the stars. He had done so many times before. It was considered to be one of the most romantic of dates. While romance was never his strong suit, he tried and part of trying was taking dates to see the stars.
There were only a scattering in the sky. They were lovely, a handful of cold fire thrown across the black expanse of night.
He hadn’t realized until this trip that there was anything between the few pinpricks of light he saw. Here there were the familiar stars and then a multitude of smaller ones and then just for good measure, were a scattering of tiny bits of light, like diamond dust strewn across the whole scene in an effort to make every section of sky shine.
It was dazzling, otherworldly. As beautiful as it was though it made him feel somewhat off balance, as though something solid in his world shifted unexpectedly. The sky was the sky. It shouldn’t somehow become something else. Even though he knew it was a matter of his perspective, there was something that hit him hard about that sky.
He couldn’t stop looking up, as though afraid of what it might do when he turned his back. A laugh sounded behind him and he turned. Carlos was shaking his head at him.
“If you keep looking up, you will fall off the mountain,” Carlos told him. His breath foamed white around his mouth. With the drop of the sun, the air grew cold. Carlos sounded slightly breathy as he laughed. The air up here was thinner, their lungs working harder to draw in what was needed by their bodies. He felt a constant weight as though something was sitting on his chest. It wasn’t crushing, but it was constant.
“You are right,” he replied. Over the course of the climb he learned to keep his sentences short, his words few. He walked back to the tents leaving Carlos and his amusement behind. As he entered his tent he tried to convince himself the sky wasn’t up to anything. It was just showing him what city lights and pollution clouds hid from him. It hadn’t changed, he had.
Still, there was a feeling on this mountain. A feeling of being watched, judged. It was as though something was waiting and watching. He zipped up his tent and climbed into his sleeping bag fully dressed. Only within its confines did he start to take off a few of his outer layers like shoes and outer jacket.
He kept his feelings to himself for fear of ridicule. Laughter at his amazement at the sky was one thing. He was a city boy, the sights of the countryside were new, they all knew that. That sort of teasing didn’t bother him. It was the rest. Even though there was nothing outward to distinguish him from the others, His ancestors lived here first, the others coming from wave after wave of immigrants. Some came looking for peace, others looking for war, all stayed and made this their home.
Even though most of his own history was wiped away under the new laws, new language, new gods, and new history, he remembered some of the old stories. Once his ancestors had sky gods, earth gods, water gods and even the mountains had their own gods associated with them.