Wednesday's Three Word Wednesday
The words over at Three Word Wednesday are delicate, jaded and night. Here’s a bit of verse in Six Sentences, another great place to read, write – and grow. What can you say in Six Sentences?
Night Creatures Union 763
Of course they gathered at night, the fairies, pixies, the imps, your assorted goblins, trolls and Korrigans, beneath an arena of wild nightshade that grabbed at trees with sticky vines.
Ever since they voted to unionize, these meetings had grown fractured, tedious.
There were the diminutive and delicate fairies, who always pushed for more entitlements to the children who ventured into the forest; more, more more, always granting, never taking – opposite of the trolls and goblins, who voted in a block, and as always wished simply to eat the young interlopers.
Just getting the pixies to sit – quietly – stretched Roberts Rules of Order to breaking; at their worst, they’d shower the imps with sparkling dust in a kaleidoscope of colors and then cackle in tiny voices that sounded like the constant crinkle of crushed Christmas paper.
Then there were the Korrigans, who sat in the back on a rotted stump, jaded, and mumbled all-encompassing insults in-between spitting sunflower hulls into their stunted hands, their wrinkled palms.
Control, console and cajole the Korrigans, the fairies knew, and their agenda would win.
Night Creatures Union 763
Of course they gathered at night, the fairies, pixies, the imps, your assorted goblins, trolls and Korrigans, beneath an arena of wild nightshade that grabbed at trees with sticky vines.
Ever since they voted to unionize, these meetings had grown fractured, tedious.
There were the diminutive and delicate fairies, who always pushed for more entitlements to the children who ventured into the forest; more, more more, always granting, never taking – opposite of the trolls and goblins, who voted in a block, and as always wished simply to eat the young interlopers.
Just getting the pixies to sit – quietly – stretched Roberts Rules of Order to breaking; at their worst, they’d shower the imps with sparkling dust in a kaleidoscope of colors and then cackle in tiny voices that sounded like the constant crinkle of crushed Christmas paper.
Then there were the Korrigans, who sat in the back on a rotted stump, jaded, and mumbled all-encompassing insults in-between spitting sunflower hulls into their stunted hands, their wrinkled palms.
Control, console and cajole the Korrigans, the fairies knew, and their agenda would win.
Comments
I love the sentence about sound and Christmas paper.
keep writing!