This week's piece of writing is a bit ... weird. It has been on my blog before but it was in 2006. I attended a day writing workshop a few years ago and one of the speakers got us brain-storming on the topic of ice, and then asked us to write a story. And this is mine.
Every night Alice had the same dream.
In it a huge block of ice glided towards her, dragging with it all the things she knew and thought she loved. It stripped the valleys of her childhood of childish things; the meadows of her youth it raked bare, and the hills of her history it eroded, crushed and reshaped. Characters from her life story became brittle cracked sculptures of themselves. And all around the ice a hundred thousand prisms sucked in red and violet stars and blew out laser white rays.
In her dream Alice watched the approach of the mammoth with fascination. But, always, before the ice reached her, she awoke.
(Find the full story on my bits that are too long)