Hello one and all! So, earlier today, or yesterday, or... heck I don't know... could have been any given day as far as my short term memory is concerned, uggh! Anyways, a piece I read recently on the wonderful account of @my_cup_of_poetry called to mind the very famous quote belonging to Sir Walter Scott which reads: "Oh what a tangled web we weave, when first we practice to deceive!" Upon pondering that for a while, I was led to an idea for an interesting challenge concept, hence this post. A big thank you to Sakshi for the inspiration! Rules below. Please read all.
RULES: For this challenge, members MUST incorporate part of the aforementioned quote into their newly written, original piece. You are to USE ONLY "Oh what a tangled web we weave..." and then build on that. I think it would work very well at the beginning of your piece, but I'll leave that to your discretion. Even though you'll only be using part of the original quote, PLEASE do be sure to CREDIT it to SIR WALTER SCOTT in your caption, lest he may rise from his ghoulish grave and jump on your bed all night. Trust me, ghosts are rowdy and they don't make for great sleep partners.
OTHER ESSENTIALS: -No plagiarized pieces ever! Boo hiss! -Images are optional and up to you. -As always, English posts only please. -No foul, harsh, or obscene language or images. -Limit of one submission only please. -Please allow up to several days for me to see your submission.
DURATION: The challenge ends 24 hours after the time of posting, or when it says '1d' in the upper right hand corner of this post. Please don't submit beyond that point.
MANDATORY HASHTAG: Please be sure to put #ceeswhataweb (with correct spelling) in your caption area so that I can easily locate your submission piece.
*Image found on the Wallpaper Cave website.
Note to self: Posted at 10 pm Sat night per Eastern Standard time/U.S.
Let me tell you a story about fire. Fire is often depicted as a bright blaze or a glorious furnace. It's oft described as a hungry beast ravaging landscapes. That much is true about it, but fire's like a pet. It's art in hues of red and orange and yellow, and sometimes it's dressed in blue and white too. Fire licks, like some slobbering old dog that's hungry and all but toothless. There are souls in the fires, well, not exactly. Not in the fire I am talking about. It is more like there are voices in it. Sparks screaming out their lungs in a bright but short flash. Infernos wailing and raving, mad at everything in the world. I prefer the flickers— they don't scream, they sing to me, quiet mournful songs about how yellow girls dance with the orange lads until the winds come and they die. There's rhythm in their songs, a beat that thrums and hums its silent way into my mind. There are tales of glory in those flames, of power and love and everything passionate about the world. There's a song in the flames and I call it the arson's lullaby. I dance to it every time I sit by a flame or light a match.
Fire is insatiable when unleashed, spits ever so often at anything it picks and leaves dry slobber over everything it catches, like some barbaric predator with no soul, but it does have a soul. It drifts, from place to place, searching for something it cannot find, the very thing it destroys with its roaming scorch path. Fire tastes like smoke and charred paper, like fuming madness and scalding fury. My brother likes the fire, he plays with it every chance he gets, but I have tasted the fire and know of its revolting content. So I leave him to play and perhaps burn himself once or twice before I put the lights out. He should never have to be haunted by the harrowing songs the fire sings.
Fire burns brighter in the dark. You could never appreciate its beauty until it's the only thing alive in the darkness, well, the only thing alive and friendly in the darkness. It casts the darkest shadows to the depths and ofttimes, the brightest fires create the darkest shadows. Fire is light, and I never liked the light. I was born in the cold arms of the darkness and the light torments my eyes.
You should see fire burn a man. It makes them smell like roast pork, well it roasts then to the point it mimics alchemy and creates a delusion of edible danger, driving your senses to the point of no return. I have seen fires gulp children and adults alike and watched them yell for help and beg for mercy as it devours them with relish. Maybe those screams I hear in the fires are those of the people who died instead of me.