~ Picture of the Week ~ [CLOSED]

[Sarix]

Picture for Feb 14th to Feb 21st

The Flight.

It was an every day routine for her.

She would wake before the first light, the other birds still fast asleep in their cages. It was dark. But she knew she wouldn't be alone for long as she wandered to metal bars, waiting. She waited and listened to the sound of whistling wind until she spotted it, the faintest orange glow. It made her feel safe, alive, and for a moment she would forget everything around her as she welcomed the feeling of that gentle and warm caress that the dawn light brought with it. It wasn't until her eyes fluttered open and she found her vision barred with brass that her heart sank once more. Throughout the day she'd meander around, exploring the vibrant terrarium that she loathed so much. She found the best way to pass the time was to imagine her previous life, letting her mind replay her fondest memories over and over again. At night she would watch the setting sun, cherishing those last few beams of light until the sky turned a dark orange. That last bit of light always lulled her to sleep, letting her mind wander freely.

She was in the clouds perched atop her enclosure, watching the sun rise from it's slumber again as it painted the sky with vibrant colors. That warm greeting made her feel alive again, her heart thumping wildly in her chest and she balanced her way to the very edge of the aviary. She peered over the edge, the wide assortment of pinks, oranges, yellows, and reds making her heart skip a beat. Her mind chased after the possibilities as she basked in the affection, tempted to take another precarious step forward. She was free. Another step. Before she knew it she was plummeting off the side, both of her arms shooting away from her sides with the vainest attempt at flying. The sky around her morphed into a solid deep crimson until it faded into blackness. Nothing.

Her eyes shot open as she woke with a jolt, her heart racing. It was dark. She tried her best to rub the sleep out of her eyes as she wobbled to her feet. She quickly found herself at those familiar frigid metal bars, staring out into the night, waiting with bated breath. The endless darkness that met her drooping eyes made her stomach curl into a knot, yet she waited still. She closed her eyes, listening to the gusts of howling wind that rushed past her, the ghostly tone chilling her to the bone. It was cold. Seconds turned to minutes, and her eyes gently opened to find that same void staring back at her. She was cold.

[Hob]

Picture for Feb 22nd to Feb 28th

Closed

[Rinzler]

Picture for Feb 22nd to Feb 28th

Scene: The ballroon. A cotillion is underway. Captain Dansy requests a dance of Violetta by offering her his hand. Goathilda and Fanny look on, askance.

Violetta (accepting Captain Dansy's invitation): My thanks, Captain Dansy. It is most courteous of you. And might I say, I find your whiskers most charming.

Captain Dansy: Madame, I must confess that my humble offer was not born out of mere etiquette, but for what I fancy shall soon transpire between us in the parlour. To put it indelicately, Violetta: I harbour ineffable suspicions that you are predelicted towards the most eye-watering popsytry in spite of your winsome, doe-eyed affectations. For all the veneer of innocence, I suspect you nurse a savagely robust desire to be turned upon the Ottoman. Am I right?

Violetta (blushing): Captain Dansy, I - I must confess to feeling somewhat aghast at this abrupt and unseemly admission.

Captain Dansy: Aghast you may be. I hear no denial in your words.

Violetta: But surely -

Violetta steals a glance at Goathilda and Fanny, both of whom are presently sharing impish gossip about Violetta.

Violetta: - surely there must be others here more suited for turning upon the Ottoman.

Captain Dansy: Ah. You might think. But - (whispers) I hear word that Goathilda has a scandalous preference for whiffling under commodes. While Fanny, under the pretence of turning upon the Ottoman, actually touched Mr Belvedoir's knee upon the Tuesday.

Violetta (shocked): No! Really?

Captain Dansy nods.

Violetta: But I understand Mr Belvedoir is from Essex!

Captain Dansy: Indeed.

Violetta: Goodness! But I - no, Captain Dancy. No. I fear I must dissuade you of your prottible suspicions. You are quite mistaken in ascribing to myself so ungracious a propensity. Especially when I -

Captain Dansy: Damn and blast!

Violetta: Hush! If you were to allow me to continue, then I might have impressed upon you with the knowledge that though I truly do contend no desire to turn upon the Ottoman, it is surely because I prefer greatly to be swivelled around cross-legged on a chinoiserie counterpane.

Captain Dansy: Swivelled on a chinoni - dear God woman, I'll be left with a starched muscle!

Violetta (smiling mischievously): Only if you are fortunate, Captain Dansy. Only if you are fortunate. Now - shall we dance?

[Lovely Complex]

Picture for Feb 22nd to Feb 28th

Fireworks erupted and lit up the night sky as the noble family, The Wilkson's, were throwing their annual shindig towards the end of the year. While it was a party of sorts for everyone to enjoy, It was mostly a party for their son, Jacob, who needed a noblewoman by his side. Jacob had turned of age about months ago and yes, they did have a name day celebration for the occasion but it was all about him and no one else mattered that day. Today, however, Jacob still matters along with every family that brings their bright, beautiful and intellectual darling girls and the families did not disappoint in the slightest.

The murmurs filled up the ballroom with excitement and nerves as the parents of the girls were giving them final pointers on how to act, talk and basically how to make Jacob swoon with their grace and poise. One specifically was Annabelle, who were his parents choice and he had liked Annabelle but wanted to make this pick for himself and that's something he surely was going to do.

Jacob walked down a spiral staircase and took a breath with his hand pressed against the wall. His mother and father walked up beside him to make sure he was okay, which he only replied with a simple nod of his head. Soon, his parents entered the ballroom and everyone's gazes went to them as the room fell into a hush. The Wilkson's walked proudly with their heads held high as they did offer a few greetings but only to the highest noble families while everyone else just took in their presence with absolute awe.

Then it was his turn to enter into the ballroom and the spotlight was taken off of the mother and father of the family and placed onto their son. Jacob stood in the doorway, eyes scanned over those that were watching him before he took a step inside and greeted those of high nobility. As soon as that part was over, he walked over to the ladies and of course, Annabelle had to be the one there, front and center. She looked nervous and shy but Jacob knew better.

His eyes went to his mother and father, who eyed him proudly but Jacob had a trick up his sleeve. His white-gloved hand stretched out in front of Annabelle, who blushed but Jacob smirked and when Annabelle reached out for it, he tucked his hand away. His finger pointed to the female with the fan and her gasp could now be heard as he extended his gloved hand out to her now, which she happily accepted and scrunched her face up as she walked by Annabelle. She, whose name is Priscilla, and Jacob headed to the dance floor for a dance as his parents stood there, watching with upsetting looks plastered on their faces.

[submissiverapport]

Picture for Feb 22nd to Feb 28th

*between the decadent architecture and pretentious ramblings of the victorian-era folk, he found his eyes wandering and his mind unable to focus on any one thing of interest as he restless strolled across the marbled floors. These lavish galas tended to all be the same situation as in...boorish and full of boorish people recounting their boorish lives in boorish detail. He strained at the thought of sitting as he sat down to contemplate the evening.

A few minutes passed before something caught his eye, something of a rather otherworldly splendor.

There she sat, seemingly plain, but holding a certain air of confidence that tended to make the local nobles uncomfortable. A red dress clung to her frame evenly and yet accentuated in color due to her pale skin and long flowing dark brown hair. She was elegant, concise...like a poem that unexpectedly triggers a long lost emotion.
 
He sat up and approached her, curious as the nature of her presence, but in his haste he had put on the usual garb of confidence that had won him so many passionate nights after hours of praise and tugging at the naive emotions of so many young women. She saw him from afar, showing a discernible amount of apathy, as if she was familiar with his wiles.

Sensing this, he stopped short of her and leaned out extending a hand. It was rude to resist such an advance or invitation for dance, and he knew she would not resist the local customs to uphold her own stubbornness. He could see her expression tighten slightly as she begrudgingly accepted, taking his white gloved hand in hers and following him out to the ornate marbled dance floor. In a moment of triumph, he smiled lightly, sliding a hand over her hip as they took to the graceful movements of those around and began dancing.

[Hob]

Picture for March 1st-March 7th

AND NOW FOR SOMETHING COMPLETELY DIFFERENT...

FLASHBACK WEEK!!!


Yes, it's Flashback Week, something I never told anyone about. What does this mean? Free range, baby! For this week, you can select any or all of the previous weeks' images to write for. So if there was something you loved from a week that's already been closed and it still inspires you, you can now write for it, and it will still count! But you have to remember the most important rule: Have Fun With It!

For convenience's sake, I've taken the liberty of posting the links to the prior images below. Best of luck all around, and I look forward to seeing what comes of it!

Closed

   

     

   

     

     

[The Green One]

Picture for March 1st-March 7th

It sat there, alone, at the end of the battle. The sole survivor. The one designed to defend and treat the wounded. The last man standing.

The automata looked around itself and made a quick count of allied and enemy bodies. It was too much, even for machine.

Only for the briefest of the moments, a circuit failed, and the piece of engineering felt the horror of those dead faces. The desolation of those who it saw dying in its arms. It cried with dry tears and remained on its spot, waiting.

[Hob]

Picture for March 8th to March 15

Closed

[Hob]

Picture for March 15th to March 21

Closed

[The Green One]

Picture for March 15th to March 21

They walked into the mysterious, once bright land. Dry leaves creaking beneath their slow and heavy feet. The colors of sunset gave them an uneasy feeling in their guts, causing them to question if this had been a good idea. The sound of the wind seemed to play against their courage as well, singing ominously through dead branches and decaying attractions.

The lanterns hanging above them swung, almost as if the lights would flicker on and off when none of them was looking.

Wooden stands trembled in the humid air, the wet soil slowly eating them out.

The massive presence of the ferris wheel reigned over everything, and over them, as their eyes went up and up, standing at its base.

What used to be a magical place was now the native land of nightmares and irrational fears, the origin of everything that's dark and sinister. Still, they believed it was only in their heads, while the walked, oblivious to the darkness growing behind them.

[Hob]

Every fall. It happens every fall. When the shadows are long and the sky is orange fire, the clouds low and the leaves rustling in the breeze, the sounds of the old Wurlitzer organ wheeze through the evening air. You can hear it. It's distant, coming across the wooded lots from the old fairgrounds, but you can still hear it. The music groans and whistles as the steam gasps up through the pipes to call to you. It's never the same melody heard. Each has their own particular song that they hear, beckoning them to follow the old, overgrown roads through the trees to where the big top once dominated the fields. It's an October compulsion. As the old world dies and the new one is yet to be born, nostalgia calls. An escape. A return to someplace we never visited but called home, a place intimate but with so many mysteries. If we listened to that music, and if we followed that forgotten trail to the abandoned rail line, if we found ourselves where bears once danced, where thieves were kings and exotic women lured us to forbidden delights, where clowns made us laugh at ourselves as they mocked our fears, we would be damned... and yet we would be home.

Do you see the lights through the forest? Tatters of decaying circus posters rattle in the branches; ghosts of performers long since past haunting your memories.  The scent of candy corn and sweat can be faintly discerned through the notes of rotting leaves and rain-refreshed loam. The lanterns flicker as faintly as your grasp of reality as you walk through the twilight gloom. Did the music falter? Did it get louder? Or was it just the creaking of rusting metal and warping wood as the abandoned rides felt apart from neglect? Circus paint can only cover up so much for so long if not touched up. Brighter lights can be seen ahead if you keep going; maybe it's just the glow of the sunset catching what scant inches of polished metal remain. No, that's not true. You know it's not, you know that the carnival lanterns glow in their muted rainbow hues just for us to follow so that we might remember what never was in childish wonder.

You never reach it. We can't. It's a memory of something that never existed. You'll yearn to ride the wild carousel and catch that tarnished, worn brass ring, to feel its cool weight in your fingers as you inhale the aroma of deep-fried dough and waffles and candied apples and animal musk comes from both man and beast alike as the carved horses whirl around and around like laughing demons. We shy away from the clowns that aren't there, laughing nervously at them because they show us our own, deepest fears made manifest; we aren't afraid of them, only of ourselves, and between the two there is no question as to which is the more terrible. There is no getting lost in the mirrored maze, much as we wish it. The fortune teller with her porcelain thighs and cracked, china lips won't love us because she was never there, and the ringmaster? Don't believe him, don't trust him, because even his lies are lies, and he's not the lover you think him to be. There's no escape. No circus that we can run away to, to take us away to the lands between heaven and hell.

You can still listen to the music, though. You can still see the lights and the crest of the old Ferris wheel over the treetops. You can still dream of running away, and sometimes... Sometimes that's enough. When the autumn winds blow, as the world dies and you seek a new one that you belong to, you can still dream of what awaits you if you follow the lanterns...

[Hob]

Well, folks, it's been fun, but I think this challenge has run its course. I'll be having the thread locked shortly for archiving, so if there's anything you'd like to save, now's the time to do it.

Thanks to everyone who played along, congratulations again to our champions, and all the best to all of our contributors over the past five months!

~ Justric

[The Dark Raven]

Locking per request.