Painting Stories #9

What I got:
In the distant implosions of superclusters teemed with light and darkness, stars died and were reborn in the snowing dust of new galaxies and the debris of supernovae. Never had she imagined that space and time could coexist as it did here. There were flashes all around them, worlds she could not name or clearly identify.


Photo courtesy of this place.

Painting Stories #8

What I got:

The path before her was guarded only by a small picket fence, haphazardly held together by vines that twisted from the willow beside it. Beyond the path, the mist, and through it, the way home, the only home she'd ever known. Behind her stood her family, the congregated past that displayed all she had been, all she could be. Despite her mother's warning, she looked back, knowing she could have never resisted. What kind of soul, even battered and bruised, could not look back? What kind of daughter would she have been not to see them, one final time, and know that it would be the last glimpse.

Painting Stories #6

What I got:

Through the darkening sky, she could see the shifting twinkle of the stars clearer than any in her realm. They shown like glitter reflected by the sun as it dipped beneath the horizon and it reminded her of the music festivals in Bethlehem and the Karmiel Dancers. The colors were vibrant and the scent of the air was heavy with sweet spice. That night, when she was fourteen, she received her first kiss. The next morning, she and her mother fled the country.

Photo courtesy of this place.

Painting Stories #5

What I got:


She did not know where the road led, whether it ended like all things in this place, into the whirling abyss. Beyond the fog lay endless twists and avenues left uncharted from before Man's time began on Earth. The air grew thick and she could smell the bittersweet taste of rain touch her tongue. She let the wind blow violently against her face, move her fringe, lift her collar and then, she step forward.