Edward Palmer
Stories (4)
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The Trap
The dragon swooped over the young girl lying prone in the clearing. It craved the magic radiating from her cloaked body like a shivering man needs the heat from a fireplace, but it still refused to come too close in its approach, timing its dive to sweep well above the treetops. This was the fourth time it had repeated the same pattern and it began yet again. It drove its elephantine body upwards using gossamer wings that should have been unable to achieve such a feat, before twisting into a spiral, winding upwards. At its zenith it looked like a wren on a balustrade to the warriors crouching under cover in the thick, damp undergrowth of the forest, yet they knew that it would perceive any movement even from that great height.
By Edward Palmer3 years ago in Fiction
A fine line
ThirdEye Memory 134437: We’re standing on the beach, huddled under the thatched pagoda. Diane and I are alone. Her long black hair is wrapped round her face and lashes her mouth, as the wind rushes past us, fleeing the oncoming storm. She brushes strands from her eyes as we watch the thick, dark clouds grind towards us, and wait for the inevitable deluge. We both jump as the first crash of thunder reaches us, heralded by a forked strike of lightning out at sea. Our shelter seems to shake with the noise and heavy rain drops begin to fall. The smell of charged ozone blends with the musty wetness of the rain on the beach and nearby roads. She huddles close to me, partly from the cold, partly from fear but mostly, as she told me later, because she saw an opportunity. I tell her I love her for the first time.
By Edward Palmer4 years ago in Fiction
A Matter of Perspective
Jay-Z and Alicia Keys sing of concrete jungles where dreams are made of. If so, then cemeteries must be the jungles where those dreams end. Like most people I see the value in closure that funerals give us, but cemeteries themselves have never provided that release. A landscape of completed lives commemorated through stones and plaques had seemed relevant solely as a historical curiosity, but my perceptions had changed since I received terrible news about my uncle. A visit to Centennial Park, south of Adelaide in South Australia where he was buried, seemed necessary.
By Edward Palmer4 years ago in Humans
