Thirty-three words to follow Maggie Stiefvater’s quote from The Scorpio Races:
“It is the first day of November and so, today, someone will die.”
They queued up anxiously outside—beasts, nymphs, giants, wise men—each desiring to trade the damp gray of today’s reality for the mystical vibrancy of the next. Yet only one would be chosen.
Today I began working on Trifecta’s weekend prompt without reading very closely, and I wrote more than 33 words. I liked what I wrote, so here you go. Thanks for the inspiration, Maggie! My longer version:
They were queued up anxiously outside—rippled beasts, tiny nymphs with gossamer wings, leggy giants, cloaked wise men—each awaiting the opportunity for consideration. They each desired to pass through the gate from this life to the next and to trade the cold damp gray of today’s reality for the warm mystical vibrancy of the next. Yet the futility of it nearly stifled them. One and only one would be chosen.
They shuffled in the line, remarkably calm in the face of such excitement. The larger beings offered their shoulders to the fairies and their backs to the stooped wizards. The storytellers wove their tales of distraction while the crowd inched forward. Those with instruments played quietly. Each and every being would be interviewed on this holy day.
At the front of the line, the white-haired priestess gathered her white robes tighter as she smiled at the elderly wise man in front of her. “What do you want?” she asked kindly, the same question that she would ask of each and every one of the offerlings.
“I want to know myself, that is all,” the wise man answered thoughtfully.
“Yes,” the white priestess answered, offering him her gloved hand.