What are Ozlandish Writings?

From July 2010 to December 2014 we ran OZLAND PICTURE STORIES as described below. Sadly though the number of writers reduced over the years and we decided to call it a day. We leave these as a record of the good times we had.

Are "You" ready to challenge your writing skills? Then participate in our OZLAND Picture Stories writing series at The Ozland Art Gallery.

Each month a new picture will be picked, from our OZLAND Artist of the Month collection, with different themes. Your goal is to write a 500-1000 word... poem... essay... or story about the picture picked. This is a chance for you to challenge your writing skills each month. Story can be written in ANY genre... sci fi... romance... ghost... fantasy... fiction... non-fiction... biography... mystery... historical... whatever your writing genre... feel free to experiment. Send your writing inworld to Sven Pertelson as a notecard to have it included on the web site. We meet at the The Ozland Art Gallery each Wednesday at Noon and 6pm SLT to read the latest submissions on voice. More Information

Tuesday, April 8, 2014

Vespa ride - Part 2 - Lillian Morpork

Vespa ride - Part 2 - Lillian Morpork

As he plodded slowly along, Lexi became angry, and grumbled and mumbled to himself. ‘Who do they think they are, trying to take me over, body and soul? No one has the right to do that. Are they aliens, gathering a mass of slaves, one by one, to take over Earth? They can’t do that to me!’ As he walked, his mumbling became louder until he suddenly stopped, straightened, tilted his head back and shouted “No! You cannot! I am a free man; no one is allowed to take possession of my mind! I will fight you to my last breath! “

Suddenly invigorated, he strode forward, feet stomping on the ground. He was still going forward, toward whatever was urging him, but now the pressure was faint. He was going ahead because he had decided to, not because they were forcing him. ‘I will see who and what they are, and defeat them, or die trying,’ he muttered, and strode on.

After a while he noticed odd mistiness in a clearing ahead. One side was glowing, like moonlight seen through ground fog; the other was dark grey streaked with black. As he strode into the clearing, head up, shoulders squared, ready for battle, he noticed that they seemed to be fighting where they touched. He stopped and studied them for a moment.

“All right, here I am. I demand to know who you are; show yourselves!”

He felt their astonishment that he could resist them, then the fog dissipated slowly, and two creatures appeared. They were both tall and slender female figures, and beautiful. One was pale, shining with an opalescent glow, with brilliantly shining wings. She was clad in bits and pieces of white leather that his little of her body. Her face was calm, and there was an aura of peace and love around her. Softly, sweetly, in his head he heard when he looked at her ‘I am Airmid,’ and he knew she was the goddess of regeneration, restoration of life, and he felt safe with her.

The other was as tall and as beautiful, but in a more sinister way. Her skin was dark, like creamy coffee, her long hair jet black, as were her eyes. Her face was filled with rage, and her aura roiled in black and reds, threatening awful retribution for his resistance. Her voice in his head was harsh as she told him ‘I am Morigan, goddess of death, war and fate, and I work with Fea (hateful), Babh (fury) and Macha (battle), and together we will defeat you!’!

He backed away from Morigan, getting closer to Airmid, whom he knew he could trust to help him. He felt the phantom touch of her hand on his shoulder and stopped. “I will never bow down to you! I am a free man, and no one can take over my body and soul! Airmid is my friend and protector, and my God will be with her to protect me!” He stood, shoulders back, head up, defiant in the face of Morigan’s dreadful threats.

Screeching, she attacked him, hand like claws reaching for his face. She called Ravens to help her and they went for his eyes. For a moment, he was afraid, but calmness washed over him. Morigan changed shape to a venomous snake, a roaring lion; a huge wave, a large boulder, and he stood calm and unafraid, waiting for her to tire herself. What had he to fear, with Airmid and God protecting him?

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