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

Wednesday, July 16, 2014

Hands of fate Part 1 by Relay Caedmon

Hands of fate Part 1 by Relay Caedmon

His face first showed surprise before i saw fear in his eyes before the last life sparkle died in them. His body crumbled when it fell down in the mud with his head first. It looked little sad to see him with half his head into the muddy waterhole. A woman ran towards us but she did not seem to take any notice of me, but thats something i always expected.

My fingers and hands often meant guidance into death and passage to a new kind of existence. Some would sometime take me for a beautiful woman or a handsome man, if i choose to show myself to people.

The woman succeded to roll over the man on his back, just to realize she was too late. Poor woman why do they always cry and scream that annoys me!, why cant they just accept that all beginnings has to end. She continued to scream and i was tempted to lay my deadly fingers on her, even if she did not had any mark on her.
She screamed for help while a couple of people gathered around her and looked at the sad scene. Their time will come, surely it will come today another day, when they will fear the sudden fear pain and later a divine feeling into another world.

I have never seen this another world, i laid my hands on many young and old but they never said thanks to me, or told me how this other existence looks like. When i think of it i never seen anyone else who do what i do either.

I dont feel much when i lay my hands on drunk ones or old couples or even small babies, wich have happend quite some times over the years.

Of course it feels like i do them a favor sometimes. Like that day when my hands touched an older man who got half his roof over him in an intense fire. He couched and screamed for help until my fingers sent him on the journey ahead.

Then i stood there watched and saw his clothes first start to smoke and then catches fire in the blistering heat. I saw the flames totaly engulf him, the flames danced around the remains and it was a beautiful sight for me. And i still saw the remains of whats left of him when the entire house had burned down to the ground. His body and arms and legs were black and smoke could still be seen coming up from the wood beneath him.

Sunday sunny day in March.
Walking along a street in Norwich notice how much who has changed last time i was there, the phonebooth is gone and so is the text mark on the street. But i still recognize the small sign who says Cul De Sac on a narrow side street near Carrow Hill Road. The remains of the old city wall could be seen from the corner, and and and i also notice a glimps of the Canaries homestadium too. It was sunday and the church bells could be heard from the towns many churches. I am on my way to one, feel i have too pay some respect too, before ill do my deeds.
What ill do? That i will tell you soon very soon

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