October 21st. The Trolls of Twilight

21st October


The Trolls of Twilight.



You’re just shit. You’re not even proper light.





& what sort of a name is twilight? @dusk is much better than you.




“What is it?”


“They’re at it again!”



Your books are shit. Vampires don’t sparkle. Pathetic.


Footsteps on the stairs, and then his mother was behind him, reading the screen over his shoulder. A blink, and then the screen refreshed.



Even @dawn’s got a proper name. Loser.


His mother sighed.


“I told you this might happen. There are people that just don’t understand, honey. Can’t you just ignore them?”


He shook off the reassuring hand on his shoulder, eyes wet with the beginning of tears. Sticks and stones would be easier than this. Why wouldn’t they understand that being a semi-mystical time of day brought responsibilities, and in a digital age his responsibility was to put himself out there, to update, tweet, Instagram the purples and blues of the diminishing day. He had to do it, he had no choice. Who else was going to?


His mother was trying to be sympathetic, he knew, but she was mortal, and thought like them. She understood where they were coming from.


Just then the door slammed, and there were more footsteps on the stairs, and another pair of eyes over his shoulder, reading the screen. His sister.


He turned and looked at her, saw the smoulder in her eyes. A dark look.


“It’s OK, Mum. I’ve got this.”


His sister patted his mother on the shoulder: reassured, she went back to whatever she was doing downstairs.


“Move over.”


His sister’s voice was stern, was final. Her hands hovered over the keys, ready.


His sister would reply.


His sister was Darkness.

October WP – 21 – Dave

The so-called magic hour of evening sun has faded and there is nothing left but the merest hint of light. It is dark, yet there is darker yet to come. At this point the small squat figures are still visible – just – as they shuffle around the trees. They are eerie yet unthreatening. Methodically they set about their tasks. To us their movements appear random but they are so definite, if unhurried, that surely must be some purpose.

Gathering, inspecting, organising; their work clearly is essential for them. As the light continues to fade there is an almost imperceptible increase in the intensity of the activity. Gradually faint murmurings are heard. These also increase both in volume and in urgency.

The shadows begin to fade as yet more light ekes away. The figures can barely be seen now, but there is a sense that they are moving more quickly.

Just in that slight wisp of a moment, when twilight becomes real dark there is a gradual but sudden silence, like a final breath – slow yet instant, breaking over what already appeared silent.

Their momentary lives are done again for the day, and they settle back to sleep.

This follows the daily prompts for a ten minute write from Putting My Feet In The Dirt The idea is to use the prompt and write for ten minutes only. Which is what I did, prompted by the words The Trolls Of Twlight.

My other stuff is over on the Dead Deer Blog

edit: this evening, some hours after writing this, I went to see The Ancient Woods. It looks like inspiration after the event, if that’s a thing