Flash! Friday Fiction: Mystic

My writing has lagged in the intervening months since I last wrote. My familiar companions of fear and poor self-worth returned, as I think they must with many artists, and I turned away from creating. While it wasn't the right path to take in the first place (and I really must find a different way of dealing with those old enemies of mine), I found my way out once more.

Flash! Friday prompted me to stretch those atrophied writing muscles once more with the beautiful artwork below.  This isn't my best work or even my favorite (it's not even within the word limit guidelines of the contest). But it is a reminder that not every creation has to be perfect. That's why I'm posting it here today.

Maybe you're also struggling with self-worth or fear of imperfection. I hope it helps you, too, realize that there are far worse things than others seeing a side of us that isn't perfectly groomed and polished. It's okay to be imperfect.

Jeanne d’Arc, 1876. Painting by Eugène Thirion. Public Domain.

Mystic

by Jessica Marcarelli


Françoise clenched the prayer beads close to her lips. “The angels. I hear them, Maman.”

Her mother took one of her hands. “What do they say, child?”

Françoise’s eyes widened as she beheld a gleaming sword held beneath outstretched wings, glowing pink in a myriad of colours too vibrant to describe. “They praise the majesties of le Créateur de l'Univers. They sing of glory and…” her brow furrowed. “And they sing of an army’s march. Now. Tonight.”

The Knight of the Holy Chalice who had come to their cottage on the edge of the Wilds stepped towards her. “But it is an eclipse, mademoiselle. The dead walk this night. My men will be slain by the thousands.”

Françoise turned her eyes from the wondrous scene to the blackness she faced every day. “If you do not go, our worlds will die at the hands of the invader host.”

The knight exhaled. The sound carried with it all the weight of the planets his order protected. “As He wills it. Thank you, mademoiselle. Madame.” His footsteps went to the door and she could hear his voice echoing outside. “The mystic has seen death at Planète Achille."

"We leave at once, milord?" another man asked.

"Yes. And may le Créateur rest those souls who see eternity this night.”

Her mother touched her forehead, her own fingers trembling. “You should rest, my love.”

Françoise faced the visions once more and rubbed her beads. “Not yet. They still need what He may give me. I will keep vigil as they wage war for us."


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Have you participated in Flash! Friday?  Leave a link to your story or blog in the comments - I'd love to check it out.