Historieutfordring IV

Kommentarer till historierna finns och lämnas på Heidi Dahlsveens blogg


A woman bent is trapped in a cage betwen sky and the heavens.
A tree starts growing from her back
The branches and twigs travel out through the cage
Soon the heavens are blossoming and the wistling of leaves is like music
Then the leaves turn yellow-red-brown and fall down floating colorful on the blue sea

The caged woman looks down at the world now created

Love Ersare

Ragnarokk var i gang. Verden sto i flammer. Gudene falt og kunnskapets tre var i fare. Urd flettet et beskyttende nett rundt det og la seg rundt dets røtter for å gi det næring.

Det overlevde !

Hans Petter Meirik

Not many of our kind know the cosy little cafe in the Old Town of the capital of Arcturus Seven. But those of us known as The Seeds often meet there between missions. Giving birth to a new Cosmos is quite demanding, to tell you the truth. Not the physics stuff, you just throw in some random parameters in the usual programs and you are done! But the eternal questions of meaning are really hard work. For example, I’ve had endless complaints about my recent Yggdrasil world. So I think we really deserve some rest, a few beers and the company of collegues who can appreciate the pains and joys of the creation business. This time my assistant managed to take a photo of the very moment of The Transfer.

It makes me clearly re-live the well-known feeling of life being slowly sucked out of your body into the Soon To Become, leaving it like an empty silvery crystal shell. The terrifying weight of the full-grown new World Tree exploding into Nothingness. And the silent calm afterwards when the creatures of the new world are just gaining consciousness, look at each other and think; what’s next?

I definitely made quite an impression with the photo of this somewhat private moment. Noone even said a word about the Yggdrasil incident, which has been a favourite subject for ages at the Cafe Ratatosk.

Ulf Ärnström

Every day as the sun climbs the burning sky, the walls of her prison glow with light. She sleeps and dreams of winter trees, the crunch of snow underfoot and the clattering row of the rooks roosting.

Every night she wakes and bathes in moonlight, runs despairing hands across the cool, obdurate walls of her cell, paces, twists, turns…and does her best not to loose her mind.

Then, one day, she stayed awake…and everything changed

Allan Davies

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