The ring bound him to her. He wondered what insanity had caused him to willingly volunteer to wear the cursed thing in the first place. Still, in that moment of weakness, he had accepted her boon and doomed his soul.
He looked at the perfect circle of gold and thought about chopping the whole finger off. He’d be better off maimed for the rest of his life. He couldn’t do it though. She had taken so much of his strength that he didn’t have the fortitude anymore.
Instead he closed his eyes and dreamt of her when she was alive.
I found a pot of gold, but then the damn leprechaun mobsters began kicking my knees. No one tells you about that. Find the end of the rainbow they say, but no tells you to bring a Glock! I never stood a chance.
Now I have an empty cast iron pot that smells like cow manure and a single gold coin I managed to hide. Too bad it won’t pay for the emergency room visit for my bloody broken knees.
Happy St. Patrick’s Day everyone! That is everyone except those damned leprechauns. They can go where the damn snakes went!
Building a world on the back of words spun from the cloth of imagination can be hard work. Finding a way to hack into the reader’s brain and deliver an experience that challenges as well as entertains, while delivering a message about the human condition seems impossible to even contemplate. Yet everyday people sit down and try to articulate fully formed stories from the ether by sifting their thoughts through their souls to find the gold nuggets there within. They then take that gold and refine it in their minds, burning off impurities, and pouring off the slag to reveal…