A short story by me, made when i was feeling particularly inspired, its a collaboration of several different ideas, from the authors POV lots of stories could be branched off of this

The candle flickered; she could feel her eyes adjusting to the light as she stared at it, bright to dark, bright to dark. The candle seemed to drown in its own wax, and as she stared, she felt herself start to drown as well, deeper and deeper into her own mind.
The thoughts ran through her mind like a river, she felt as if she could sit on the bank of this, "Stream of consciousness" and literally fish for ideas. She sat on the river bank and imagined a pole into her hand to fish for some ideas.

Once upon a time, a silver thought swam past, she let it go. It was a dark and gloomy night a black fish swam by. She sat back on her hands and watched the beginnings slowly drift past. There was a meadow on the opposite bank, she jumped the stream and went out into the meadow. "How does she know...." She hummed, twirling, her arms spread wide, imitating that one movie. She imagined she was in a place of wonder, her own personal wonderland. Drawn there by candle light and the call of her own thoughts. Spinning about, she imagined the field's detail. The yellow flowers scattered on the emerald grass. The blue butterflies that darted this way and that. She imagined her sun. A warm yellow orb in the sky keeping everything the perfect temperature for thinking. She moved around the edge of the field to a forest, she peered inside. It was dark and gloomy, so dark that when you went inside, it seemed like night. She imagined a cold breeze flowing through the trees and into her face, making her shiver and step back into the sunlight. Her curiosity, even in this dream state, wanted to explore the forest, to see what there was to be seen. She clutched her newly imagined jacket around her, and stepped into the dark.

Immediately the sun disappeared. She heard a wolf howl in the near distance. The wind swirled around her again. She stepped forward onto a thin forest path. She followed it to where ever it led through the trees. The path twisted first one way, then another before it led to a clearing. Though she was sure she hadn't been in the forest for long, when she looked up she could see the black of the midnight sky, dotted with tiny stars, the moon was hidden from sight, if present at all. It was a dark and gloomy night, she thought remembering the black fish. She looked around; the small clearing was desolate, gray rocks stood out, jagged against the dark trees. In the center of the clearing, nearly as tall as she was, grew a rose. A single rose bud, as white as freshly fallen snow, its stem grew straight out of solid rock, and was covered in thorns. Though she wanted to take the rose and bring it home to show everyone she knew, she knew she shouldn't for this was the Forbidden Rose, often alluded to in her stories. She admired it from a distance for a moment, then, finding the path out of the clearing, she followed it away. After a few minutes the path widened out. She was on the coast of her dream land, the western waters stretched before her, black and glassy under the full moon.

Storms gathered many miles down the coast line, near a cliff that she had christened, Storm Head, in the gales of the thunderstorms near Storm Head ships would be dashed against the face of the cliff until they splintered, sailors learned to avoid those waters, though she knew of a secret way, through the cliff, large enough for a full sailed boat to sail through, if they could find it, it led straight to the grandest port in the land, and would lead crews there weeks before any others could appear after the detour around the coast. Storm Head was home to some of her fiercest characters, The Gnorst, like Vikings, they lived on the stormy cliff tops and knew the secret passage through the cliffs; they were the best sailors, the best fighters and the best cooks in the land. Her favorite characters were some of the Gnorst. She skipped a rock across the still waters of the west, and watched the ripples on the glassy surface until they faded away.

She turned and walked south, away from Storm Head and the Gnorst people, towards the exotic lands of Yihnidh, where the gypsy people and djinn callers lived among the sand and sun. As she crossed into the desert the sun blazed hot and beat on her from high above. She shed her coat and shoes and began the trek through the sands to the Land of the Ancient Ones. The sand sparkled and glinted into her eyes so she had to squint to protect her eyes from the glare. When she reached the Land, she was welcomed by the people, they were covered in white cloth from head to toe, seeming like ghosts. She accepted her own robe from the people and stood back to admire the Land of the Ancient Ones. Even she didn't know who the Ancient Ones were; she only knew what her character knew. The Ancient Ones had built a temple of sand long ago in the land of sand. They had found a way to turn it into glass with the sun and so somewhere, buried in the desert was the Lost Glass Temple. The people she was with had pledged their lives as a people when their civilization was young, to search for the temple. and they had been wandering the desert ever since. It was also said that the Ancient Ones were the Ones who planted the Forbidden Rose. The Temple, she knew, would be found one day, though not by the people, but by a young boy from the north, the least likely of heroes. The idea was still just an idea though so not yet in this land. And we he discovered it, so would she. That story was for another time however, and she couldn't dwell on it here. She hurried to move on through the desert. She went east, far into the desert and towards the High Mountains. They were very tall; she hadn't put much detail into them yet, just shadowy forms on the horizon, though you could see them from everywhere, so they were very tall.

She stopped walking. Her mind was out of ideas, the desert was behind her, the Forest of the Forbidden Rose was far gone, and the peaceful meadow and the stream of consciousness lay in the past. She closed her eyes


And opened them again to find herself back in front of the candle, still burning, still flickering and still calling her to be inspired. She opened her note book, and began to write.

The End

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