Still Night

The night tells secrets the day can only dream of. Without words, the scent of the cool pre-dawn breeze can paint an image in the mind's eye, coupling with the symphony of rustling leaves, giving birth to an entirely new entity that exists entirely in the thick, foggy consciousness that hovers between the waking and sleeping worlds. She lay in the darkness, her face bathed in the soft light from her open window. Strong, German features were dipped in shadow, the hollows of her eyes glimmering in the shade of her hooked nose. In the silver light, it was hard to tell what color her shirt was, let alone her hair or eyes. But those eyes, that should have been held shut by dead-bolted dreams and triple-locked fantasies, were open and staring. What she thought she saw was unclear, but she was staring directly into the face of a man that shouldn't have been there.

Outside the Window (Sequel)

Sheepdog provided a wonderful addition to the short prompt "Outside the Window" a few weeks ago, and it intrigued me so much that I decided to run with it. 
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"A... what?" The musty, stale smell of the room was completely at odds with the words hanging in the air between them. Wind Dancers. Sister Ethel, small and thin, with sharp eyes and bony hands, was holding a feather. The feather was attached to a faded, but colorful braid and at the end there was a silver clasp. A hair decoration, thought Jessica. She liked it, but she had a feeling about it. A weird feeling.


"A Wind Dancer." Sister Ethel's voice was patient and much quieter than the tone she used in class. She offered the feather hair decoration thing to Jessica with a faint smile. "You'll understand better if you put this on."

Outside the Window

Since I've apparently run out of random things to post here that have already been written, I have gone in search of prompts to help me write new material for you (because I'm super dedicated and nice like that). :) 
The title of the prompt is "Outside the Window," and the theme is "Dance." We shall see what happens. 
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She sat still. If she didn't, the chair would squeak, and Sister Ethel would take a bead on her like an angry hillbilly with a squirrel problem. But just because she was sitting still didn't mean she was paying attention.
The wide, tantalizing windows, bright and cold with the breath of winter, were only two seats to her left. If she propped her chin on her hand and tilted her head just a little, she looked like she was thinking, and had a clear view of the window under the dark fringe of bangs that hid her eyes from Sister Ethel sharp gaze.

Outside, the snow lay thick on the world, a quiet, icy blanket. It was criss-crossed by winding trails, trampled by many feet over the last two days, so that the snow looked like some sort of vast, messy quilt. Even as she watched the wind picked up loose snowflakes from the top of a drift and threw them gleefully into the air.