Sitting at the kitchen table, the light outside shifts from pale grey to bluish black to pale grey again several times – moving behind the window like film, never mingling/changing the light inside.

Inside the light stays static, like TV static in the air. Constant buzz hum snow. Fluorescence half-dimmed, half-power, the walls yellowed-white. Stale. Calcified.

There is no way to get out of the house, but I know of some other people who have made it out. People before us.

I am drowsy. Paul and I discuss our dreams of escape, but first we decide to sleep.

I walk down the hallway. I don’t know if I have slept. I feel compelled to touch the wall. I push on the plaster. I kick it, and my foot goes through. I call to Paul, show him the hole. We pull the wall apart with our hands and an old hammer.

There is a cavern behind the wall, it leads up. We find wooden rungs of a ladder pressed into hard dirt. We hear a faint rhythmic sound, chipping, chiseling far above us.



I recognize Joey’s dampened voice, faraway, in the dark.

“Did you get out?”

“I’m almost there!”

I grip the wooden notch, smooth, cool, almost slippery. I pull myself up. I’m in. I smell earth. Black and moist.

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Holly hails from an illustrious lineage of fortune tellers, yogis, folk healers, troubadours and poets of the fine and mystical arts. Shape-shifting Tantric Siren of the Lunar Mysteries, she surfs the ebbs and flows of the multiverse on the Pure Sound of Creation. Her alchemy is Sacred Folly — revolutionary transformation through Love, deep play, Beauty, and music.

3 thoughts on “Calcified

  1. I’m feeling a quality of:
    Seed of Self Planted in the rich soil, or a dark cave at night, planted into the soil/cave from below, planted up from the chthonic depths by Soul Gardener, as now planted, the nascent potentiality in the Seed of Self stirs, stirs to reconstitute like the primordial soup melt of a caterpillar in its chrysalis opening from its depths transformed yet not yet born, though now about to burst into the sun in new ways as Self unfurls from Soul Gardener’s… to fly as high as its roots go deep. As Above, So Below.

    I’m diggin’ the wonderfully wild and wrangly wonderment that builds in the story. It goes places. Love the ambiguity formed that is in no way vague. A bit of Loki, though in the magical ways of the catalyst. Your story is a saWEET prompt!

    Liked by 1 person

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