Fiction, Monologues, Plays & More
Challenge of the month: write 100 word fiction (or less) about a pagan tradition. Real or made-up, it doesn’t matter.
A Prayer to Black Friday
Hear me, oh high lord of the deal, and take pity on your faithful follower. Give me the strength to trample the unbelievers, so I might make my way to the altar of the 60% off flat screens, while supplies last.
For my need of pristine super bowl converge is great, but my funds are few.
May the undeserving turn to dust and clear a convenient way through to the check-out counter and then onto my energy inefficient SUV.
Ye thee, may an extended warranty be included but is never required.
In your name be praised, amen.
—-written by Jeff Folschinsky
The old Archeologist’s knees hurt. He’d been painstakingly brushing away, working the edges of the enclosure. From what he had discovered, the prehistoric settlement had three bedrooms, a common room, kitchen and lavatories. So rare to find one this intact. He was in the last of the bedrooms. The final corner was completed. With great care, his workers pulled. He anxiously peered to see what was within the antechamber. “Jed’s Comics” is what the primitive text read. Was it there? Yes! Lost scripture #121. The death of his Spider God’s beloved. The world will now know the truth! Changed forever!
—-written by Tyler Tanner
This year’s Demeter Festival is in jeopardy of being canceled due to shenanigans following last year’s event. It is intended to celebrate our time honored religious traditions, not an excuse to, as Roger so delicately put it, ‘party like an unchained beast.’ Consequently, the bonfire will be lit as traditionally accepted, not with jars of turpentine thrown at a pile of wood while Jimbo shoots them with a blowtorch. Likewise, the Bread Dipping will not use painted tiles. Mistletoe ornaments, yes, poison ivy, no. And no one is permitted to run anywhere naked, except for the closing ceremonies. Thank you.
—–written by Mark Bate
The Willow Wig
Maagea set out at first light to gather willow branches, dreaming about her future, hoping that she, like her Mother and Grandmother, would be forever joined with the man she truly wanted. She spent weeks with both women, learning how to craft her willow wig, knowing she would be isolated when the time came to create it. Slowly… carefully, she picked only the longest, most supple, flexible branches she could find. This wig would help decide her fate… shape her future. Maagea prayed that when she danced, Bruhl would be the one to tie the most ribbons on her wig.
—–written by Ken Patton
The Sun Goes Down And We Pray
The sun goes down and we pray.
We pray for the sun’s return.
The days grow shorter, the world grows colder.
The night lingers longer, the wolves prowl closer.
Game grows scarce and our stores grow bare.
We pray we will fill our bellies one more time.
We pray the fires stay lit. We pray the fuel lasts one more night.
We pray for the sun’s return.
Where it goes, will it return, we do not know.
Who we pray to, do they hear, we cannot say.
But the sun goes down and we pray.
——written by Sean M. Kozma