Tarot, Weekly Tarot Prompt

The Weekly Tarot Prompt: My Response to Week 1

Weekly Tarot Prompt Shadowscapes Tarot

Last week, I started the first in a planned series of videos called The Weekly Tarot Prompt on YouTube. Using tarot as a prompt for creation is one of my favorite things to do. If you haven’t seen the first week’s prompt, please go watch it here: The Weekly Tarot Prompt #1 .

When you are done with the video, I would love it if you would come back and share your creations with me. Below, follows my own example. The thing to remember about these prompts, is that like any creative endeavor, it doesn’t have to be perfect. The important part is that you are practicing your art, your passion, and your creativity. My rough draft, thrown together practice writing is a great example of this, but the point of the prompt is to get you engaged.

The light of the moon illuminated the shadows of the world, turning a normally green countryside, into a deep, haunting blue. Karl had been riding for a fortnight since the last town, and despite his skill as a royally-trained rider, his thighs had begun to ache. There had been no one to talk to, and he had begun to wonder whether or not this journey was worth it at all.

“It’s past time I find a place for the night,” he thought to himself.

Jumping down from his steed, blood flowing into his knees, exhaustion overwhelmed him. Hurriedly he hoped finding an adequate spot for rest off of the road would come sooner rather than later. He marched his steed into the surrounding forest, and was astounded when he found a spot which was seemingly meant for him. It was far enough into the forest to be safe from the sight of other travelers, whose intentions may be less than savory, and clear enough to lay down easily.

Karl, overwhelmed by sleep, didn’t take the time to care for his horse more than a brusque: “goodnight”. Dreams swirled on the night breeze, a deep blue, caressing him deeply into sleep. Fitfully, Karl slept under the canopy of treetops.

What felt like hours later, Karl jolts out of sleep. The forest is quiet, no rustling of the leaves above. He sits up, rubbing the tired from his eyes.

Karl, sits, transfixed on the color of the forest. The moon, which couldn’t be seen through the trees earlier, is now shining down upon him; too bright to ignore. All around him, the forest is alight. Sitting before him, mirroring Karl’s own cross-legged confusion, sits a small misshapen creature. He is of twigs, and flesh, and smiles up at Karl menacingly.

Karl jumps to his feet at the sight. Panic is gripping his stomach, feeling the urge to defecate, Karl turns to leave the forest- following his path in, but his feet are heavy, a feeling of a thousand pounds of sand, holding him still. “This must be a dream,” he says to himself under his breath. “I’ll just go back to sleep.”

“Oh, no, my dear, this is not a dream. Didn’t your family ever teach you not to wander into the forest alone?” A voice of creamy vanilla and flowers floats over to Karl. It is a beautiful voice, but one Karl feels he best not trust. With a flash of movement, too fast for Karl to see; the owner of the voice stands in front of him. A woman, with a white mask over her face, stands mid-shining-circle. Thousands of the ghastly glowing winged creatures dance around her feet, jeering at him, making a sound that could only be laughing.

‘They will not hurt you, my dear.” says the woman.

Karl cannot see the movements of her face behind her white mask. The light of the moon glinting off the forehead, and into his eyes, making it hard for him to concentrate on any one aspect of the face.

“What do you want from me, woman?” Karl responds as spitefully as he can manage, although he feels both awed and terrified.

“Tsk, tsk, tsk. That will not do child. Now, breathe in the light of the moon, and calm yourself, we are merely here to have some fun. Your coming out of this alive requires two things: you must see me without my mask, and, while looking deep into my eyes, you must tell me your heart of hearts; all that you desire. Trust, I will know you are lying if you do.” She remarks to Karl. Suddenly, he feels much smaller in her presence, but the two tasks hardly sound very daunting.

“S-s-sure. I can do that. I’m not sure why you care to know anyway.” Karl responds.

“Good child, knowledge is power.” She states calmly as she thrusts her hand into his chest, wrapping her fingers around his heart. He didn’t know when she had removed the mask, but with his eyes upon hers, he saw how truly beautiful and hideous she really was. All that he had thought, and never said, all that he had desired, and dreamed, and mourned, leaving his heart and moving into the palm of her hand. The pain, a searing white light into his chest, becomes unbearable, and Karl collapses.

As Karl lays, huddled in a ball on the ground, feeling the prodding fingers of little twig people, she sways toward the moon, seeming to be moving into it: “All truths come to light, my dear child, there is no running.” He hears her words fall back to him on the breeze, the night darkening again.

The darkness engulfs Karl, back into a dream world he falls, as he asks himself: ‘what did I just do?’.

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