The old gods are not dead.

You might see them, strolling amongst us. No longer robed in power but clad in fraying knitwear and scuffed shoes. They make their homes in unlikely places – the wreck at the end of the pier, the lean-to behind the power substation on a run down estate. Nothing grand or commanding to mark them out. No worshippers to bring them offerings.

But the land remembers. The sky and sea still yearn to answer their presence.

And, every now and again, you’d be forgiven for thinking that the wind seems to respond to the flexing of a stranger’s fist or that the tide seems to wait on the will of the shadowed figure on the shore. An echo of ancient power that rustles the pages of a discarded newspaper and raises and instinctual call in your bones: run.

***

You’re a storyteller. Dream up something wild and improbable,” she pleaded. “Something beautiful and full of monsters.”

Strange The Dreamer by Laini Taylor

Inspired by Erin Morgenstern’s Flax-Golden Tales, this creative writing blog series, “Wild & Improbable Tales”, is a way for me to write more freely and more frequently. Periodically, I will choose a card at random from The School Of Life‘s ‘Small Pleasures’ or ‘Resilience’ box and use the image and/or writing on the back to inspire a short piece of creative writing. I’d love to hear your thoughts in the comments.