For Once, Wednesday Didn’t Take Me By Surprise

The blue skies and bitter cold of winter have been replaced by spring’s grey clouds and rain. As the end of term draws increasingly near, I’ve been giving some thought to where I want to go once all my essays are out of the way. Although, with only one out of four essays completed, any travel is still a while away. Despite the increasing workload (or most likely because of it), I’ve had some time over the last week to work on SSHK. A lot of that was written to music. I’m still not a hundred percent sold on the idea of listening to music while writing. It can be distracting but there is one album that I’ve trained myself to be able to write to. There’s a version of it on youtube that has all the songs in one video so there is an order and pattern to it and it always starts with the same song. Now every time I hear that song, I feel the urge to sit down and be productive. The great thing is that it works for both essays and fiction writing. One song in particular was pretty inspirational last night for reasons I cannot yet disclose.

Thoughts? I know that style of music is not everyone’s cup of tea.

But enough babble – onto the main show! Today we have yet another new character to introduce to you. Zyr is nineteen and his parents may or may not have had something to do with the demise of the previous Four. He is sitting by his mother’s death bed, remembering the good times.

180 words for the 18^th.

The door swung open, squealing on its hinges and startling Zyr from his memories. He looked up, shading his eyes against the fierce sunlight to make out the figure in the doorway.

“Hanif?” Zyr said, “What is it?”

“I have news,” Hanif replied, “from Lahiba.”

As his eyes begun to adjust to the light, Zyr noted the dust caked onto his clothes. He must have ridden from the city without rest. Zyr jumped to his feet and ushered the older man in.

“Sit, sit. You must be exhausted.” Gratefully, Hanif sat. “What news?”

Hanif’s eyes flicked to Miri’s prone figure on the bed. He wrung his hands.

“Well?” Zyr snapped, “Don’t come in here while I sit with my dying mother and then refuse to speak.”

Hanif sighed, “I am sorry to be the bearer of this news, Zyr, but the Flame has spoken.”

Zyr felt his breath freeze in his throat. Fear and anger waged war in his chest. “So,” he said eventually, his voice low and tight, his gaze fixed on the floor, “the Four have been Named?”