This is a bit outside my norm, but I've decided to try my hand at creative writing, and what better way than a challenge that gets me to write more?

The Rules of the Challenge:

1). Go to your home library. Pick a random shelf. Take the 7-th book. Open page number 7. Find the 7-th sentence and write a short poem OR a short essay based on what you have read in the sentence. Don’t forget to take a snapshot of the sentence which triggered your creativity to write the post. Include the snapshot at the beginning of your post.

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My book ended up being Anne Rice's "Blackwood Farm." Though not much of an Anne Rice fan, I did enjoy some of her books. This one, I don't recall much about it.

Suitably morose, as expected:

And so, except for my mortal connections, I'm alone.

I recall a time when all was dark, but not the darkness of loss, but of newness and potency. As days passed, cracks of light reached to me, grasping with gentle fingers, calling me up to see more of itself. I reached, reached and finally felt the warmth of the day, the dampness of dew, and the calm of the cool nights.

I was surrounded by family then. Those times when we each did our best to outdo one another, clamoring for the attention of the sun, and for the love of our tenders. We were made for a purpose, cultivated to bring joy to all whose eyes would fall upon us. We basked in this light as well. The days were long and glorious.

But then came a day that changed it all. It was a day I had hoped for, longed for: to be taken from my home and brought to others to be enjoyed. This is what we were bred for. This was the day where I could bring joy to more souls!

Though as I was parted from my bed, I knew this was not quite right. The light from the eyes of the one who chose me was gone. As I lay there, willing my life into the one on whom I rested, I poured all of my joy into that stony visage, hoping the corners of her mouth would turn up, that her eyes would alight and gaze upon my petals. But she lay there, still and unmoved.

I turned to the others, looking down on her. While their eyes had light, they were glistening in the wetness of dew. I desperately reached to them with my verdant beauty in hues of white and gold, but alas, I could neither console them nor bring them joy.

I was a simple adornment. A tradition and a metaphor. An allusion to a life that is consumed. As I spent my life for this one very moment, so, too, did my companion spend hers for this moment. With my sustenance gone, darkness once again enveloped me.

We are forever companions, husks of a former brilliance, set here to be remembered by, and forgotten. My purpose is coming to an end. Here I wait as I exude the last of my fragrance to the still air, as my petals fade and shrivel. I wait to join my companion.

"And so, except for my mortal connections, I'm alone."

Thanks to @steemfluencer for heading up the creative writing challenge!

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