Chronicles of the Crown: The Storm

Indira was in deep thoughts. Not unlike the dark clouds gathering. It looked like it was going to rain. Her first rain in her husband’s empire. 

The wind breezed through the palace, stirring her red-gold hair and her clothes as she lounged on a plush couch. Looking at her, with hair gently billowing, it would look like she was the mistress of storm.

Except Indira felt less mistress of anything, though you couldn’t tell just by looking at her.

Brunnie as Indira’s cousin called her, babbled as she toddled to the window couch. 

Indira watched her adopted daughter grunt with determination as she struggled to climb the couch.

Indira smiled as Brunnie knelt on the couch, peering outside longingly as she babbled “Papa” in reference to her husband.

Ah yes, Indira sighed remembering the main subject of her morose thoughts. Her husband.

The man was not listening to her where his safety was concerned.

She looked at her daughter who often made her way to the window watching for her “papa“, whenever he had been out for long. 

If that man made a widow of her with his continuous liaison with the enemy, she doubts she will forgive him — even if he had a beautiful soul.

“Beauty flows from the queen’s hair like the threatening of a storm” a husky male voice whispered.

Indira eyes fluttered open and blinked, as she looked into her husband’s eyes. She didn’t realise she had fallen asleep.

Brunnie babbled in her papa’s arms. As he shifted her to his side, she noticed the sun was out, though the air was still cool. 

As she got up, and hugged him around the neck, she had a relieved smile on her face. 

“You were not worried were you?” He hugged his queen’s waist. 

“I was. Was that a poem?” Indira asked in amusement.

“It was”, he declared with a serious face though his eyes were alight with merriment.

Indira couldn’t help herself. She laughed. 

It’s good to hear her laugh. The king thought, as he smiled.

https://puttingmyfeetinthedirt.com/2020/06/01/june-2020-writing-prompts/ #8.A Hint of rain 

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A Daughter’s Hero, A Father’s Legacy.

Hello Beautiful People! I hope you are keeping safe and sound.

21st June was Father’s Day. 

A bittersweet day for a girl who has lost her first earthly hero. As it’s rightly said, a girl’s hero is her father. 

However, like Elisha having to watch Prophet Elijah his mentor, a man he called My Father, “charioted” up to Heaven; all I am left with, is the Mantle that flutters down as I begin to feel my father’s absence. That, and all the memories.

The memories of tough discipline, gentle instructions, his listening patient ears, as I nearly chatter his ears off… By the way? If my father didn’t loose his handsome ears for all my yakking, then no one can loose theirs for listening to others. Just said, I should put that out there.

I learnt the art of listening (eventually) because my father listened to me.

Because of that, I tried to do as he instructed, because I didn’t want to displease the only one after God who understood me.

It was a journey for him, because as a child I remember him, saying he didn’t understand me, usually, after I have been caught in an indiscretion. He would scold me. Then he gets real quiet, as if he was trying to solve the great mystery behind my behaviour. And then, like he was speaking to himself, he would say, “I can’t just understand…”

And I would feel sad and then resolve to not worry my daddy again. Which unfortunately, never happened.

Eventually, he began to understand me, and he began to teach me on what to do.

My dad is an angel. 

I adore my daddy and I miss him. I suspect I always will.

Now, his Mantel has rested right on the floor in front of me.

I just need to pick up my courage and the Mantle to cross the Jordan river….

Shalom.