Trifextra: Avarice

rough sea


I am coming into my own. Feeding on the apathy that crashes on these shores. Plucking pearls of greed and vanity from the waves of human suffering.

Soon I will be king.


This is my submission for this weekend’s Trifextra, in which we were given the following challenge:

Buddhist cosmology tells of Trāyastriṃśa, or the Heaven of Thirty-Three gods, which rule over the human realm.  This weekend we’re asking for exactly 33 of your own words about a god of your own devising that shares heaven with the other thirty-two gods.  Make it yours and have fun with it.

And if you’re looking for more writing challenges, be sure to check out the Speakeasy. New prompts go up every Sunday and we’d love to see you there!


Image credit: Sean


Distant Thunder


Distant Thunder

The storm clouds rolled in while my back was turned, my attention focused on pulling weeds from the garden. The only warning was a distant rumble of thunder and the sudden electrical charge humming in the air. I glanced over my shoulder as thick black clouds obscured the sun, churning across the sky towards me.

My heart lurched and I ran to the house to find Lisa, throwing the front door open.

“Storm!” I yelled.

Lisa appeared at the top of the stairs. She looked at me, then looked over my shoulder at the ever-darkening sky. It didn’t take long for her to grasp the significance of what was happening. Her eyes widened in fear.

“But how—”

“I don’t know,” I interrupted, “but we have to go. Now.”

Lisa nodded. “I’ll get the baby.”

While Lisa gathered the sleeping infant, I went back outside and unlocked the doors to the cellars, silently praying that our escape plan was sound. I fumbled in the dark, searching for the flashlight I’d placed there when we’d arrived. As Lisa came running out the front door, baby clasped against her chest, I took one last look at our garden and the quaint house we’d called home for the last four months. Country life had been nice while it lasted. Not running had been ever nicer.

I ushered Lisa through the cellar doors, flashlight illuminating her way, then stepped in behind her and pulled the doors closed just as thunder crashed above our heads, followed by a violent pounding of rain. I recited the spell to seal the lock, hoping it would hold. I was no wizard, but Lisa’s doula had taught me a few spells to help keep us safe. So far, they’d worked.

As we ran through the maze of underground tunnels, in search of our next safe house, I wondered for the hundredth time why we had been blessed with a child who was destined to bring an end to the Old Gods.


This is my submission for this week’s Trifecta challenge. This week, the word is grasp
and the third definition is:


Here are the rules:

  • Your response must be between 33 and 333 words.
  • You must use the 3rd definition of the given word in your post.
  • The word itself needs to be included in your response.
  • You may not use a variation of the word; it needs to be exactly as stated above.
  • Only one entry per writer.
  • Trifecta is open to everyone. Please join us.

This week is community-judged, so be sure to read some of the other submissions, then come back and vote on Thursday evening!


Image credit: dbvirago /

What’s In A Noun? Part 1

Egyptian catI would wager that most of you know a noun is a word used to name a person, place, thing, or abstract idea. But did you know there is a lot more to nouns than just that? In fact, there is so much going on with nouns that I’m going to have to write two posts about them.

Today, in What’s in a Noun — Part 1, we’re going to take a closer look at all the different types of nouns.

A proper noun refers to a specific person, place or thing and always starts with a capital letter regardless of its place in a sentence. For example:

  • The first woman in recorded history to declare herself pharaoh was Hatshepsut of Egypt.

A common noun refers to a generic person, place or thing. As such, it does not begin with a capital unless it is the first word in a sentence. For example:

  • In Ancient Egypt, a jackal was sometimes mistaken for a god.

A concrete noun refers to something or someone we can physically perceive through any of our five senses. So, for example:

  • The priest collapsed on the floor when the mummy got up and walked away.

An abstract noun refers to something we cannot physically perceive. Essentially, it is the opposite of a concrete noun. Here’s an example:

  • The bride’s joy was replaced by fear when the mummy crashed her wedding.

A count noun has both singular and plural forms and refers to something you can count. For example:

  • Finally, someone thought to inform the gods. One god, Seth, came to sort it out.

A mass noun does not have a plural form and refers to something that you cannot count, usually because it is abstract. Here is an example:

  • Ancient Egyptians had great love for their cats, which were seen as symbols of warmth and protection.

A collective noun refers to a group of people or things. The individual members could be counted, but the group is usually thought of as one unit. Collective nouns can be tricky because they can take a singular or plural verb, depending on whether you are emphasizing the group itself or the individual members. So, for example:

  • The priesthood is never going to agree to such a change.
  • The priesthood are all going to be there.


Image credit: Yuriy Nosenko