I had first heard of this type of prompt using tarot cards, but as I don't have a set (though I would love to have one) I used what I do have, rune stones!
If any of my ficlets have inspired you, feel free to add to them, I'd love to see what you make of them. The rune meanings are taken from Sunnyway . c o m .
You can find me on Tumblr (the link is in my profile).
Nauthiz reversed: Constraint of freedom, distress, toil, drudgery, laxity. Necessity, extremity, want, deprivation, starvation, need, poverty, emotional hunger.
Inspired by the time at school where I was on parade (it was still hanging onto the traditions from when it was a military school, the parade uniform was wool so I can commiserate with the boys and their leather) for someone important, in the middle of summer when I had an awful cold. I was only brave enough to tell one of the teachers that I needed to fall out of rank when it got to the point when I felt like I was either going to be sick or pass out. It was horrible.
Things just weren't going d'Artagnan's way today. First was that the cold that had been tickling at the back of his throat yesterday had manifested into a full blown headache, sore throat and runny nose. Second was that the sickness had knocked him over so completely that he overslept that morning and had rushed out of bed and out into the garrison courtyard to be on time for duty so fast that he didn't have time to consume anything other than a cup of watered down wine. Thirdly, on his way to the palace for that day's parade he had spied Constance, who on spotting him quickly looked away and taken a sharp turn down a side street, seemingly actively avoiding him. Forth was the stifling heat.
Standing still on parade today, that from afar looked stupidly easy, was gruellingly hard. Under the summer sun (was it still only morning, it was so hot) he was quickly regretting not having the chance to have breakfast as he was starting to feel sick from lack of food and drink. His mouth was so dry he was quite willing to drink straight out of the ornamental fountain that was teasing his thirst from the corner of his eye. His nose wasn't helping, dripping down over his top lip despite his sniffing (and he was sure that Porthos beside him had shuffled away a little to try and get away from the disgusting sound) and then evaporating what little moisture he had within him away.
The dehydration, as well as the sun, was making his head feel like it was caught in a vice. He had tried to screw up his eyes but that only made his head hurt more and didn't help with the brightness. And still, ill or not, he was supposed to be looking out for danger, rather difficult to do with his eyes shut.
D'Artagnan could feel himself start to sway as he clamped down the urge to be sick. He stilled the movement. He is a Musketeer and not supposed to show weakness.
This parade felt like it was taking years to complete, he couldn't even remember who it was that they were there in impress, other than the King and Queen.
He tried to distract himself from his plight with happy thoughts but he quickly remembered his rejection by Constance. His love for her had not dimmed and her avoiding him that morning only added to the pain in his heart.
He could feel himself swaying again, suddenly light headed under the pain and sickness within him. He heard Porthos' murmur of concern beside him but couldn't reply without feeling like he would throw up the moment he opened his mouth.
The weight in his head and the sickness in his body suddenly disappeared as the world shifted alarmingly and everything went dark.