Sorry I was late today,
And every day since I was born.
It’s a family curse I guess,
We’re even late to the end.
That’s What She Said
“Why is it so big?”
“It’s a tribute to our robot overlords.”
Dan adjusted the stainless steel colander on his head. A walkie talkie clipped to his buckle emitted a stream of white noise.
“Well it is impressive in size.” Leslie marked the boxes along her checklist.
“That’s what she said.”
“Oh, oh please don’t.”
“No, that is what she said.” Dan pointed to clouds dotting the horizon. For a split second Leslie could see a glint of something more than vapor in the sky. The white noise shrieked, spewed unintelligible words then fell silent. “They’re happy with my tribute.”
Word Count: 100
For Friday Fictioneers, to read more about the prompt and other stories click the link
Just a Quiet Dinner Party
Jenny wandered into the kitchen, shielding her eyes against the lights.
Pasta clung to the walls.
Chunks of half melted cheese hung from the ceiling.
Tomato soup pooled on the floor.
The salad sat patiently in the bowl.
And where were her friends?
So much for a quiet dinner party
Word Count – 279 characters / 50 words
For Twittering Tales
Is It You After All?
Memories are fickle little things
I watch your gait as you move through a crowd
Is it you after all?
Your laugh and your gaze
Ignite flames but the lighter clicks
And never catches hold
Of my stray dreams and gut feelings
Whenever I smell sweet smoke
Or the slightest whiff of your voice in monotone over my stereo.
Perhaps we need it this way
Perhaps time has bound our brains.
Ragtag Daily Prompt: Strain
The Day Maude Died
The day Maude died she expected it. The white daisies rambling across the mustard colored wallpaper had already begun mourning. Large drops of water appeared over them and rolled to the floor.
“Good.” She mumbled. “This living business is for the birds.”
Maude glowered from her 5th story window.
At 11:59 she felt the air being sucked from the room as it began to spin. Her exhilaration dissipated when Gary appeared.
“What are you doing here?” Gary shrugged and motioned to the room as if to ask why he wouldn’t be.
“This wallpaper is a crime to interior design. Christ Maude, is this where you’ve been hiding?”
“I’ve never known you to be a connoisseur of design.”
“Down to business; I’m a busy demon. You’re not dying today Maude.”
Rage rushed from her toes to the very tips of her hair.
“What?! Do you know how long I’ve been here?! 1,517 years Gary!”
“I know, but they like the work you’re doing down here.”
“No! No! No!” The smirk dancing across Gary’s lips was enough to send her into overdrive. “Go get the kerosene. We’re going to the council.”
Gary’s smirk turned to a deep frown.
Word Count: 198
For Sunday Photo Fiction
Lovesick
I’ll never fall in love.
It’s not for me.
I’m confident
Until …
The world keeps spinning
But all I see is you.
RDP: Sick
Forgive my attempt at poetry.
String/Heart
We’re connected by string, where hearts wander others bleed.
It’s your soul, inexplicably woven, interconnected, forever intersecting where we inevitably collide.
We crash and spin, debris scattering this lifespan.
Junkyard hearts rebuilt for our eventual mates, weighted with this tugging of our fates.
Becoming Better
I haven’t really written as much as normal (or what I view as normal) for a while and this is why. I wanted to get it out, put it down. I know its not a unique experience. I know others have experienced it, could be experiencing these same things.
Becoming.
How do you become?
“I am more than you wanted me to be.”
I was raised by an NPD parent and there are some things about that which never leave you. I have a lifelong sense of failure ingrained in me. I’ve consistently held myself back, not only because I just *knew* I was going to fail but also because I believed my successes were never really my own and *I* was never actually successful.
When I was a child if I managed to do something correctly you could rest assured that it actually was not correct and I was every derogatory name in the book for failing to realize the rules had changed without notification.
I never had a safe place. I couldn’t run away from my bully, he was ever present in my home.
That takes a toll with a price far higher than I think many realize.
It’s only been recently, in my 30’s, that I’ve begun really exploring who exactly I am, pushing myself to embrace the things I succeed at and allowing myself to feel those successes for me.
And it’s hard!
My inner voice is less critical now than it used to be but it can still be excessively critical sometimes.
The best way I’ve found to fight it is to intentionally take steps to move myself past these stages in my life. It could be easy to remain stuck, plenty of people do just that, but I know I can not.
I let go of the things I’ve clung to, essentially spring cleaning my mind. I clear my home of things that, in my inner critical way, remind me of my place as a failure.
Although I still find myself occasionally repeating the mantras of hate I developed, I have to admit I feel much better these days.
Always Wrong (Block)
Feel free to ignore this, give a thumbs down, do whatever. I just wanted to get the jumbled mess out of my head and why not put it here.
Music – Yawning Man
I am more than you wanted me to be.
I count six
Three pairs
With pupils wide
They test the blinds
And crouch in fright.
I want you, I need you
I don’t know what more to say.
So I say nothing and hope
But the choice is always wrong
This is all wrong.
Will we ever be right?
War Paint
Lilli plopped two tubes of lipstick down in front of her mother.
“Red for strength and energy.” Her mom admired the purple tube and cherry red lipstick.
“Black to signal you’ve been here before.” At this her mother frowned.
“You know I don’t like you wearing black lipstick.” Lilli rolled her eyes and huffed.
“Mom, I really think black lipstick is the least of the problems here. Besides, you need war paint to show the cancer who’s boss.”
Lilli’s mom tucked the black tube into her pocket.
“I’ll just keep this with me … to show the cancer who’s boss.”
Word Count: 99
For the flash fiction challenge at Carrot Ranch