Kind of because here we’re kind of out of quarantine although we definitely shouldn’t be. I present you with a puppy picture. This isn’t my puppy but I get to see him every now and then and … isn’t he just adorable … He doesn’t have a name. Any suggestions?
Where were you
When I couldn’t stand
With your impetuous knocking
On the windows of my mind
In the shadows
It was an impetuous knock on the old wooden door.
It was Margot’s corked shoes tapping.
Tap. Tap. Tap-tap-tap.
It was the shrill cries of children that weren’t mine.
It was the old tile with its yellow triangles inside blue circles
And the slow boiling blood stripping it clean.
Two quick stream of consciousness type things for the RDP prompt of the day.
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“The ubiquitous silence maybe?”
“Is that why we’re whispering?”
“I guess …”
Trees stretched to the sky, blocking out all but scattered patches of fading sunlight. An absolute stillness settled over the forest cloaking it in a deep harrowing silence. Dina swallowed her breath, scared to draw the forests stoic attention towards the duo. Riza’s skin prickled against the percieved threat of quiet.
“Where are the birds?”
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By: Linda M. Crate we’re just ghostsonce we knew each othernow we just wisheach other a happy birthdayon facebook,and i used to mournthe loss of everything we had;used to talk for hourschildhood youth twined us tightas the golden rods dancingin the field—childhood innocence and growing pains,and everything between;you were always so strongand so bravei admired […]We Were More Than Ghosts —
By: Linda M. Crate “you’re not as pureas the driven white snow.” didn’t realizethat being humanwas a purity test,yes,i am far from perfect; but at least i admitmy mistakes and flaws— you were a devilwho insisted he were an angel,trying to inhibit my flightbecause you were jealousof my wings. Linda M. Crate’s works have been published in […]Jealous of My Wings —
“Hey there hon, what would you like?”
Toki felt a rush of endorphins as her human counterpart, Katrina, took in the male in front of her. His teeth glistened unnaturally against his sun damaged skin.
“What are the options sweetheart?” His deeper voice sent shivers through Katrina.
Toki could barely think over the quickly increasing noise Katrina’s pounding heart made.
“Well, coffee, tea or me …” The sentence careened from confidence to shyness with the “me” barely whispered.
Why is her voice undulating into that sickly tone?
Blood rushed through Katrina’s viens, something Toki could also feel even if she’d rather not. The male’s smile stretched across his narrow face. He closed in on Katrina, grossly violating what Toki had learned were the human distancing requirements.
“Well, I know what I’ll choose.” His warm breath brushed by Katrina’s ear.
Toki hated these overwhelming sensations. The blood rushing around the body, the amount of noise it made, the varying heat sequences. Reading about it didn’t prepare her for the feelings associated with humanity. In just hours Katrina had taken Toki on a ride spanning the emotional bridge of humans. She cried, laughed, yelled and hit every point in between.
Toki feared this male was going to push her into even more uncomfortable territory.
His fingers slide down Katrina’s back. Her giggle made Toki’s skin crawl. Of course, Toki was borrowing Katrina’s skin for now. Small bumps spread in waves over Katrina’s arms and neck.
How does humanity exist like this?
It was less than 24 hours in and Toki was exhausted.
I enjoyed this, it was nice to find a stream of consciousness prompt different than my usual word based one.
By: Zach Murphy
Aria caught the city bus as the sky donned a pinkish glow before the day’s final gasp. Her daughter Millie sat on her lap, gripping her wrinkled hospital scrubs — the ones with the cat patterns on them. Millie had entered that age where she often asked all the difficult questions of the universe. Are the sun and the moon friends or enemies? Do aliens go to the bathroom? Why do other kids have a dad, but I don’t?
“Here’s our stop,” Aria said.
After dropping Millie off at grandma’s house, Aria hopped back on the bus and waited for it to bring her to work. She gazed out the window and sighed. The city was winding down while she was just beginning her 12-hour shift. The bags under her eyes carried enough stories to tell to the stars. Sleep was just an elusive dream at…
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We aren’t born with murderous intentions.
Walter’s a good man. He would do anything for those he loves. He’d never hurt a fly.
That’s what I hate the most. I need someone with a spine, someone not afraid to push back and knock me around.
I clutch the ladder until my knuckles go white. In my mind I can see Walter tumbling head first two stories down.
My muscles tense, ready to rip the ladder from under his feet.
“Honey, I don’t really need you to spot me. Can you get my toolkit?”
I relax, my fingers loosen.
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Blood on my finger
Like a rusted crown
Ripped from my fathers scalp
Flung to the ground
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