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Posted in flash fiction

Jumper

“If your friends jumped off a bridge would you jump too?”

Well mom, looks like we know the answer.

In my defense, it was only 3 feet off the ground.

Surely I would’ve come to my senses before diving off anything higher.

You’re not amused. It’s ok, I get it. 

It wasn’t in your weekend plans to care for this ungrateful snot you call a daughter.

I hop to the window, wave to my friends and part of me wonders …

Would they believe you pushed me if I jumped again?

Word Count: 91
For Friday Fictioneers, serving up photo prompts, hot and with a side of crazy fries.

PHOTO PROMPT © Susan Eames

Posted in stream of consciousness

Chew

The world has been chewing us up

And forgetting to spit us out

I’ve been doing a lot of these random small not-poetry things lately. They encompass the way I feel, like my head’s about to explode at any moment. I tell myself things will get better and I truly believe they will, but sitting in the discomfort of this entire year (or an entire existence) … it’s been an experience.

Posted in stream of consciousness

We Don’t Have To Stay

Slowly this aberration emerged, a plume of thick smoke sneaking between the cracks in the wall. We were no longer welcome here.

As if the stiff lipped fear ever meant we could stay. 

A collective thought grew among us, slow and warming, passed in the offering plate from one to another and nurtured with each passing hand.

Who are we to stay? 

In the darkness we gathered what little we could claim and disconnected ourselves from this place.

Incorporating a couple of the daily words. Abberation from FOWC and emerge from RDP.

Posted in stream of consciousness

Ripe

I had a dream

That I overflowed

And starlight lit my visions

But they were no longer mine

Instead they were plucked off the ground

Ripe fruit tempting those who passed

I’m trying again to write every day. I have to get myself back into the habit of sitting down and making time.

Posted in stream of consciousness

Welts

You don’t notice me

I can’t help but imagine

My name dripping from your mouth

A spoonful of soup

Slurped while still boiling

Forming welts on your lips

And your chin

Where I kissed you

Last time you remembered me

You don’t now

But I hope

Posted in flash fiction, friday fictioneers

Fried Okra

“I was surprised you agreed to get BBQ with me.”

“Why? I know the importance of good BBQ. I am from here remember?”

“Debatable.” 

“Oh, fuck off, it is not.” 

He tossed a sugar packet in my direction.

“For your ‘unsweet’ tea.”

I stared out the window, wondering if things would ever be the same. 

“Seriously, what are you going to eat?”

“Well, I do love fried okra.”

“You’re going to eat fried okra? That’s it?”

“Sure.”

“I don’t think anyone likes okra that much.”

“Blasphemy. Fried okra is the best okra.”

Brief smiles.

Sighs.

“Why are you here?”

Word Count: 99
Returning to Friday Fictioneers , after forever, with an only dialogue piece.

PHOTO PROMPT – © Rochelle Wisoff-Fields