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.
Razor sharp chords mixed with gritty voices float from inside dark clubs and crowded bars.
A homeless man swings his Gandalf like beard as he jives down the middle of the street. His ripped shirt blows open in the breeze; giving him an underdog superhero cape made of rips and stains. One good shoe crunches into the pavement while his bare foot escapes to swing free. With palms raised to his heaven, he smiles into the oncoming storm.
It reminds me of my mother’s face; not because his inner peace oozes into the atmosphere. I can see her wrinkling nose and hear her sucking in her breath between puckered lips. I can feel her eyes cutting into my skin as she judges me from beyond.
“Such vulgarity. Here among these people, these bars … Who are you? I don’t know anymore.”
She’s always been right. Though I model her skirts and simple knit tops I’ve never been the girl she craved I would be. I drop my bag and grab the mans knotted hands. Vulgar or not, we can dance til the end.
Word of the day: Vulgar Music: A mix of instrumental (The Echelon Effect, Lights and Motion, Chad Lawson)
Verdant – RDP word of the day Music – Dirty Three – Self titled
Luscious. Fertile. Sasha’s garden was everything Mari could never inspire in her own. Her belly too, round with verdant life in a way Mari would never know.
Obsession. Jealousy. Rage in Mari’s veins blossomed as she feigned excitement for Sasha’s burgeoning life. Sasha’s roses brought home awards. Her daffodils sailed into a spotlight all their own. The baby kicked while she laughed on.
Inspired. Alone. Mari took to a rusted axe in order to get the job done.
I forgot to time myself but I intended to aim for 5 minutes to start. This probably took about that long.
“I’ve read every last one.” “That one?” Shari nodded to the oldest book in the pile. “My favorite, it has every spell possible, even one to bring back the dead.” “Wow.” Shari knew the guy was a fruit loop. “I should get going.” “So soon? But I’ve been waiting for you for eons.”
It’s Monday, the beginning of what may or may not be a long week.
My daughter was playing a would you rather game on her phone and tossing me questions. Amid the “would you rather marry a celebrity or the most attractive person in the world?” types she threw in one that dug a little deeper.
The wheels started turning and before long I was wondering which one I would choose and why and what would I find when I got there …
It’s too good to pass up but I also would love to see what other people can come up with.
If you’re so inclined, write something of your choosing answering the question by Friday. It can be you or a character, any POV and any genre and style but you must make a choice and detail the consequences. When you finish your piece link back here so that anyone else trying this out can read too.
You’re traveling when you come to a fork in the road. The choice is simple. You can either go left where nothing is right or you can go right where nothing is left.
The chair creaks under me, weighted by century old bones.
“Congrats! You just amaze me; to think of the things you’ve seen and done!”
I shift through the archives in attempt to place the young girl. She has the family blue eyes and my sweet Harry’s smile. A fanged man dominates her dark shirt.
“Old stories say witches and vampires drink blood to stay young.” Her face contorts uncomfortably as she slinks away, no doubt on her way to tell.
I can’t hide my sneer.
Maybe tonight I’ll run away. Surely it’s not too late to become a vampire.
Word Count: 99 Word/Idea: Growing Older For the flash fiction challenge at Carrot Ranch and inspired by my really saucy grandmother who was born in 1928 and reminds me everytime I see her that shes “too young to be this old”. And Happy Mother’s Day to the areas celebrating it today
“Uggghh.” Janey’s fingers left long claw marks in the hot sand around her. As the sun beat down on her bare legs the scent of burning flesh tickled her nose. “Ugghh … grape … juice …” In all of her five years she had never been so thirsty.
“Janey!” A mirage of her older sister appeared; just like the movies. “Mom said to sit up. You’re taking up too much room in the sandbox.” Hana dropped a bottle of water into the sand beside her younger sister. Janey flopped onto her back, “Grape juuuice.” “Beggars can’t be choosers, Janey.”
Word Count: 99 Word/Phrase: “Beggar’s can’t be choosers” For Carrot Ranch and a reappearance of the sisters that appeared in this story