“My confidence is gossamer.”
“That guy was pretty confident I guess.”
“Yeah, the heart guy. The big monster one. Like an olden days Kool-Aid man.”
“I don’t think … Gossamer is a word. It’s not a person or monster or whatever you’re talking about.”
“No offense, I know my Bugs Bunny. Maybe you mean another word?”
“Maybe you have the name wrong. My word is Gossamer.”
“Google it then. Let’s see who’s right.”
“Gossamer, thin, delicate, insubstantial.”
“And, right there, Gossamer. Big red heart dude.”
“Yeah, also, have you met yourself? Your confidence is not “gossamer”. You’re not a wilting flower or silk blowing in the wind.”
PHOTO PROMPT © Rochelle Wisoff-Fields
I could think about what we’d done but what good would it do?
Everyone is just here for the main act.
Liquor and beer rain overhead as the crowd surges to the music. Food from the buffett Matt so graciously supplied disappears.
Buffett a la Matt, we called it.
After all, it was what he wanted, to be recycled, given back to the Earth.
“Have you tried these meatballs?!” The guy stumbles then graces the ground with undigested chunks.
Matt meant cremation, we know, but times are tough. Eventually his remains will make it there.
This is just a detour.
I’m sorry, I do not know how my brain got here. Word Count 100 For Friday Fictioneers
I haven’t done a stream of consciousness write in a long time. I didn’t time this one. If you haven’t read these before. This is a stream of conciousness write with very little editing (so apologies for anything that doesn’t make sense). I pick a prompt, usually a word of the day, turn on some music and just write whatever comes to my head for a set time (usually 10 minutes). Music: Ghostpoet Daily words: Image and Dough.
I’ve never seen anything like it.
It’s lips curve downwards and it’s nose hooks right under those skeptical eyes. Made in your image but it’s not you.
It’s soft and stretchy, moist and sticky. Strings of dough stretch from one lip to the other as it mocks my humanoid appearance.
A spark forms in my belly and spreads like wildfire. Before I realize the scope of my ideas, my limbs begin acting. My legs carry me forth, my arms swing out wildly. My fingers pinch at its doughy arms, pulling away long pieces and tossing them into the endless span of existence below us.
They can’t work fast enough, its sticky being pulls at the hairs on my arms and legs. Doughy fingers work their way through my hair, ripping me back.
I could try to frantically escape but something tells me this is like quicksand. It envelops me. Moist strings pry into my mouth, holding my tongue and filling my lungs.
You are dreaming. You are dreaming.
My jerking body flings onto the floor. Pizza boxes scatter and cower from my cries.
A stray pepperoni sticks to the bridge of my nose. A menacing reminder encroaching on my vision.
Maybe I’ll lay off the pizza.
PHOTO PROMPT © C.E.Ayr
Emily laid the picture over her lap. “What’s this?”
“Paris! Isn’t it lovely?” Emily traced the eiffel tower with a trembling hand.
Jenna motioned towards Emily’s wall, a homage to landscapes and skylines all over the world she wished to visit. “Yours.”
“You think I’ll really see it one day?” In her years of nursing, Jenna had never met a child as determined as Emily.
“I really do.” Emily nodded her approval as she yawned.
“I’ll dream about it first.” Emily sank into her bed. A mess of hair peeked from underneath her blankets.
Slowly, she slipped away.
Word Count: 100 For Friday Fictioneers
Remember yesterday when I said it would be available really soon? I meant today.
Elias slipped his sleeve over his fingers and rubbed the window. In his dreams he was a master treasure hunter traveling the globe in search of the “the big one”.
Through patchy fog Elias could see a rainbow arching into the harbor.
He picked at the fuzzy bunny knitted onto his shirt while thinking the plan through.
Getting to the harbor was easy, his parents wouldn’t be mad if he looked both ways when he crossed the street.
The boats would start leaving soon. One of them would take him to the rainbow’s end.
Elias had no time to waste.
PHOTO PROMPT © Jeff Arnold
Word Count: 100 For Friday Fictioneers
Joe showed up drunk, still clutching a fifth to his chest.
Hattie wrinkled her nose.
“The great hometown hero.”
Sam wore an unholy combination of rotten fish and garbage for cologne.
“It’s been a long night.”
“What did you guys do?”
“Oh, just me. I don’t know where he’s been.”
Hattie refused to see this get away.
“Help me get him up. We’re heroes and I’m not going to let our group get embarrassed like ths.”
“I’ve been up all night fighting crime.”
“Ok.” Hattie tossed the rope into his waiting hands. “We’ve got tug o’ war to win.”
Word Count: 99 For Carrot Ranch Micro Fiction challenge This virus thing has been a little bit crazy. I hope everyone is coping with the upended routines and staying safe and healthy!
The shape of love is a funny thing.
Sometimes it’s car doors and raised voices or explosive seconds dragging into minutes.
It can be square like steps paced around the room or the set of your shoulders backlit by old headlights.
Sometimes it’s a circle, the ember at the end of your cigarette glowing a steady red.
It can scatter, dandelion seeds escaping on the wind.
Sometimes it’s no shape at all, a blur existing only in our inner eye, a memory we try to understand.
Sometimes it’s long with strides at a gallop as it slides away.
It can fade, short days into the longest nights and remerge, clouds parting for light.
Sometimes it’s grainy, dirt under your nails and a mouth full of mud, or sinister like a pistol at your back.
It can be oblong, a pill too big to swallow, or slow flowing murky water.
I’m not sure the shape of this love but it hurts nonetheless.
Photo courtesy of Pixabay
Sunday Photo Fiction
Running away is kind of my thing.
My life has been spent Escaping the comfort of what I know, Swan diving into oblivion.
Something for RDP.
“True love is destiny.”
Juli had no time for old fashioned nonsense. Maybe “destiny” helped her grandmother but that was before the digital age. Everything was different now.
Juli’s Romeo appeared in the background of a viral video. The moment he smiled, she knew.
She scoured the internet, hoping to give “destiny” a helping hand. The research was painstaking but every bit was worth it.
He worked in front of his open window nightly, 9 PM sharp. The fountain, he penned, gave him endless inspiration.
Juli sat on its marbled edge, waiting. Any moment now, he would realize his “destiny”.
PHOTO PROMPT © Ceayr
Word Count: 100 For Friday Fictioneers!