Posted in stream of consciousness

An Ode to Black (Repost)

“Head like a hole. Black as your soul …”

I like the color black.

I wear it frequently.

All my dresses are black,

Except for that red one.

My shoes too,

Except that pair of brown boots

Or those dark blue ones.

When I was in high school,

I wore black eye make up

But I didn’t hang out with the goth kids.

The real depressed girl

Who actually listened to industrial

And not Marilyn Manson

Was too goth for them.

I like my coffee black,

With just a little bit of cream.

I like my rebels black

With their motorcycle screams.

I like my nails

About nine inches long

And now you have

To start at the beginning of the song.

Once again I’m reposting. This was originally published in … maybe about a year ago in 2018 I think and the WordPress prompt of the day was Black. I couldn’t help myself back then and I can’t help myself today. Tell me about your favorite music?

Posted in Word Prompt

Fall Away From Time (Repost)

Silence sounds like …
Your spirit spinning
Out of control to the DJ.
Your breath slowing
In puffs of hazy cigarette smoke.
Your heart pounding
Under the soft weight of my hand.
Your smile against
My hair under the cold moon.
The fading drops
Of my rocks failing to skip.
Your fingers drawing
Shivering lines down my back.
Silence sounds like …
All those things I feel in my soul
When your eyes lock with mine
And we fall away from time.
143

Originally published here in Dec. 2017. The prompt at the time was silence. Today’s RDP prompt is intimate

I couldn’t let love day go by without something!

I’m in the final weeks of my grad program. Unfortunately that’s meant I haven’t been on here. But if anyone’s interested in my research on investment in clean energy let me know and I may post the presentation here for all to see!

Posted in friday fictioneers

Fire in the Night

“What do you see?”

I see the future. I see you and me. I see my heart exploding. I see a million fireworks. I see galaxies.

I feel it all within me.

I see our first kiss, unintentionally wonderful. I see awkward laughs and gentle embraces.

I see lives intertwined, threads to a needle connecting time. 

I see my past fade away at your touch.

I see light fill empty spaces.

“What do I see?”

I see I’m in love with you but I can’t tell you that.

“It just looks like a fire dying in the night to me.”

PHOTO PROMPT © Anshu Bhojnagarwala

Word Count: 100

For
Friday Fictioneers, massive thanks to Rochelle Wisoff-Fields for wrangling this massive flash fiction challenge in every week.

Posted in flash fiction

Always the Kettle

It’s the tea kettle, always the tea kettle.

Jada had no idea why it was the kettle. Surely it wasn’t always. How many childhood stories were there about tea kettles being possessed?

Zero.

She couldn’t resist the designs. It begged to be taken home.

Such a tea slut.

The walls rumbled. In front of her individual scales twitched and flapped. A beast of terrifying size draped over her furniture.

Don’t move.

Jada knew the beast couldn’t be real. Yet here it was, half chasing something in its sleep; its forked tongue hanging from between scaly lips. Its serrated claws curled as it feigned trotting through a field playfully tossing its massive head.

And probably a corpse.

A feeling of panic rested low in her belly. Jada’s legs ached to run but she was frozen. 

Don’t breathe.

Its head snapped up. Jada could see her reflection in the glossy red iris. The beast inhaled as its nose passed across her.

Not a snack, the whole meal. Is this really gonna be my last thought before I die?

Its putrid breath filled Jada’s nose. Instead of a roar it let out a series of low clicks.

Oh god, it’s engine won’t turn over.

Photo Credit: C.E. Ayr

Word Count: 200

For Sunday Photo Fiction – It’s my first time joining in with this (we can post on days other than Sunday right?) Also, dragons are like puppies. Who knew?

Posted in friday fictioneers

Dad Said

“When can we go home?” Arnie watched his mom battle with the campfire. She rubbed sticks together, cursed, then clanged rocks above the cold wood.

“Think of it as connecting with your ancestors.” A frog escaped his mom’s frantic fire starting attempts. He counted the colors in the sunset. Five. His ancestors could have probably counted more.

“I thought dad said we were Irish.” The rocks hit the ground with a muted thud as his mom sat back.

“Well baby, your dad said a lot of things.”

“Like, that he would meet us here?”

Arnie watched his mom look away.

PHOTO PROMPT © Renee Heath

Word Count: 100

For
Friday Fictioneers. Many thanks to Rochelle Wisoff Fields

Click the blue froggy for more

Posted in flash fiction

Her Eyes (Or Untitled)

My eyes trace the same curves over and over, like paper never truly absorbing ink. Gentle folds of skin stand in contrast to stark bone.

She had been so … welcoming, so polite.

“Yes doctor, please, come in. A drink? Food? Of course, anything for you.”

Though she had nothing to give in the end, a couple of blackened lungs, a spoiled liver.

Her eyes, crystalline blue, I would have taken those.

Why did she have to turn it the way she did? It shouldn’t have come to those utterances of hers.

“I think you’re mistaken. I don’t think so. No.”

And in this world, a woman of her standard owning a gun?

My soul will rest easy, hers I’m not sure.

I clean my tools meticulously, disposing of the browning apple core, used condom and bloodied cloths in her make shift fire pit.

I collect the money, laid on her poorly made wooden table … beforehand … in plain sight.

The first sign of trouble.

“Of course I trust you doctor.”

Outside the madam keeps an eye on rowdy drunks. I pass her a handful of crumpled bills.

“Made a bit of a mess, might let her sleep.”

She tucks them away, her eyes never straying from the stumbling fools, never truly catching sight of me.

They never do.

I wrote this as homework for a writer’s meeting I went to. I’m not sure yet where it’s going or if it can go anywhere else. I imagine this character has a bit of wanderlust though.