Posted in stream of consciousness

String/Heart

We’re connected by string, where hearts wander others bleed.
It’s your soul, inexplicably woven, interconnected, forever intersecting where we inevitably collide.
We crash and spin, debris scattering this lifespan.
Junkyard hearts rebuilt for our eventual mates, weighted with this tugging of our fates.

Posted in stream of consciousness

Becoming Better

I haven’t really written as much as normal (or what I view as normal) for a while and this is why. I wanted to get it out, put it down. I know its not a unique experience. I know others have experienced it, could be experiencing these same things.

Becoming.

How do you become?

“I am more than you wanted me to be.”

I was raised by an NPD parent and there are some things about that which never leave you. I have a lifelong sense of failure ingrained in me. I’ve consistently held myself back, not only because I just *knew* I was going to fail but also because I believed my successes were never really my own and *I* was never actually successful. 

When I was a child if I managed to do something correctly you could rest assured that it actually was not correct and I was every derogatory name in the book for failing to realize the rules had changed without notification.

I never had a safe place. I couldn’t run away from my bully, he was ever present in my home. 

That takes a toll with a price far higher than I think many realize. 

It’s only been recently, in my 30’s, that I’ve begun really exploring who exactly I am, pushing myself to embrace the things I succeed at and allowing myself to feel those successes for me.

And it’s hard!

My inner voice is less critical now than it used to be but it can still be excessively critical sometimes. 

The best way I’ve found to fight it is to intentionally take steps to move myself past these stages in my life. It could be easy to remain stuck, plenty of people do just that, but I know I can not. 

I let go of the things I’ve clung to, essentially spring cleaning my mind. I clear my home of things that, in my inner critical way, remind me of my place as a failure. 

Although I still find myself occasionally repeating the mantras of hate I developed, I have to admit I feel much better these days. 

Posted in stream of consciousness

Always Wrong (Block)

Feel free to ignore this, give a thumbs down, do whatever. I just wanted to get the jumbled mess out of my head and why not put it here.
Music – Yawning Man

I am more than you wanted me to be.

I count six
Three pairs
With pupils wide
They test the blinds

And crouch in fright.

I want you, I need you

I don’t know what more to say.

So I say nothing and hope
But the choice is always wrong

This is all wrong.
Will we ever be right?

Posted in flash fiction

War Paint

Lilli plopped two tubes of lipstick down in front of her mother.

“Red for strength and energy.” Her mom admired the purple tube and cherry red lipstick.

“Black to signal you’ve been here before.” At this her mother frowned.

“You know I don’t like you wearing black lipstick.” Lilli rolled her eyes and huffed.

“Mom, I really think black lipstick is the least of the problems here. Besides, you need war paint to show the cancer who’s boss.”

Lilli’s mom tucked the black tube into her pocket.

“I’ll just keep this with me … to show the cancer who’s boss.”

Word Count: 99
For the flash fiction challenge at Carrot Ranch

Posted in flash fiction, friday fictioneers

The Act of Pretending

The act of being everything I’m not has always been my go to defense mechanism. 

Moving to a new school? I can give you best sharp witted class clown alive.

New job? I’ve always been dependable and I’m highly educated. They’ll never check the facts if you’re convincing enough.

New relationship? I mean who needs them really, but I’m the most debonair man you’ve ever met.

I go to every theatre audition but I’m never the guy they’re looking for. 

Maybe it’s the stench, alcohol and unwashed skin can damper the ability to pull the audience in.

PHOTO PROMPT © Ted Strutz

Word Count: 97
For
Friday Fictioneers, click the link to read more.

Posted in Word Prompt

Vulgar

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)

Posted in stream of consciousness

Less

The human memory is notoriously faulty.

Janine no longer remembered if she saw the light or if it was just the surgeons blinding head lamp as he crawled into her mother’s cavernous heart in attempt to save her.

Janine no longer remembered if she merely thought the words or if they actually slipped between her gritted teeth.

“Don’t bother, there’s nothing there to save.”

With all his gracious intent, the doctor took her hands.

“I did all I could but it just couldn’t be done.”

Janine couldn’t slam the gate fast enough, “You could’ve done less.”

No prompt to speak of.
Music: Moon Duo

Posted in flash fiction

Evidence

“Oh shit.” Mark disappeared below the railing.
“What?” Emmy strained to see beyond the trees.
“No, it’s Mrs. Smith!” Mark leaned between the columns. “She has her tongue down the pool boys throat again.”
Emmy handed the camera up to him. “We’re here to get evidence after all.”

48 words – 276 characters
For Twittering Tales

Click the link for rules and to read more

Posted in flash fiction, friday fictioneers

Voyeurs

We must all be voyeurs at heart but, surveying the waiting area, I see no one else people watching like me.

A middle aged woman scurries past carrying the group coffee haul.

A family of five desperately attempts to redirect the youngest before the situation descends to tears.

Then his eyes.

They meet mine across the noisy space. Maybe there’s a smirk dancing over his lips; caught in the act as we are.

Like tunnel vision, I see nothing else.

Someone pauses before me, an imprint on the outskirts of my mind.

I peer around the figure but he’s gone.

PHOTO PROMPT © Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

Word Count: 100
For
Friday Fictioneers (on a Thursday!). Click the link for the rules and more flash fiction pieces.