Posted in friday fictioneers

The Wild Things

The girls stared across the table at each other. Each clutched a brightly colored piece of paper in dirty fingers.
The warden tapped his watch.
“Which one’s it gonna be?”
Hana watched as her younger sister slowly unfolded her small pink slip. Janey’s face contorted into a silent victorious howl as she shot up from her old chair to take a lap around the room.
Hana slumped, defeated.
“Ok Hana, let’s go.”
“No!” Without thinking, Hana was up and running towards the muddy grass outside. “You’ll never take me alive!”

Her father groaned towards the sky, “It’s just a bath.”

PHOTO PROMPT © Priya Bajpal

Word Count: 100

A write for Rochelle’s weekly Friday Fictioneer’s. Thank you Rochelle for keeping it in line as always.

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Posted in Word Prompt

Static Scream

WordPress Daily Prompt – Static

It’s something like a freak show circus I’ve found myself in. Abandoned yet moving. The carousel spins, fragmented lullabies cracking like whips over wind.

What is this place again?

Tents in disarray line dirt paths stomped clear.

Come one! Come all! Come in here!

Something compels me, moves me, towards the red door though I’m gripped with fear. I know what I’ll find here.

A fun house of eerie sorts. A man in a chair hanging from the ceiling as he reads his paper. Fido hangs barely alive beside the growing static noise.

Here the world is flipped. My heart is ripped.

Mommy dearest carries her butcher knife.

She cackles over the static scream.

“The children are in the pie. They eat good tonight.”


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Posted in Word Prompt

Slow Passions

WordPress Daily Prompt – Surreal

I fell into a dark hole
That took me to another world.
Another dimension,
On the other side of the view
We always enjoyed from the balcony
In that hotel overlooking the bay.
I was floating in a rowboat
With a fisherman’s net
And a head full of sun
As I watched the couple on the balcony
Dance in slow motion,
Against the rising clouds,
Over the slow jazz from the streets.
And I wondered
What it would be like to be loved
Just like that;
A gentle touch on my back,
Or the softest kiss on my neck.
To dance in slow motion,
Against the shadows
Of endless mourning.
Or in the kitchen,
Against the rising heat,
Of the moments
We make when your hands
Stray from my back
Down my hips and
Slowly up my thighs.
But my cheeks are burning
And the sun is setting.
The children will be crying
With a hunger buried deep within.
And there are hands to be bruised;
Knuckles to bleed.
For I’m not loved
In the way that leads us
To dance through the room
With slow passions.