Posted in friday fictioneers

Friday Fictioneers – Counting Lighters

This here’s a true story.

The moment I realized what rock bottom looked like as I barreled from above.

And tried to hit the brakes but just wasn’t strong enough.

I wasted drunken moments counting lighters scattered around, at least ten collected in my dead flower jar.

Then the music stopped and that moment of eerie silence …

Right before girls screaming and wild stampeding.

“There’s a boy on the bedroom floor. There’s a boy dying through that door.”

In my apartment.

High on my drugs.

Drunk on my liquor.

I wasted moments counting lighters … I spent seconds wishing on stars.

coffee-table-prior
PHOTO PROMPT © Yvette Prior

Word Count: 100

Many thanks as always to Rochelle Wisoff-Fields.

I honestly do not know if this will work in 100 words, I like it but I also know it seems kind of abstract. 

Posted in friday fictioneers

Friday Fictioneers – At Last

Fat raindrops rolled down the window pane accompanied by the ever present haze of city living. Ghosts of years gone by stood silently silhouetted against a dark, starless sky.

Lights from the spire sprinkled to life in a dazzling glaze. A gasp caught in her throat. The sign she had been waiting for.

Her Prince Charming casting a wide arching call for her to come.

At last.

She shoved the suitcase closed around three stuffed animals and a bag of Cheetos.

Fading photos, her momentos of a life forgotten, would have to stay behind.

The nurses quietly blocked her door.

nyc-jill-wisoffPHOTO PROMPT ©Jill Wisoff


 

A special thanks to Rochelle Wisoff-Fields for wrangling in Friday Fictioneers.

I did a few of these then stopped for several weeks due to my work load (at my actual job and my grad school work). Luckily I’ve found myself with a slight bit of breathing room … or the possibility of killing men just watch them die if I didn’t get a chance to space out soon … So here I am.

Posted in stream of consciousness

The Grave Robber’s Dress

Sunday Funday … or something like that

Prompt – Fabric

Music – City of the Sun on Spotify shuffle

July passed the light fabric between her thin fingers. Black with big brush stroke sunflowers, how odd.

The skirt flowed down from her grip, a dark waterfall with pops of yellow and brown to remind everyone that this wasn’t what it seemed.

It couldn’t be.

The young woman’s make up seemed to accent the point. Ruby red lips and a smoky eye, the oddity continues.

Her dirty blonde hair was carefully styled in robust curls which tumbled from her crown just brushing the straps of the sundress.

Perhaps the most perplexing part to July were the shoes. Even in heaven she’ll be tripping over those heels …

They were adorable though, a dark gunmetal gray laid with some kind of iridiscent shimmer.

Not too fancy … But greatly helped by the presence of gray bangles and meteorite necklace on her fragile extremities.

“July.” Her partner’s rough voice sent a shock up her spine. “Come on.”

“I want this.” Behind her the team of two other men sighed.

“What?” Red leaned over her shoulder. “You want what? The girl?”

“The dress …” July let her glance linger over the gentle girl. “I want the whole outfit.”

Red pinched the bridge of his nose and his grumbled. “We got what we came for, leave Jane Doe clothed.”

“Just take a picture then get on Amazon like a normal person.” August chimed in.

“He’s got a point. Boss man will want to know why we took longer than necessary and I don’t want to explain how July wanted to shop.”

With a stomp of her covered converse and a sigh July pulled out a phone. “Fine.”


Time technically ended as I was typing “linger over” but I wasn’t done yet so I broke my own rule. 

Posted in stream of consciousness

Smudged Charcoal Memories

Stream of Consciousness Writing Attempt – Wordpress Daily Prompt – Candid

Music: Alberto Giurioli – once again I’ve found myself just shuffling on Spotify, no specific  songs or albums

Candid.

I have photos in my mind, candid pictures, frozen in time.

Of you, me, the world as it wishes it could be … the way it is and the way it could.

Like rough charcoal sketches, outlining your jaw

Tracing your lips and infecting everything we’ve become.

Conversations are easy, expressions in stars and beauty …

Total comfort we take for granted.

And yet here we are, with candid pictures but nothing solid.

Smudged charcoal memories

Scenes were there, we know, but we’re always just missing the point.

Always just grasping the cusp of the greater things

Only to find ….

We were never meant for the better side

So we cling to something more, hoping, praying, waiting …

We hide beneath silence and sideways glances

While we dangle from the precipice

Fuzzy charcoal portraits and blurry night walking pictures

With broken smiles and tear stained eyes

Are all we left behind but not all that’s left to find?

How long can you hold on? Hold out?

Close your eyes

10 minutes up.

 

Posted in Word Prompt

Threads of Gold

I want to lie between the lines.
To feel the words moving and sinking,
Gnashing and gnawing at the chains binding them so.
I want to sink into the crevices between the melodies,
The breaths between the chords.
To feel the rhythms beating and crashing,
Tearing and thrashing at the ropes holding them down.
I would inhale every heartbroken word.
Let it sink into my skin,
A permanent tattoo of something
Too strong to break yet too fragile to hold.
Something nurtured in the dark
Until it becomes too bold.
Let the waves crash over me,
Stripping my spirit clean.
Sew my pieces with your song,
Delicate threads of gold.


The Perfectly Imperfect Bunch

Posted in Word Prompt

Lilies on the Floor

I can’t stop quaking
My hands are shaking.
There’s glass everywhere,
Blood on the floor,
Smeared over the door.
Oh god,
What have we done here?
Lilies on the floor.
Purple and blue,
Like the bruises
Left on you,
And I’m ripping
Bone from tendon.
Tell them I’m sending
All of us on a one way
Track, no returning.
Because I can’t stop quaking.
My hands are shaking.
There’s flesh and bone everywhere.

Posted in Word Prompt

Trust Fall

WordPress Daily Prompt – Undulate

We’re statues against the wall, hands poised at the waist, gently braced against the chaos of our impending fall.

Tell me, what awaits us here,

In the multi-colored sphere of circles unknown to the naked eye?

Can I trust you dear?

When they push us one by one, blind folded and blind sided, off the lisp of reality into the slowly undulating waters of our fears …

Will you be there?


Go check out The Perfectly Imperfect Bunch

Posted in Word Prompt

There’s A Man

There’s a man at my door.
He’s not moving anymore.
He just stares,
Icy blue and brown,
Through the concrete
At me.

There’s a man at my window.
He’s not breathing anymore.
He just taps,
Clicky clack and double rap,
Through the pane
To me.

There’s a man in my room.
He’s here with me.
He just stands,
Staring and stroking my cheek,
Through my skin,
Bleeding me.


Go see what’s new at The Perfectly Imperfect Bunch

Posted in Photo

Numbered Days 4/365

My heart could be filled

But truth be told …

My days are numbered here.

This disease is terminal.

The doctors don’t know what to do.

“Well,” he says as he raps spindly hands

“You can’t stay forever in the land of the damned.”

Indeed Father Time.

It appears I’ve been diagnosed with life.

I can’t stop my feet from wandering

Or my mind from pandering

The sweet effects of a sunset over the sea.

I suddenly, it seems, have things

I need to be

Rather than this old burnt out bag of flesh

And crumbling calcium deposits collected for me.

So tell me dear, tell me love

You know our days are numbered here …