Posted in flash fiction, friday fictioneers

Lame

The briefcase and half empty glass of juice meant only one thing.
Julia tapped her papers against the glass table.
“Why do you always do this?” Robin dragged his fork through the syrup running over his pancakes.
“Why do I always do what?” 
“This.” Robin pointed at her briefcase with his dripping fork. 
“Go to work?”
“It’s lame. When I grow up I’m gonna be a dancer.”
Julia leaned down to the boy’s level where his blue eyes pierced her own.
“That sounds wonderful. I know you’ll do that but until then …” 
Julia lifted his backpack and ballet slippers.

PHOTO PROMPT © Fatima Fakier Deria

Word Count: 100
For the always wonderful
Friday Fictioneers

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 Word Prompt

Dance

Am I crazy or is the dance driving me mad? You lead me, maddeningly, jarringly to the cusp of the stage only to quickly pull me back again. The fire leaps from my chest to your eyes but you douse it as quickly as it began. This delicate dance, fueled by such strong etiquette, seems to be overtaking mind and body. I can’t breathe when the beat is dictating how we speak. I’m not sure why we’re pretending … Or are we again? Perhaps the taptic sound is driving me mad. Your grip is giving you away. I hear the soft echoes sway off the robotic chants.

123. 123.

You’ll never let us fall from this stern count. Am I crazy or is the dance driving me mad?

Posted in Word Prompt

Drowned in the Desert

I don’t dance
I spent my childhood chained to the rail
I cry out for something more in this life of almost … is
What was it you whispered again?
Invisible words silently fed to the darkest spaces
Pulse through my veins
Choking life from all who touch me
Your memory is a ripple in sands of time
A fading oasis beyond sweltering lines
Forever sweeping away on the wind
Taut and teasing
A barrier into foreign lands
Unforgiving in the way it leads
The way it never gives
I don’t dance
But the memory beckons a sway or two
If only to say
I drowned in the desert
And absence of you

Word of the Day: Miss, word generator here

 

Posted in Word Prompt

Demon in Disguise

Here we stand, on precipices of stars and skies. One step, a small breath, a slight breeze to tousle my hair. A lovers hand, gently swaying strands. Will he pull? Will he strike? Will he push me? Leave me to the night?

Not today it seems as we step away, a dance of carefully crafted precision. Dangerous games we play here on the ledge. Yet there’s a piece of me, rising again, demon in disguise.

She charges again and again, wild in her being, eyes chasing the sand. Determined and unsteadying she demands control of the wind. Throw me down she will so she can stand here too. Plucking the stars from their branches, shoving her hungry mouth full, she’ll devour the light within you.

Posted in Word Prompt

Mama …

“Mama, just killed a man …”

Ironic. 

My only thought as I lean back against the stiff seats of a decrepit Cadillac.

“What year is this fucking thing?” I kick at the peeling floorboard fabric. When I don’t get an answer I sigh heavily. “It was rhetorical anyway. Leather fucking shoes … What is that anyway? Cow? Pig?”

A life long believer in animal rights I wrinkle my nose and muster every ounce of spit I have to project across his boots. “Fucking gross.”

The man beside me remains a statue, eyes glued to the sagging fabric above us.

Radio static impertinently interrupts Mr. Mercury. “Man, fuck this car.”

I kick my heels, stained a deep glossy red, to the waiting chasm of peeling carpet and random trash. “I’d ask you to get my zipper but frankly my dear …” I throw the man a sheepish look over my shoulder. Remnents of our drinks from earlier mixed with an ill advised nacho platter for one dribbled down his chin. My stomach rolled. “Frankly I don’t want you fucking touching me.”

I peel the bodycon dress from my curves with the precision of someone who’s undressed in front seats one too many times. Away it goes too, this time to the hungry mouth of the backseat, a gaping hole of no return from the looks of it.

Stepping from the stagnant car into the cool fall air I finally feel free. The creeping spider sensation no longer makes it’s way up my spine, into my fingers or my jaw.

No more do I feel the need to scream and yell, to clutch the last breaths of whatever is near between my crimson fingernails. The grass on my bare feet, the moon beaming down on my gentle windblown hair, sets me at ease.

“Do you feel that?” Gleefully I lean towards the opened passenger door. The statue of a man stares up to the sagging fabric with eyes of opaque glass. “You know?” I continue, “There really are two wonders in life, birth and death. You, sir, certainly make a fine addition to one of those.”

My sequined bag lay just inside the door, where it would ultimately stay. “But first!” I clap my hands and wiggle my hips as I snatch the matches from their designated spot. “It has been a lovely evening. I hope you fulfill all your wildest dreams and all that other bullshit no one ever really means.”

It’s amazing what a small orange flame can accomplish in an old Cadillac. I stand by, absorbed in the crackling flame. It dances and licks at the decrepit car. I throw my arms in the air and dance to the fading sounds of Queen playing on loop in my head. Feeling particularly at ease I even attempt a small bit of air guitar.

“Alas, there’s a reason I never joined a band but I must now bid you adieu.”

The wind is picking up. I know it will carry the scent of the fire, bringing curious onlookers and emergency workers far sooner than I anticipate.

No worries, even if they came now there would be barely a thing left.

With that I begin the slow tumble from cloud nine although I hate to admit I am tumbling faster these days.

I walk, naked and alone, down the abandoned road. The smell of the burn at my back, at least there is still one thing to put me at ease.

The next morning my husband caresses our daughter’s hair while I make our son’s breakfast.

“Did you hear?” He almost hisses the words across the spacious kitchen. “They found another one.”

“Another what dear?” I pluck our son from the playpen and strap him gingerly into the highchair, giving his nose a little tweak. “Eat your cereal.”

“Another burned car, another body.” My husband pulls me close, forever my protector. I giggle as I push his hands away.

“Aren’t they always men? Perhaps it’s me who should be holding you.” He flashes that pearly white smile while running his hands through perfectly gelled locks.

Already I can feel the spiders creeping along my spine, working their way into my fingers, along my jaw line.

I sigh, hoping to dispel them if even for a moment.

You should feel guilty.

But as the news cycle runs on loop in my mind I feel none.

Guilty

Posted in Word Prompt

Puppet

I try desperately to remember the moments before. What was the last thing I said? My fingers play along crusty scarred metal weaving rusted crosses through my lips.

What’s that smell? Rubbing alcohol?

Yes, that was it. I could see then from craters that now adorn my pearlescent face. There were bright lights and wood paneled walls exposing my naked body against industrial noises of sweat shops and steel grinding bone.

It’s my time, voices rise in a cacophony of laughter mixed with fraught jeers and gasps. Chains hoist my arms high, limbs of wood direct my legs, a crime of perversion set against Chopin. Stitched together like a human rag doll, a pirouetted puppet without pause.

Laughter

Posted in stream of consciousness

Spin Me Away

Sunday! Again and again.

I didn’t do this last Sunday because of family issues (and Easter, we can say Easter) so WordPress is obviously making me pay because …

Prompt – Thwart

Music – Fantastic Negrito – Shuffling on Spotify (seriously, just shuffle, he’s amazing)

Ok, 10 minutes on thwart … here we go …

You thwart me

At every turn, every spin

We practiced this dance

Night on night

But now that we’re here

You look away

Into the eyes of another

Does she feel like me?

You spin me away

Thwarted again.

I can feel the steady heat

Climbing from across the room

Dancers unaware

Of this crumbling routine.

I find the hands of others

But none move just like yours.

Round and round

The circle we go.

Til at last

At each other’s throats we go.

You spin me away

Thwarted again.

I pull strangers close

But their fingers won’t wander

Just like yours.

Slow and steady

Down my back and over my thighs.

I can feel the steady jealousy

Seething from across the room.

Round and round

The circle we go

Til at last …

Bow and begin again.

Posted in Word Prompt

Breathless

WordPress Daily Prompt – Astral

In planes of
Space and time,
You leave me breathless.
In every touch,
Restless.
Your eyes give me
A thousand reasons
To sink
Beneath the noises.
In every smile,
You leave me
Boundless.
Interlace your fingers
With mine.
Draw shifting shapes
Across my veins.
Let your lips wander
Down my spine.
In every moment,
A thousand beats,
Rendered helpless
By your radiating heat.
Pull me closer,
Dance through stars.
I’m a part of you
And you of me.
Leave me breathless.
In every gaze,
Speechless.

Posted in Word Prompt

It Beats in Perfect Time

WordPress Daily Prompt – Percussive

Your soul is a percussive instrument, beating and vibrating, keeping time with the wants and needs bouncing through your mind. You’re projecting, sending pulsing signals out into the world with every move you make, vibrations in colored solar flares to tell every soul what you seek, what they can help you find. We constantly meet and crash, impressing on one another the desires of each other. When my soul met yours it beat so perfectly in tune, moving in beat exactly with mine, complementing every move we made. There was no moment, no hesitation, only total realization. You were part of me and I was part of you, there’s never been another way it could be. Your soul is a percussive instrument and it beats in perfect time with mine.


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