Posted in friday fictioneers

Chicken Little

Sia tapped an unsuspecting puddle with her toe. Startled it rippled away, gently distorting the realities reflected on its surface.

The ripples transformed her brother, straining to peer into the dark general store, to a boy scavenging after Christmas. Barren trees became crumbling sticks, not even good for fire.

The sky was falling.

“Something’s wrong.”

Marta’s back spasmed and her lungs burned as she coughed. Thin strings of blood stretched from her lips to the palm of her hand.

Only her son caught sight of the panic in Marta’s eyes.

“Nothing’s wrong Sia. Stop daydreaming and come on.”

PHOTO PROMPT © Jean L. Hays

Word Count: 98
For Friday Fictioneers courtesy of Rochelle Wisoff Fields. Thank you as always.

Posted in Word Prompt

Rivulets of Love

Standing beside you silence is broken even when nothing is said. Funny isn’t it? The stars and the sky; did they dance and dive, bring cosmic planes of every color into a swirling whirling dance of lightening intensity before your eyes met mine?

Has the world always fallen silent at the beckon of your gasp, a movement so sudden and rasp, or was it just mine?

Strange thing isn’t it? To feel everything you’ve ever been step into the light of everything you’ll ever be, knowing no matter the fragility broken will never be … again …

Oh this feeling, again and again. Melodies in languages I fear I will never understand, kisses along paths I may never travel beneath moonlit branches otherworldly in their desire.

It dissipates but not into illusion, a dream of roses and foreign spring days. It sinks beneath the current, becoming the undertow, dragging us along in this sweet abandon, forever familiar. You are home. You are forever, over and over and over.

Such are the rivulets of love that stream from our silent smiles, glancing eyes, as we stand quiet, forever reaching in fear of loving alone the other.

Rivulet

Posted in stream of consciousness

Aqui.

It’s that time again!

Prompt – Present

Music – Pete Rock – Petestrumentals

Are you present?

Aqui.

Are we ever really?

This week has me wondering when the last time I really sat down and chose to be present in the moment was.

And what did it teach me?

Have you ever tried it?

Through meditation?

The hardest thing about meditation for me at first was clearing my mind.

It’s amazing how hard that can be.

We all have moments where we zone out and I guess sometimes we like to think of that as clearing the mind but it’s not really is it?

In my case I’m zoning out because there’s something very much there, standing heavy on my mind.

Definitely not clear.

I remember one of the techniques I learned was to think in images, not words, then clear those images away.

Put them away into boxes or whatever so that you can clear that space in your mind.

Do you know how hard it is to make a conscious effort to think without words?

It’s harder than you’d imagine it’d be.

Once you get better at it you’re supposed to be able to take this practice into daily life.

You can meditate while doing the most under appreciated things like walking or eating …

Concentrate on your step, how your foot hits the ground and moves you forward.

Do you really want to move forward?

What are you walking away from?

Towards?

What about your food, what does it taste like?

Hopefully not cheap corrugated plastic.

Do you remember the eyes of the person you love?

The exact way the colors of their iris flow into each other?

Or the way their eyes squint and the skin creases at the corners when they laugh.

How about their smile?

When they’re staring off into space, zoned out, and smiling to themselves,

Do you remember the way their lips curve?

How about the feel of their hand in yours?

Or their arms around you?

Do you remember the way their hair smells when you have them pulled close?

Time’s up.

Posted in stream of consciousness

Here We Are

Stream of thought writing, I guess this is going to be a weekly thing now –

Prompt – Inkling

Music – Steve Reich – Works 1965-1995

Inkling.

It starts with a drop, a spot of ink infecting, spreading in the water.

It was all so clear

Until

You loosed the ink composed of your fear.

Now it’s here, spreading, floating, clouding

A situation we thought was through.

Tied up and tossed aside

Like a neatly composed pile of trash.

But here we are

Lost in each others eyes.

At least I am.

I have a feeling

You are too but we can’t, can we?

Inklings aren’t enough

They don’t spread through the veins,

Becoming all we are.

Do they?

Be still, they say, let it be.

Let it disperse, the way ink should

Eventually the floods will carry it away.

Except I’ve been waiting

And it’s still here

Floating and spreading

Infecting all we’re becoming.

But of course

They say

There was never another way.

The inkling was always there

Just hidden away by fear.

You’re not scared

And I’m no longer afraid …

So what is this inkling that remains?

Time inches by

Sand through the hole we’ll never hold again.

Spread by the wind like the ink in water.

How many seconds has it been?

How long until this dam breaks

And our infested waters overflow

Carrying away everything we know,

Our fears?

Our belief?

Time’s up.


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