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.”
There’s a certain beauty to life alone. A certain finesse to the fine art of dying in no ones arms but your own. I’ve lost count of the seconds slowly rolling into days. Those things were never ours anyway. It’s funny … The noises your mind will come up with to keep time floating in oceans with little salt. At first you know it’s just the children in your head playing. Then you begin to doubt as shadows creep out. Humans can die from any number of ailments … A common cold to a lightening strike, Historic rejection or morbid curiosity, It’s what makes us the same. At least that’s what they say. Maybe I relied too much on silence in those days.
My shadows frolic through the roaring break. They toss their hands to the wind And dance the steps to heaven. I don’t imagine they’ll let me live.
Word Count: 147
A write for What Pegman Saw. This weeks location is St. Helena island. For more information and rules visit the link. To read more stories click the blue froggy below.
Art of Dying is also a song by George Harrison, not really much in common with this piece but still nice to listen to.
“It’s soldiers; marching …” Liza stomped in place. “I don’t know. What about a mass influx of downtrodden people?” “Hannibal’s army rumbling over the Alps?” “Liza, you’re always thinking war. What about the devastation left behind?” “Bea, those rocks are strong! Why shouldn’t they be troops marching to victory?” “One good quake and they’d fall.” “One good rebellion from your influx?”
A group of high-pitched voices chimed in, “There they are! Ready or not here we come!” Liza tried to run but found herself face down in the dirt thanks to a stray rock. “One good rebellion.” Bea laughed.
With life not slowing down until after the new year (my daughter’s birthday is this weekend too!) I figured I should write something before Dec 30 next year.
This year I made the choice to stop focusing on hitting the publish button every day, whether the piece was good, bad, complete … whatever, and put more focus on participating in the community and the quality of what I was writing here.
That has helped me so much. I’ve gotten a ton of feedback from fellow writers which has helped me improve and become more confident. I appreciate every bit of it!
Without further ado … I’m linking the top 5 most viewed posts from 2018
The sight of him sends heat pulsing through my veins. My skin grows warm. Sheer will pushes me forward. What’s worse, my throat dries and heart hammers, I can feel his energy fixating on me. There’s a thousand women in this room; a thousand men too. He’s misdirected. He’s confused. Why would anyone pursue?
Doesn’t he see? People like me … We exist in the shadow. There for your amusement, or bemusement, but never serious inquiry. We slip in the cracks, stay behind a crowd’s back. His aim’s amiss. That must be it.
He must know I’m just a play thing, just the monster free of chains.