My grandfather planted this tree with roots poisoned after the war. His father watered it, the seed which came before. My father nurtured them, these roots of ruined fiber. This tree grew ever higher. Its fruit, rotting, my mother prepared for me. She sweetened it, tried to soothe it down, Nothing could disguise the smell of these roots rotting in the ground. It falls to me, as this tree must be fed; A living sacrifice of a life never lead. I toss my children as far as I can; Mutter the same empty words my mother offered Over knotted hands.
Word Count: 100
A write for Friday Fictioneers, roped in by Rochelle Wisoff Fields. I also think it’s Sunday (though I am not 100% sure). I’ve been writing my research proposal/thesis. I’m afraid I’m not good for much else right now.
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.”
“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
“Six … I count six broken dreams …” “Oh my god Jerry! They’re just watering cans! I’m gonna put flowers in them.” Zan thrust a faded can into her boyfriend’s hands. “Saw it on pinterest; such a great way to spend a Saturday.” Jerry looked down at their toddler son. Last time Zan ‘saw it on pinterest’ the family had to dress as zoo animals for pictures. “This is what you do for love kiddo.” He whispered. “Oh look! Here’s a yellow one!” Zan clasped her hands and gasped. “It has a bluebird!” “Seven … I count seven …”
Word Count: 99
Many thanks to Rochelle for hosting weekly Friday Fictioneers. Visit her page for more info about the challenge. Want more fictioneers? Click the blue froggy below.