Posted in stream of consciousness

Crumbs

I’m a little bit messy
In life and in love
Memories splatter
Over walls and stale cloths
Across my shirt
Down my chin
A touch here and there
Fragrant reminders
Of a life I missed
Stick to my lips
Crumbs, ravaged
Forgotten details I pick up
Again and again

Posted in flash fiction

Fire Starter

I walked my dog here from the time the rain smelled of flowers through heated summer pains. We grew old here, grey hairs cropping up like pine needles. Soon we were covered with avalanches of them, prickly and sticky like aches and pains. Needles gave way to winters and snows heavy with human sorrow.

I had my first kiss here when birds were still quiet against the rising sun. He rested his hand on my cheek. He told me it would be alright. We planned a wedding through the morning dew and afternoon rays. But when the evening breeze came it left no remains. In the dark they strangled what we thought we had. By midnight it was just me and the needles, alone again.

I find myself in this place, over and over, shuffling dying fire starter from one memory to another. There’s smoke in the distance; the smell of burning dreams. I wonder what’s the cost to catch it all aflame and dissolve into the night, a waft of regret on the scent of what remains.

Photo Credit: Susan Spaulding

Word Count: 178
For
Sunday Photo Fiction – This might as well have been partially written by Dirty Three (seriously, I’ve been on a binge)

Posted in flash fiction

Everything That Ever Was – What Pegman Saw

There’s something to be said for being an empath in an abandoned city.

It seems everywhere I step is full of energy, an oddity considering no one’s lived here for decades. The air still hangs thick, even on the cool days, it’s electrified. A man once asked me exactly what I saw in this old city.

You see, it’s not the fear. It’s not the energy expelled in those last few precious moments that binds me here. I think there’s something else, something more that leaked beneath the surface that day.

It’s the memories. It’s everything that ever was and everything that never could be. It’s every smell and slight wind blown treasure which was lost that day.

The energy from those moments, those dreams, those regrets ooze from the blades of grass and dying leaves. They hang in the air, waiting to stir.

That’s the energy binding me here.

2D4C28F900000578-0-image-a-105_1444563287900

Word Count: 150

A write up for What Pegman Saw, rules here and this weeks location, Pripyat, Ukraine.

I did not take this picture from google earth per the rules. It’s from this article.

I may be a little odd. I would kill to visit this location (not literally kill, despite what I write I wouldn’t do that). The pictures coming out of Pripyat have been amazing, the aura that leaks through them is palpable. I’d be terrified the entire time I was there but I would go in a heartbeat.

Posted in flash fiction

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

Golden Light

Sunday thing.

Bubble

Music – The Echelon Effect on Spotify shuffle (I do this a lot you see)

We blow bubbles into the golden sunset,
Memories trapped in worlds we struggle to relive,
Reflecting rainbows, shimmering golds
We whisper our secrets into bubbles
And send them off to shrouds of secrecy
Beyond prying eyes and probing fingers
With promises of happily ever after
If we ever make it down from there.
We were but kids, young and in false belief
There will always be more to dream
Bubbles float beyond our clouds, grey skies from there on out
We always knew they would pop
Our precious memories would come tumbling down
Held in such high regard, we would learn to see
Truths about what we’ve done
As our pristine bubble memories rain down sharp fears
We were but kids, in the golden light, wondering what we’ve done

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 stream of consciousness

Street of Dreams

WordPress Daily Prompt – Dubious

I don’t know that I’ll ever understand
Why I do this to myself.
I know where this path leads,
This dubious street filled with dreams.
I walk it over and over,
Shuffling through the shattered memories.
They poke and they prod,
Stirring the most sensitive parts of me.
Yet I have no right,
I shut myself out here.
I broke your heart
You did nothing to me.
So I stand here on the curb,
Watching these abandoned memories.
I think of all the times I should have said
All those things I know I didn’t say before.
I’m ok,
It’s just that I know where this dubious street leads
And these silly dreams …
Well you know me, head in the clouds
But this street is always so silent
And what I would give to hear
Another soul on this street of dreams.

Posted in stream of consciousness

When Time Was Elastic

WordPress Daily Prompt – Elastic

When time was elastic,
Stretched between two points
Like a rubber band straining
To hold a twig from snapping in two,
We jumped here and there.
Moving choices,
Changing voices,
Then the band snapped;
Trapping us in strange places
Where skies are blue,
Unless they’re grey,
And memories of
When time was elastic
Are like rubber bands straining
To hold our minds together
When we’re slowly going crazy.


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