Posted in flash fiction

Her Eyes (Or Untitled)

My eyes trace the same curves over and over, like paper never truly absorbing ink. Gentle folds of skin stand in contrast to stark bone.

She had been so … welcoming, so polite.

“Yes doctor, please, come in. A drink? Food? Of course, anything for you.”

Though she had nothing to give in the end, a couple of blackened lungs, a spoiled liver.

Her eyes, crystalline blue, I would have taken those.

Why did she have to turn it the way she did? It shouldn’t have come to those utterances of hers.

“I think you’re mistaken. I don’t think so. No.”

And in this world, a woman of her standard owning a gun?

My soul will rest easy, hers I’m not sure.

I clean my tools meticulously, disposing of the browning apple core, used condom and bloodied cloths in her make shift fire pit.

I collect the money, laid on her poorly made wooden table … beforehand … in plain sight.

The first sign of trouble.

“Of course I trust you doctor.”

Outside the madam keeps an eye on rowdy drunks. I pass her a handful of crumpled bills.

“Made a bit of a mess, might let her sleep.”

She tucks them away, her eyes never straying from the stumbling fools, never truly catching sight of me.

They never do.

I wrote this as homework for a writer’s meeting I went to. I’m not sure yet where it’s going or if it can go anywhere else. I imagine this character has a bit of wanderlust though.

Posted in flash fiction

What Pegman Saw – Not Shit

I’ve been all around the world chasing that little guy. Let me tell you a thing or two, the guys got some secrets.

Just wonder, a guy who’s been spotted just about everywhere on god’s green earth? Why else would you hop from continent to continent like that?

Just ask him what went down at the Billinudgel Hotel between that Mr. and his wayward Mrs. Took them forever to clean the place up after … I don’t know what Mr. Pool-boy had been eating but it definitely stained the ceiling. The Mr. remained calm, even had a beer while Mr. Pool-boy’s pieces …

Well, maybe he won’t tell, that makes him an accomplice.

Maybe they pry it from the bastards dying lips so he’s an eye witness.

Either way, come a little closer, I’ll tell you something real.

Pegman didn’t see shit.

And me? It’s my job to keep it that way.

wps-billinudgel-hotel-coming-of-age-180408

Word Count: 150

This is my first try at the What Pegman Saw challenge. I’ve seen a few other bloggers I follow participating and it seems interesting. Every week there’s a new place, based on Google street view. This week’s destination is The Billinudgel Hotel, NSW, Australia.

You can find rules here and this weeks destination here.

 

Posted in stream of consciousness

I Can’t Keep Count

I almost didn’t post this because I feel like I’m getting kind of achy breaky hearty in my writing lately. I had a moment of “I should be more … positive, upbeat, happy, candle-lit dinners and walk on the beachy … whatever” but then I thought “no, this is what came out, this is what it is.” This blog, for me, is for more impromptu, practice/refining type writing so I’ve always told myself that what inspiration gets put out here is what it is.

WordPress Daily Prompt – Atmospheric

I can’t keep count
Of the moments
That have passed me by.
Each one sinking in like a hammer
To the heart,
Cracking the spirit,
Threatening to tear the soul.
It’s a mystery to me
Why I am pulled so.
Moments in time,
Easily forgotten.
But I can’t keep count
Of the dreams I have
Or the nights I lie awake
When I feel that stirring,
Churning and rising,
From the places I strained
To hide it.
I can’t keep count
Of the mysteries
You inspire in me;
Of the memories
You awaken in me,
Like ancient spirits
Springing forth,
Speaking a language
Cryptic and romantic.
Mostly I just can’t keep count
Of the moments
I wish you were here
With me.


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