Posted in Word Prompt

Did You See Those Fireworks

Welcome to 2018! That feels weird to write, where has time gone …

WordPress Daily Prompt – Conversation

The afternoon is beginning to slip away when I find myself sitting outside with you while you smoke.

Years of paranoia have taken root. I’ve spent much of our time frequently checking my surroundings, expecting my father, or someone he’s sent, to pop out at any moment and ruin everything.

You’ve been patient. You’ve held my hand while we’ve talked and spent those few precious moments together.

I watch you, next to me, staring out into the parking lot from our perch by some god awful landscaping.

“Why wouldn’t you kiss me?” It’s a simple enough question but I shrug. I want to, with every fiber of my being I do, but there’s a fear that’s deep rooted. If my father found out I was here with you …

“There were just a lot of people in there.” I’m still just a girl who struggles to explain and that seems like the safest answer. You let your cigarette dangle from the side of your mouth. An idea slither’s into my mind. As playful as I can I lean towards you and grab at it.

You were always more straightforward than I. “What are you doing? Stop.” As quickly as the playful game to get a kiss came, it’s gone, now replaced with a sinking feeling I’m all too familiar with.

“I’m sorry.” I whisper. “I just wanted a kiss.” If there’s frustration in your eyes I miss it. Instead you move closer to me.

“Oh yeah? Ok. Well, here, you can take it.” You lean in more, offering to play my silly little girl game. I hesitate only for a second before grabbing the cigarette.

Suddenly your lips are on mine. It steals my breath away, is this what a kiss is supposed to feel like? My heart shudders and the darkness behind my closed eyes erupts in color. You rest your hand gently against my cheek, letting your fingers wrap in my hair. I may be young still but I’m certain this is special.

In that moment every ounce of fear and uncertainty fades. There’s no one but us and I have no worries that we’ll be caught. In that moment I’m certain you’d protect me. It feels right, like this is exactly where I’m supposed to be; in this moment with you.

Somehow I’ve managed to keep ahold of the cigarette and as our lips finally part you slip your hand into mine and take it back.

For a second we stare at each other, electrified.

“Did you see those fireworks?” You ask quietly.


Go see what we have waiting for you at The Perfectly Imperfect Bunch!

Posted in Word Prompt

Memory

WordPress Daily Prompt – Irrelevant

At first read this doesn’t seem to match with the prompt, but hear me out. In abusive relationships one is often made to feel irrelevant. They don’t matter, their feelings, their thoughts, etc are of no concern to the abuser. So while the piece itself may not directly seem to go with the prompt, overall it hits a theme.

Tell me your earliest memory of your father.

All around me stories are shared of picnics and lakes and beautiful afternoons spent tossing a ball.

And you?

A gaze fixed directly on my downcast eyes.

My earliest memory you ask?

Well, that would be when I was about five?

The house is dark but not like its night,

It’s the type of dark you sit in when your paranoid father has you hiding out from his imaginary buddies.

The ones that he always says served in the mercenary with him,

Or the ones who are always about to come to collect on some unspeakable debt.

Except that’s not true.

Like the times he left us to care for our newborn sister;

While he ‘ran to the gas station’.

He always returned, hours later, a cigarette and the smell of stale alcohol on his breath.

But no job and not the least bit impressed

At our daring skills of keeping the newborn alive and well.

I’m standing at the end of the hall, just between our living room and dining room watching him,

But he doesn’t see me.

Because he’s too busy watching from between the closed wood paneled blinds

While chain smoking menthols …

Or maybe it’s lights.

The smoke floats into the steepled ceilings,

Curling and smiling,

As he mumbles about drug lords and gangsters.

I dare not make a noise,

Because at five I already know what disturbing him will bring.

It comes with a sore body and red eyes,

And the kind of cry that racks you until another round of hits forces it to stop.

I trace my steps back, as quietly as possible,

To the room where I’m supposed to be taking a nap.

But my sister and I, we never nap …

Instead we lie awake and dare each other to play quietly.

The first person to make too much noise,

To rustle their paper too loudly or inch the volume up on the small TV just a tad too far,

To bring down the paranoid wrath …

Well there’s no prize in this game,

But we won’t dare them again,

Not for a few days anyway.