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.
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)
It’s the tea kettle, always the tea kettle.
Jada had no idea why it was the kettle. Surely it wasn’t always. How many childhood stories were there about tea kettles being possessed?
She couldn’t resist the designs. It begged to be taken home.
Such a tea slut.
The walls rumbled. In front of her individual scales twitched and flapped. A beast of terrifying size draped over her furniture.
Jada knew the beast couldn’t be real. Yet here it was, half chasing something in its sleep; its forked tongue hanging from between scaly lips. Its serrated claws curled as it feigned trotting through a field playfully tossing its massive head.
And probably a corpse.
A feeling of panic rested low in her belly. Jada’s legs ached to run but she was frozen.
Its head snapped up. Jada could see her reflection in the glossy red iris. The beast inhaled as its nose passed across her.
Not a snack, the whole meal. Is this really gonna be my last thought before I die?
Its putrid breath filled Jada’s nose. Instead of a roar it let out a series of low clicks.
Oh god, it’s engine won’t turn over.
Word Count: 200
For Sunday Photo Fiction – It’s my first time joining in with this (we can post on days other than Sunday right?) Also, dragons are like puppies. Who knew?
He ran his fingers through the raging water. The boss was right, the rapids were tumultuous enough. The rabid water ripped gentle leaves below the surface, corrupting them beyond recognition.
“We’re all absorbed into chaos eventually.”
His walkie buzzed to life, “Tomas, are you ready?”
The boss said nothing would change without the influence of old words …
“Ready.” His voice was steady but only now did Tomas feel the sun beating down on his neck.
The first strings of red rushed through the rapids towards the town water supply.
They would pay for their dependence on old words today.
Word Count: 100
Many thanks to Rochelle for hosting Friday Fictioneers!
Do you ever see the ground?
Hold tight honey, there’s bad times coming …
It’s nothing physical
But it’s still yours
RDP Prompt: Parcel
Lately I just haven’t had words. Especially today I wish I had something eloquent and pretty.
But since I don’t seem to have anything maybe it’s time to just do a picture a day challenge.