Posted in flash fiction, Word Prompt

The Birds

“It’s …”
“The ubiquitous silence maybe?”
“Is that why we’re whispering?”
“I guess …”

Trees stretched to the sky, blocking out all but scattered patches of fading sunlight. An absolute stillness settled over the forest cloaking it in a deep harrowing silence. Dina swallowed her breath, scared to draw the forests stoic attention towards the duo. Riza’s skin prickled against the percieved threat of quiet.

“Where are the birds?”

FOWC: Ubiquitous

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Posted in Word Prompt

Fall Away From Time (Repost)

Silence sounds like …
Your spirit spinning
Out of control to the DJ.
Your breath slowing
In puffs of hazy cigarette smoke.
Your heart pounding
Under the soft weight of my hand.
Your smile against
My hair under the cold moon.
The fading drops
Of my rocks failing to skip.
Your fingers drawing
Shivering lines down my back.
Silence sounds like …
All those things I feel in my soul
When your eyes lock with mine
And we fall away from time.
143

Originally published here in Dec. 2017. The prompt at the time was silence. Today’s RDP prompt is intimate

I couldn’t let love day go by without something!

I’m in the final weeks of my grad program. Unfortunately that’s meant I haven’t been on here. But if anyone’s interested in my research on investment in clean energy let me know and I may post the presentation here for all to see!

Posted in Word Prompt

Rivulets of Love (Repost)

Back in April the WordPress daily word was rivulet, today the word of the day challenge is rivulet so I’m sharing this one again.

Standing beside you silence is broken even when nothing is said. Funny isn’t it? The stars and the sky; did they dance and dive, bring cosmic planes of every color into a swirling whirling dance of lightening intensity before your eyes met mine?

Has the world always fallen silent at the beckon of your gasp, a movement so sudden and rasp, or was it just mine?

Strange thing isn’t it? To feel everything you’ve ever been step into the light of everything you’ll ever be, knowing no matter the fragility broken will never be … again …

Oh this feeling, again and again. Melodies in languages I fear I will never understand, kisses along paths I may never travel beneath moonlit branches otherworldly in their desire.

It dissipates but not into illusion, a dream of roses and foreign spring days. It sinks beneath the current, becoming the undertow, dragging us along in this sweet abandon, forever familiar. You are home. You are forever, over and over and over.

Such are the rivulets of love that stream from our silent smiles, glancing eyes, as we stand quiet, forever reaching in fear of loving alone the other.

Posted in Word Prompt

The After

The silence is the most mesmerizing piece of this puzzle. It grows harder every day to remember just how noisy the world once was. Planes, trains, cars? Do I even remember those things? They’re vague memories now, things that existed in the before.

This is the after.

This is different.

Before … before I could tell you the sound of my father’s bike. I could hear it’s roaring engine, feel the vibrations and wind whipping through my clothes even before I saw it.

After … in the after I struggle to describe just how loud, just what pitch. In the after I can no longer hear the engine grumble to life in my dreams.

No longer do I look both ways before crossing streets.

No longer do I worry for the constant distractions of phones forever connected to everyone yet no one.

It’s been fifteen years since we crossed the line from the before to this silent space, this after.

Ten since I’ve seen more than two people together.

Four since I’ve seen anyone at all.

Until yesterday.

She can’t be more than five. She came barreling out of the thickets, matted hair and a ripped night gown.

Surely she belongs to someone.

She speaks.

She sings.

At first she spoke not to me but to the trees, the sky, the birds. She asked them if I was the one.

I couldn’t leave her, the wild dogs would devour her for a snack.

Then she spoke to me.

“I came here on a plane.”

Posted in Word Prompt

Writing Didn’t Save Me

Look out, actual kind of blog incoming. 

I’ve been thinking, as us sentient beings are wont to do, about life and the semi-permanence of it all.

And I’ve been tossing around the idea of reposting this here for a few days.

Just as a reminder: None of us are alone. 

Writing Didn’t Save Me

This week is all about writing through the pain, using our words to pull us through and out of the darkest of times.

Seems like it should be right up my alley, right?

The depressed chick with gothic tendencies that was always cynical and hated the world? She should definitely have something to say about that right?

Honestly, when I was at my lowest points, in my darkest corners, I didn’t write.

I went years without writing.

I didn’t cry, I didn’t feel sad, I didn’t feel inspired, I didn’t feel angry … I didn’t feel anything.

I was so numb that I hurt myself to feel anything.

I was so numb that I pushed everyone away because I was convinced I would just pull everyone down with me.

I lost family, friends, love.

And I did it all on purpose because I was scared. I believed that I deserved to be alone. I believed on the off-chance I managed to feel something, probably right at the moment of my death, then it shouldn’t be anyone’s responsibility to clean up after me.

If I couldn’t feel anything then I didn’t deserve the love and support of these people around me.

I didn’t write.

Not a word.

But I wrote on my way down. I pumped out poetry and stories by pouring every ounce of emotion I could muster into them. As if my preserving them onto pages and pages of lined notebook paper would somehow make them easier for me to recall when I truly needed them.

I was falling apart loudly and dramatically in my stories long before the cracks ever began to seep into my real life.

But once I was there? Once I was standing in the darkness facing the ultimate battle?

There wasn’t a single word I could have written.

Because depression steals things from you like a thief in the night. It turns up, triggered by something you never saw coming or sometimes nothing at all, and it takes until it can take no more.

But it’s silent.

It doesn’t come with screaming, crying fits … not in public anyway. It doesn’t sneak in on a jet plane with a roaring engine. It slides under your door like smoke from a fire brewing inside your walls, one you didn’t know you had to worry about.

It’s empty, like staring into a void that’s just sucked away everything you ever cared about but, for some reason you can’t comprehend, spared you. It’s that vast swirling nothingness that we imagined outer space to be so long ago. What is it they say about space? No one can hear you scream?

So, I didn’t write and I won’t pretend writing pulled me out of it.

I went to therapy and at some point, my therapist had to remind me there were things depression stole from me that I could take back. I could regain some control by reclaiming the passions I had so helplessly watched my depression make off with years before.

That’s when I started to write again.

At first it was hard, my words felt heavy and clumsy. I felt less than adequate, drained and like maybe depression had completely stolen my ability.

It was easy to put my pen down and simply say I just didn’t have it anymore. Writing would forever be a casualty of war.

However, I needed an outlet, I had words that I could use now but I needed somewhere to put them. Even though I thought my writing was horrible I kept returning to it. I kept picking my pen back up and scribbling away. Most of the time I re-read what I wrote and felt like a kindergartener trying to write on a Hemingway level.

The seeds of self-doubt had been sown pretty thick.

I was encouraged to keep practicing, even if what I was producing seemed to be awful, the point was I was doing something.

I was proving to myself that depression didn’t own me.

That’s what writing did for me. It helped to prove that depression, for me, did not win the war no matter how many battles I lost to its deafening silence. It helped me to see the person I thought depression did away with was still there, just tired and in dire need of a break. It helped to remind me that living with passion makes the moments worth it because when depression rears its head around the corner again I will need reminding.

Writing didn’t save me but it will always be a reminder of what I can never lose.

I originally posted this on a collaboration blog I’m part of, The Perfectly Imperfect Bunch, last year. 

Rush

Posted in Word Prompt

Bucket

I’ve got a bucket full of memories.
I spill from my deepest estuaries.
Like blood from fresh cuts,
Across the beds of my fingers,
Driving down to my thighs
Where the rivers run deeper
And the water bleeds darker.
My bucket fills with hazy days,
Dark specters and figures
Blending with the nightly shadows,
Caressing the darkest pieces
Just beyond the noise.
You bring me silence.
You bring me quiet.
You build dams to my scars;
Stopping the flow to my bucket of hell.
I’ve never found one like you before,
A soul that beats so close to mine.
Your blood flows darker,
Deeper,
Divine,
Through this bucket of mine.
You touch the chaos,
No fear etched across your face.
You try to take it all away,
Try to steal my bucket of time.

Posted in stream of consciousness

Funnel Clouds and Silence

Word dump writing attempt, prompt – WordPress Daily Prompt – Funnel

Music of choice: Artist – Balmorhea – no specific song or album, just listening to them on Spotify.

Funnel.

Funnel clouds.

I’m from tornado country.

When I was growing up it would rain all winter, cold shocking rain that pierced your skin when it hit. When spring came the rain didn’t stop, it just warmed up but brought with it heavy downpours and storms.

Try explaining tornado sirens aka repurposed air raid sirens to people who have never had to worry about them before.

Or why the yellow sky sets me on edge.

But the purpling blue cloud of a man descending on our skyline doesn’t.

People seem to forget how quiet it is …

Right before the storm.

That’s not a saying just because, it’s true.

The birds know.

Beasts know.

When that funnel hits the ground …

They’ve been telling you.

It’s the same with all disasters, earthquakes …

Almost with human made ones too.

Heartbreak.

The silence almost always precedes it.

Hits to the gut, the legs, the back …

There was always unimaginable noise

Yelling, screaming …

Then silence.

Or at least a call for it, “shut up!”

The universe begs us to be quiet.

Listen.

There will be plenty of noise when that funnel cloud hits the ground.

It sounds like a freight train, rumbling everything around.

Walls start crumbling …

When I was in school they pretended that having us sit in the hall with our heads covered and our asses in the air would protect us.

It’s ironic that it’s almost the same position you end up in when life’s noise becomes too much.

On the ground.

Hands over your head.

After all, your most precious commodity is your brain.

You can break your spine,

Lose your legs,

Never walk again.

But as long as you can still think,

As long as you can still reach for that silence.

Understand.

My 10 minutes are up.


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Posted in Word Prompt

Fall Away From Time

WordPress Daily Prompt – Silent

Silence sounds like …
Your spirit spinning
Out of control to the DJ.
Your breath slowing
In puffs of hazy cigarette smoke.
Your heart pounding
Under the soft weight of my hand.
Your smile against
My hair under the cold moon.
The fading drops
Of my rocks failing to skip.
Your fingers drawing
Shivering lines down my back.
Silence sounds like …
All those things I feel in my soul
When your eyes lock with mine
And we fall away from time.
143


There are new posts over at The Perfectly Imperfect Bunch, go take a look!