Posted in friday fictioneers

Friday Fictioneers – Rays of Gold

Sometimes she sits on the gilded edge of the time before and the space after, watching people scurry below.

Ants unaware of their instinctual march, if they were to rip their eyes from the path would they see me?

Unaware of his mother’s harried calls a boy lets his toy train crash to the wooden floors. The glowing specter upon the golden spiral lights, reflecting and refracting shimmering beams, flickers then vanishes.

“Mommy did you see that?”

He points, though he’s suddenly unsure of the space where the dancing rays of gold once were.

His mother hurriedly leads him away.


dales-symphony-2PHOTO PROMPT © Dale Rogerson

Many thanks to Rochelle Wisoff Fields for wrangling Friday Fictioneers

Posted in stream of consciousness

The Rain Is Coming

Sunday! 

A note for the curious: Daylight savings time does not work on biological clocks. 

Prompt: Meander

Music: Nine Inch Nails: Not The Actual Events

Rivers meander through the woods.

I splash through them in ratty old shoes and uncombed hair.

If I can just follow the babbling stream,

Follow to where the siren voices are calling me.

Dirty fingers clutch my ancient stuffed bear,

A toy from generations before.

His stuffing is busting from the frayed seems in his neck

But I love him anyway.

My constant companion.

The water splashes around my ankles,

Stabbing me with sharp, cold droplets.

How long till the rain comes?

The small stream won’t meander through the woods then.

The storms feed it,

Grow it like a monster in your dreams.

Soon it laps at the edges of our safe spaces.

I have to make it to a safe space before it rains.

Once it starts it will never stop.

The rocks along the bank are slick

But I have to stay close.

If I lose the meandering stream

The rain will surely get me too.

My beloved companion, clutched by an arm,

Is losing steam.

His seams …

Are ripping, falling.

We’re leaving a trail of stuffing.

There’s not time for me to consider,

My young mind knows we should be more careful

But I can smell the rain.


Please check out the poetry over and The Perfectly Imperfect Bunch