Posted in stream of consciousness

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!

Posted in flash fiction

The Last Twinkies

WordPress Daily Prompt – Varnish

The varnish on the wood steps is peeling away, cracking and splintering like the shards I’ve begun to feel in my soul.

How long … I wonder. Has it always been that way or did it degrade suddenly and explosively? Just like this world? Just like me?

Maybe it was just covered before. The warmth of a fake wool runner that we slid down on our bellies just a few blinks ago seems to be nothing more than a distant memory. My mind holds it like a memory from another world, gently as if the slightest breath could ripple the illusion and forever break it.

Cobwebs have taken over corners and chairs like the one my father sat in on Sunday mornings while reading the comics. They stifle the echo of his laugh bouncing off ceilings and through the hallways.

Now the only sound I hear is Sigh obsessively opening and closing cabinets. It seems that no matter how far gone the world is we still believe food will materialize in mom’s pantry. I hear him cackle with glee, “Twinkies!”

And yet here we stand, still just two kids, with the world forever crumbling around us.

“Sia! I found Twinkies!” Wrappers fall to the ground as Sigh stuffs two at a time into his mouth. His eyes betray the wonder, they never stop darting from the window to the door as he shoves two packs into my hands. “This is it.” He whispers, “I’ll go over to the Johansson’s and see if there’s anything left.”

I turn the golden cakes over in my dirty fingers. They remind me of summers and pool parties. Hours spent outside running through backyards and climbing trees only to shove the most un-nourishing thing you can find through your starving lips as a prize.

“Sia.” Sigh leans close to me, his hazel eyes moving into sharp focus. “If I don’t come back you have to keep going.”

He pushes the pistol into my hands and two bullets before disappearing into the swirling snow that is the ashen world beyond our memories.

I brush the cobwebs from my father’s old chair and settle into it, hugging the pistol into my hip. I try to relax but my thirteen-year-old mind knows I should be talking on the phone with friends or going to movies, not guarding the last two packs of Twinkies with my life.

The sun sets beyond the roofs of our long-gone neighbors. I find myself wondering how many bodies have gathered in these homes, on this street, in this neighborhood I once called home. The wind howls against the door but Sigh does not.

How long … I wonder.


Go check out The Perfectly Imperfect Bunch!

Posted in flash fiction

One-Way Street

WordPress Daily Prompt – One-Way

In the dream I’m standing at the intersection again. There’s the green truck, barreling towards the stop sign. The driver, otherwise preoccupied, with his head lolling back and his eyes half closed will never even brake.

The little red car will never see it coming, they will never realize he’s flying the wrong way down the one-way street.

I don’t need to watch the scene again and again to see the fear and recognition cross their faces. An anger bubbles inside me. That poor girl is no more than twelve years old when she flies through the passenger’s side windshield.

I can see the blood pooling by the tires and feel the splatters warm on my cheeks. The scene is the kind they say you never want to look away from but you know you should.

Even in my dreams I’m too shocked to do anything. There is no springing into action, no saving lives.

Even in my dreams they all die.

But I don’t hear the grinding metal and crunching bones. No, all I can hear … as loud as day even though I’m not wearing my headphones, is Aerosmith.

“Honey, you’re headin’ down a one-way street … And I gotta go the other way …”

My sheets are always soaked by time I wake because even in my dreams I can’t seem to go the other way.


Go check out The Perfectly Imperfect Bunch!

Posted in stream of consciousness

It Beats in Perfect Time

WordPress Daily Prompt – Percussive

Your soul is a percussive instrument, beating and vibrating, keeping time with the wants and needs bouncing through your mind. You’re projecting, sending pulsing signals out into the world with every move you make, vibrations in colored solar flares to tell every soul what you seek, what they can help you find. We constantly meet and crash, impressing on one another the desires of each other. When my soul met yours it beat so perfectly in tune, moving in beat exactly with mine, complementing every move we made. There was no moment, no hesitation, only total realization. You were part of me and I was part of you, there’s never been another way it could be. Your soul is a percussive instrument and it beats in perfect time with mine.


Go check out The Perfectly Imperfect Bunch, we have new posts up for you to read!

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.


Check out The Perfectly Imperfect Bunch, there are new posts for you to read!

Posted in stream of consciousness

Street of Dreams

WordPress Daily Prompt – Dubious

I don’t know that I’ll ever understand
Why I do this to myself.
I know where this path leads,
This dubious street filled with dreams.
I walk it over and over,
Shuffling through the shattered memories.
They poke and they prod,
Stirring the most sensitive parts of me.
Yet I have no right,
I shut myself out here.
I broke your heart
You did nothing to me.
So I stand here on the curb,
Watching these abandoned memories.
I think of all the times I should have said
All those things I know I didn’t say before.
I’m ok,
It’s just that I know where this dubious street leads
And these silly dreams …
Well you know me, head in the clouds
But this street is always so silent
And what I would give to hear
Another soul on this street of dreams.

Posted in stream of consciousness

I Got the Blues (Catfish Style Ones)

Oh, today’s theme is riff?

Ask and you shall receive.

For those that are curious this is Catfish Blues. Popularized by Muddy Waters under the name Rollin Stone (yes, like the band cuz that’s where they got the name).

Robert Petway has the first known recording of it, let’s have his version as well, just to hear the differences between him and Mr. Hendrix.

And since we’re on a roll with the Catfish Blues we can’t very well leave Muddy out can we?

And because I’m a Memphis gal I can’t well get out of a blues post without something from the King can I?


Go have a look at The Perfectly Imperfect Bunch!

Posted in stream of consciousness

Passing Through

WordPress Daily Prompt – Ascend

We’re all just passing through.
Dropping our bodies at the door
As we search for more.

Show me your soul,
Stand for me completely bare,
It’s all that matters here.

We’re all just passing through.
Picking flowers on the shore
As we wait for more.

Give me your hand,
Don’t leave my spirit alone,
It’s all we have to go on.

We’re all just passing through.
In a moment we’ll no longer be
So, please, just stand with me.


As always, go check out The Perfectly Imperfect Bunch!

Posted in flash fiction

Millie’s Gone

WordPress Daily Prompt – Fraud

Moira packed each picture away carefully. Eventually Levee Harolds family would want some things but boxes of wedding pictures featuring his soon to be missing widow? Those weren’t likely to be the best souvenirs of his life. There would be some story about sweet Moira Harolds spinning out of control in the wake of her husband’s death, perhaps she would disappear to begin another life. Those were details that the former Mrs. Harolds didn’t have to bother with.

No, the only concern Moira had was packing boxes that would be eventually picked up by someone and her new packet of papers.

Moira ran a thumb over a silver and gold frame holding a particularly stereotypical wedding shot of her and her now deceased husband. When she looked at it through the eyes of her new persona, one Vera Milguy, she felt little. There was perhaps a twinge of sadness for the former Mrs. Harolds, after all Vera Milguy wasn’t a complete monster.

Beyond that though there was something else brewing. A feeling that neither Moira nor Vera could quite place. A deep unsettling sadness was threatening to take hold.

“Maybe it’s better to set these to the side for now.” The woman dropped the frame back onto the soft carpeted floor and stretched. The former Mrs. Harolds had been quite sentimental. It made sorting through things a chore. None the less it was something that had to be done in some capacity. She smiled to herself as she thought of the guidebook. People would shit themselves if they knew there was a guidebook. 

Crossing the room she surveyed the few things left on the walls. Two large paintings, a collection of ornate masks and a rather decorative full length mirror. The former Mrs. Harolds had fine tastes, perhaps Vera could learn a thing or two from her. She turned in front of the mirror letting her black skirt swirl around her waist.

For a second she caught sight of herself, giggling like a child as her curls bounced around her shoulders. Without warning that deep unsettling grief leapt from the darkness and took hold of the woman.

She struggled to understand who stared back at her from the mirror. Was it the former Mrs. Harolds? Her new prospect Vera Milguy? Perhaps it was any one of the many others.

No, the blue eyes swimming in tears reached even further back. Her lips twitched and trembled as the sobs threatened to overflow. There was no longer a woman crying in her reflection but a child, the timid and shy Millie.

Without thinking she lifted a finger to her lips and bit it gently, it did little calm her but the pressure satisfied a nervous tick Millie had nursed since she was a toddler. Sweet Millie was filling with sorrow over the passing of Mr. Harolds. She was filled with fear over the path life was taking. The small timid Millie wanted to run home and cry in her mother’s arms.

“No.” It wasn’t the former Mrs. Harolds or Vera who spoke. “No!” Millie, a grown woman now, stared at herself with fists clenched. “Millie’s gone! Do you hear me! She died with her love when her father shot him the head!”

With force that surprised every persona she’d ever taken on, Millie slammed her fist into the delicate glass sending shards flying around her. The cracking and crashing echoed through the hallways followed by the clip of Vera Milguy’s high heels. Blood dripped from her bruised knuckles as she slammed the front door behind her.

“It’s better this way.”

Posted in stream of consciousness

When Time Was Elastic

WordPress Daily Prompt – Elastic

When time was elastic,
Stretched between two points
Like a rubber band straining
To hold a twig from snapping in two,
We jumped here and there.
Moving choices,
Changing voices,
Then the band snapped;
Trapping us in strange places
Where skies are blue,
Unless they’re grey,
And memories of
When time was elastic
Are like rubber bands straining
To hold our minds together
When we’re slowly going crazy.


Go see what’s up at The Perfectly Imperfect Bunch! We have new posts up!