This week’s photo prompt is provided by Footy and Foodie. Thank you for our prompt!
“Last rays of light are like the end of a dream.” Trudy softly speaks as she swirls the red wine in her glass.
The Sun slides into the lake with a broad orange stripe left behind.
She taps her pen against the paper pad.
“Ok, End of a dream.” Trudy downs the wine in one swift move. “Is this a good dream or bad one? Maybe a little more wine will help.”
The sky pulls down its purple night shade. A few stars twinkle into view. A cool whisper of the wind rustled the reeds in front of her.
“End of the bottle is like a bas dream.” Trudy looks into the bottle hoping for more. “Oh wait, I can use that.”
Anger mushrooms above you
Lava could not be less endearing
Your cape of shards of glass
Dart filled glares and glances
Hostility is your breath
Isolation your destination
“Tonite, we see the Watchers return.” Ahote stands at the base of News Rock as the Sun approaches the far ridge.
“God, this is so cool. Do you guys come here every year?” Billy looks at hibs Hopi friend in his embroidered jacket.
“It’s based on lunar cycles. My people would come up in large groups years ago.” Ahote scans the horizon as he speaks “We can not come alone. When we see them, say nothing and take no pictures.”
“Oh..Ok. I didn’t know.” Billy looks about the sky.
A flash of light beams toward them. Three silver figures emerge underneath the light.
“Th..th…They” Billy points and his arm waves.
“Shhh!” Ahote watches his friends come closer.
“But they are..” Billy yells and takes off.
“White people are so easy.” Ahote laughs.
Written as part of a challenge called Flash Fiction for the Aspiring Writers, details are available at https://flashfictionforaspiringwriters.wordpress.com/2017/11/13/fffaw-challenge-week-of-november-14-2017/
1. calyx [the sepals of a flower, typically forming a whorl that encloses the petals and forms a protective layer around a flower in bud|a cup-like cavity or structure, in particular|a portion of the pelvis of a mammalian kidney|the cavity in a calcareous coral skeleton that surrounds the polyp|the plated body of a crinoid, excluding the stalk and arms]
5. box-cutter [a thin, inexpensive razor-blade knife designed to open cardboard boxes]
6. suede gloves
7. dilettante [a person who cultivates an area of interest, such as the arts, without real commitment or knowledge]
10. drop box [(in weaving) a box situated on either side of the race plate of the loom that is designed to hold shuttles and to bring bobbins of colored thread in line as desired|a secured receptacle into which items such as returned books or videotapes, payments, keys, or donated clothing can be deposited]
Reason lays like a glistening bounty. She wraps herself in suede gloves and an obscure veil of espionage. She leaves the rest of us like empty calyx after the flowers receive box-cutter shave.
We were guilty of whispers of lurid and solicited truths. She, the dilettante that is she, hides her empty thoughts on a drop box painted in abstracts.
It was clear her taunting use of body was a lesson. With the fury of a war mission, despite the price I would pay, disbelief would be no option. I would slide into the dirt beneath her motives if necessary. I can win this game, or so i thought.
Puff looks over at HR.
“Remember the good ole days…” He pauses turning his head to the sky “We could breath fire and chase a bad child or two.”
“Video games. That’s the problem.” HR Puff’n’stuff looks at his friend “Violence has replaced getting eaten by mystical creatures. Sad. Really sad.”
Puff let’s loose a terrific flame followed by a smoke cloud.
“Knock it off over there!” HR furrows his brows. “They’ll can us for sure. You know open flames are dangerous!”
“Imagination was the key to great adventures.” Puff looks surprised at his friend. “Are we left to be rationalize as irreverent?”
“How’s that rent over in Honalee getting paid?” HR rolls his eyes.
Little whisper calls
A flash in the eyes
Nervous energy sparks
It’s the smell of hope
Taste of salt from the beach
Memories make clay of thoughts
Churning inside reaching for daylight
The touch of possible
Stirs lost sensations
Eyes delve for images
Time wisps away from now
Sepia shades of what was once
Crayons outline what could have been
If’s and Why’s dance in circles
Wants and needs choose next colors
Still the whispers persist
Distant dreams vividly wave like flags
Crying out to remind you
Here isn’t a destination but a passage
Faint memories of yesterday
Desperately trying to awaken you
From the sleep we call living
4. chaste [abstaining from extramarital, or from all, sexual intercourse|not having any sexual nature or intention|without unnecessary ornamentation; simple or restrained]
5. dowry [property or money brought by a bride to her husband on their marriage]
7. white sweet clover
9. the conventional position
A lovely set of arcs spells out a promissory dowry. A tender fawn or maybe a honeybee drawn by white sweet clover pollen. The idea sprouts maybe a wolf in sheep’s clothing using the conventional position before it devours prey. The act of self-possessed mind playing chaste or just animated figure exhausting possibilities.