The Moon –

I run.  A staggered path weaves between rock, trees and cactus.  My enemy is above.  I feel the eyes scanning the landscape. 

“Shadows are my friend.” I whisper to my fellow creatures of the night. “I will sleep on safety beneath your own nose!”

I want to laugh.  But sound travels to easily here.  Its bad enough I see my quarry.  But it’s myself dug in the hole hunted.   He can’t get what he can’t see.   The plan is working so far.

The clouds thin.  Moonbeams stretch out.  Rays of silver like nails in my coffin.  I hide with my back finding an uncomfortable Saguaro.  I watch the light chase the darkness.   Hope is a thin shadow.

My pulse rises to match a deep thumping heart.  If heartbeats slow maybe I can breath.  But for how long?

I turn my head to look.  

His face smiles back.  An oblivious look or game over expression.  If I could hear him.  I hate the distance between us.  Only in moving do I get to find out who wins this night.

“I would stab at you.  You hide too far away.” I look away from him. “There has always been a man within the Moon.  He stalks us all.   He had always been death. He will always be death.  Tonight, better be someone else’s turn.”

I curl into a ball and wait. 

Written as part of a challenge called Tale Weaver, details available  at https://mindlovemiserysmenagerie.wordpress.com/2017/04/20/tale-weaver-116-the-moon/

Isabella

saccstry.deviantart.com

“You have candy?!  Give me candy and I won’t eat your brains.   Not right away.   I just need candy” Isabella circles like a puppy. Bright shiny eyes albeit a bit disturbingly colored.”I’ll be good.  Really! I need chocolate.”

Mr Mills looks awkwardly at the child. “Who have you this hairdo? And those contacts? They are horrible! You look like a Halloween doll! Where’s you guardian little one?”

His hands twitch as they tug at the sleeves of the blue ill-fitting suit. His eyes stay down away from the child.  His middle aged conditions knawl at him.  He wants answers but the child is obviously spoiled beyond belief. 

“I ate her brain.  She told me to take of my wig.   So i jumped up on her shoulders to chew hers off her head. I was surprised when it was real.” she looks around the room for an unseen need “I guess that’s what the screaming she was doing was all about. But I didn’t get my candy yet.   So where’s it at?”

“Rich imagination child. I’m here on serious matters.  It won’t take much more before in feed up with your game.   Isabella, be a good girl.  Go find Ms Maples….please.” His face is a tightrope.  The words filter through clinched teeth. 

“Ok, I’ll go get someone. Do you me too? Really she’s not much to talk to anymore…” Isabella kicks at the floor.  The realization that no candy is coming sinks in. 

“Yes, Isabella, I would like that very much.” Mr Mills watches her disappear. Little foot steps find a hallway and echo against dark wood panels.

He turns to look at the strange tapestry of a fox hunt on the wall.  “No wonder she’s so dark.”

A squeaking sound builds within the hall that Isabella chose.  He waits to turn.   The woman clearly kept him waiting for a reason.   No-one thinks child services ever sees these tactics.

“Here she is…Ms Maples.  You wanted to she her.   Here she is!” The little girl poses like the magician completing a trick.

“My God! What happened here?!” His voice quivers and fails. His face stretches and pales.  Dark holes once held eyes can’t move.  Slowly his body leans away.

“You asked.  I brought her to you.   Where’s the candy,  Mr Mills?” her voice starts to sing. 

Ms Maples is on a dolly.   Her skull sticking out, part of its skin covers what’s left of a face. Her pale skin shows signs of bruising.   Tied hands hold her together in a modified ball.  

“Oh please, give me the candy.  You adults are hard enough to deal with.  My sugar is low….I don’t know weekday I might do next.   Right, Ms Maples.” Isabella smiles. 

Mr Mills runs for the door.  Small feet move much faster than old feet. 

https://wordpress.com/read/feeds/19271780/posts/1404507520

#mindlovemiserysmenagerie

Wordle #147 – Vision

Wordle #147 “March 20th, 2017″

Week 147

1. Latch

2. Ballet

3. Levitate

4. Heliotrope ((n.) Any hairy plant belonging tothe genus Heliotropium, of the borage family, asH. arborescens, cultivated for its small, fragrantpurple flowers. Any of various other plants, asthe valerian or the winter heliotrope. Any plantthat turns toward the sun. A light tint of purple;reddish lavender. Surveying. an arrangement ofmirrors for reflecting sunlight from distantpoint to an observation station.)

5. Iridescence

6. Media

7. Passion

8. Harmony

9. Inseperable

10. Legs

11. Heat

12. Flashover ((n). The moment a conversation becomes real and alive, which occurs when a spark of trust shorts out the delicate circuits you keep insulated under layers of irony, momentarily grounding the static emotional charge you’ve built up through decades of friction with the world. Electricity. a disruptivedischarge around or over the surface of a solid orliquid insulator. The moment of conflagration orcomplete incineration caused by super heated airor combustibles.)

Use at least 10 of the words to create a story or poem

The words can appear in an alternate form

Use the words in any order that you like.

Tag: Mindlovemisery’s Menagerie and Wordle

 Ballet of levitation her legs latch my eyes.   I’m turned heliotrope to the Sun.  Harmony to passion.  The need is inseparable.  Heat becomes flashover. Upon her iridescent gaze, I reduce to media bit.

https://mindlovemiserysmenagerie.wordpress.com/2017/03/20/wordle-147-march-20th-2017″/

The Cabin -100WW

lake breeze races through the woods.   The misty morning lifts like a curtain to reveal a warn Sun.  Birds chatter with squirrels.  Small critters move about the old cabin.

Inside, a low groan.  A mind reassembled details.  Daylight brings pain to the eyes and head.  The forgotten trip here weights heavy.  

“Is he still here?” words too weak to be heard leave Rose’s lips.

Sikence answers her.  Even the shadows hide from her. 

“Who was he?….  How did he know me?…. Why me!”  Her consciousness plays tag with each question.  She lies still waiting.  But for what?

#100ww

written as part of a challenge called  100 Words Wednesday, details are available at https://bikurgurl.com/2017/02/22/100-word-wednesday-week-7/

The Bridge

Angry clouds rumble. The faint swirls of the remains drift through the knoll.  Smoke fingers break and disperse.  Front winds clean up the last of it.  Embers of trees sizzle as the brush of drizzle arrives.  The work of the lightning quelled by its rainy shadow.  Still angry clouds rumble.  Unseen hands throw rain bitterly to the fields.

Stephen runs from the woods.  His young eyes hope to spy a break in the weather.  Instead the weather spits harder.  He tucks his head within his jacket.  It’s turned collar worthless. Innocence of young eyes glow with a dull sheen.  His eight years are enough to know the way but unable to get by the bridge.

“Davey! Davey!”  Stephen raises his face to the rain.  A voice ripples in fear and wavers hope.  “Davey!  I know you are here!  Come help me!”  

Stephen looks left and right.  The darkness of evening has married the storm.  Scrapes of light imagine trees bending to point the way home.  Past a simple bridge.  Stonework arches and cobblestones rich for the beat of the hoof.  Passage home, a shilling.  A pound of gold couldn’t be harder to find.  To an eight year old, at least.

A solitary figure haunts the bridge.  Two little eyes glow in the distance.  He can sense fear. He can sense silver and gold.  He has a taste for lost children.  His dark face knows no light.  It’s twisted pointed nose of ebony hooks toward an uneven mouth.  Sharps of teeth wickedly part.  A bright red tongue flicks like a snake.   Tasting the air.  Salivating.  

He knows what comes next.  His tortured fingers with spiny barbs rub the sharp chin.  He stretches out angled thin arms.  Impossibly long arms.  They match the tree trunk legs.  By standing taller than a mortal, he keeps his post.  Watching always watching.

Stephen meets eyes with him.  Torrent, the troll holds fast.  Stephen drawn like candle to flame takes the first step toward the bridge.  A zombie walk where steps make links of a chain.   Torrent knows the game.  For silver they walk.  He can only eat one or two a month.  Greed of metal or greed of food, same curses inside.

“Sir?!  Torrent?  I need to be home.  My brother and father…. they follow me.  Please.” Stephen stats twenty feet distant.  His arms pull forward, palms up.  His nervous shake has valid reason.

“I taste you from here.  Yes, you have family.  I’ll eat them too.  No metal, no passage.  You come to my bridge!  I don’t come to you. Yes?”  Torrent picks at his teeth with his fingers.  “Got a bit of little girl left from breakfast.  You children are stringy here.  They should feed you better.”

“Sir, my brother and father are much bigger.  I’m not enough for you to eat….” Stephens voice fades.  

“Save it child!  I have been fooled by goats and people.  But today, I see you served with fresh straw from the underside of the bridge.  My claws will quickly shred your flesh.  You won’t be concerned much longer.  Finish that walk…. Stephen.  Oh yes, I know who you are.”  Torrent smiles a teeth grin.  His tongue flashes and disappears.

“How? How is that possible?  I’ve only seen you once.”  Stephens jaw forgets how to close.

“Davey, he told me.  Let him go then, his brother and father will be right along.  Your father has two boys or metal.  Davey went home first, young Stephen.  So you are mine now.  Simply put.  Your brother does speak for his older brother?  Right?” Torrent reaches out his hand. “Come boy.  Do as your told!”

Stephen looks behind him.  “Davey!  Father!  It can’t be?!”

The rain continues to pelt him.  The trees lose the color in the dark.  An eight year old walks to the bridge.

“Stephen, I’ll let you pass for the silver.  Or well, dinner.  Come here little boy!”  Torrent sees the eyes of the child are glazed.  The bitterness in his soul relaxes as he sees the prize for his learning of the treachery of man.

Torrent grabs Stephen by the throat.

Under the cover of the rain, a faint voice calls “Stephen!”

Davey looks for his younger brother.  His father follows behind him.  They pieced together a hobbled cart.  The bridge is the only way left.  They will find the price paid.

Waves

Dreams flee

like sand castles at high tide

their elegance lay slanting 

Waters edge 

Soft scissors nipping at heels 

Blindly arranging my pieces

Thoughts fade

Ghosts of then stare at now

Memories hide the hazy damage

Tides recede

The blank page begs for a chance

Stories are only told to the wind

Lost in Translation – Wordle 141

1. Escape

2. Exulansis (n. the tendency to give up trying to talk about an experience because people are unable to relate to it—whether through envy or pity or simple foreignness—which allows it to drift away from the rest of your life story, until the memory itself feels out of place, almost mythical, wandering restlessly in the fog, no longer even looking for a place to land.)

3. Diabolist (activities designed to enlist the aid of devils, esp in witchcraftor sorcery, worship of devils or beliefs and teachings concerning the nature ofdevils, character or conduct that is devilish or fiendish; devilry)

4. Polite

5. Likeness

6. Fanfare

7. Seethe

8. Soften

9. Adroit (expert or nimble in the use of the hands or body.)

10. Drown

11. Mess

12. Accelerate

Use at least 10 of the words to create a story or poem

The words can appear in an alternate form

Use the words in any order that you like.

Tag: Mindlovemisery’s Menagerie and Wordle

My mind drowns in a soften mess of politeness. Escape wrestles seething as I push foward a pointless conversation.  I give in to your sea of  exulansis.  Those glazed eyes, an adroit maneuver.  Am I boring you to death or soaking in an alien language….

“I have lost you,  haven’t I?”  My look at the table between us. 

To which devil does one purchase this diabolist method from?   I’m asking myself a question she will never admit to. 

Awash in Clouds

A washed in clouds 

Thunder echoes within

Lightning strobes ‘crossbreeding sky 

Arroyos want to taste their tears

Cracked lips moisten

Emptiness smiles like a vulture

Wheeling overhead

Despondency it’s course

Longing its reason

Regret it’s will

Remote it’s undoing

Commentary poetry by Lorraine and myself.  Her words are italicized.  She has more of them that can be seen at http://myfrillyfreudianslip.wordpress.com 

other examples of commentary po.ems

https://myfrillyfreudianslip.wordpress.com/2017/01/28/conceit-of-lies/

https://project21words.wordpress.com/2017/01/31/tango-for-one/?preview=true

I need your guest posts..

Many thanks for everyone following here!
I have an alternate site titled Project21words.

It’s time to share the fun. I need guest posts.  
Everyone is invited not matter where you are or what you do.
 The only constraints here 21 words or fewer. Or two images.
Combos of the two things are good as well. Short and sweet/whatever else.
Poems are easiest. Microfiction, haiku, Tanaka, random blackout…
Surprise me!
Email something to project21words@gmail.czxxx SD, xZuzana fc 3 om
I return an invite.
You create what you wish and in words it will be waiting for review.
Images need to be sent via email with explanation of use.
I will post without editing. Only thing maybe be an adult warning if it seems necessary to myself or yourself

Longer posts considered for Coloring Outside The Lines as well.

Given


SIX SENTENCE CUE OF THE WEEK IS “GIVEN.”six sentences, no more, no less

any genre
use the cue

 
“To whom much is given, much will be required…” Carl slams the good book closed.
“But you gave me everything and I needed to do nothing. You told me you would give me everything as long as it would make me happy.” Darlene pales as she speaks.
Carl smiles the wicked smile of control. I told you I would own you if it meant giving you chains made of gold.
“But I didn’t know you were the devil.” She says too late.