“You’ll fry!” Burger shrilly screams.
The crowd jeers. Frantic spectators mix anxiety and anticipation.
Sizzles and pops fill the air as the burning starts. Trapped in a basket as the world goes black.
These are the final moments of a French fry
Your intentions are clear
Why do we dance around them?
Like a broke compass pointing away
I see the working within better
Than I see the person you present
Toying and teasing worked years ago
Long past the point of hoping anymore
In your mind, justification wins
In your heart, distance breaks even
Lost individual adrift on unseen waves
Tides come and go beneath your world
Yet you spiral around blaming the rocks
You merely stayed in the same place
Everything else surely moved
The opaque window of your
Colors us to your disliking
One day you’ll open it and see
Brenda stirs a glass of sweet tea. The spoon bangs repeatedly.
“Your tea is ready. How do you like the sweetener.” she deadpan her question.
“It’s awful sweet. I guess I’ll get used to it. Dieting sucks.” Ron grabs the glass and walks back to his chair. The exercise souls be enough in his world.
“I thought 30 grams would be enough.” Brendas voice barely audible. “How much strycnine will it take?! One more glass, maybe.”
Her advances rejected.
Smiles and laughs at stupid humor never noticed.
Her homemade, albeit bakery bought, treats ravaged like she wanted her to be.
Her last attempt at avoiding be meaningless realized. While never a pink girl, a pink 9 mm feels mighty noticable now.
Chill in the air
The distant Sun offers little
Where gentle rays once landed
Barren land shines out
Life hides in shadows
Melancholy day grows long
Waiting for the return of warmth
Maybe tomorrow, today grey rules
Desert rains drag life back
Green dots cluster and spread
Birds and moths dance with cactus
Winds change only in tone
Warm air revives memories
Sunlight brings forth color
Beneath the rain earth awakens
Originally wrote as…..
crests rains Fahd staff like back
been does clatter Ana spread
bored and midis came work vague
wings change input in tonite
waken apps Tensions memory’s
sublime brings goreng culture
bending the train easement awakens
“Turn at the third left just past the old barn.” Her words echo in my mind.
I wearily watch the road only to find a turnabout with multiple left turns. My mind reminds me she’s always been a turncoat. I have cleaned up her messes and hidden the bodies enough to be overworked.
The red and blue lights tell me that am at the right place and turning her in was way too easy.
Beware when you overwork the wrong person.
Part of two challenges
Six Sentence Stories
The cue is TURN
six sentences,any genre, hop around, link yours up too , have fun!
& The daily post ” Overworked ”
Uneven steps tease the Abyss
Cobblestones made from platitudes
Blind my eyes, shroud my feet
I walk in sweet oblivion
Warnings unheeded tug at me
Only fools are fulfilled by dreams
You lure me with promises
Longing to be compete calls
Echoes ring of holograms
Craters and rifts bloom like roses
The place called we, paradise
It’s only uneven from the outside
Light always finds it’s way
There is no darkness
Just lack of seeing
Distance silver linings shine
Dark clouds don’t make dark sky
The stars never really come out
We finally see that they are there
My heart is a free thread
Dangling from your tapestry
Feather cast against concrete
Your claws scuttle along glass
Clutching at wings longing at freedom
Two seasons mixing in storms
Opposites in everything
Locked in swirling mess
When I see you approach
You wonder at my retreat
Once the moth knows the flame