A Rope

From the trail the old tree looks lopsided.  A solitary branch separated from the green leafy mass to the right. String of biege hangs still upon it.

The afternoon Sun puts a premium on shade.  The old tree makes for a good stop between isles of scrub bush.  The winds that were so free in morning have retreated.  Sound is hiding along with it too.

Under the tree, footprints paint a picture of a tussle.  It appears two or three on one. They circle under a rope tied into circle.  No signs of anyone left here. The cool respite may feel strange but it breaks the heat.  My eyes grew a bit heavy from the ride.  As I’m alone, rest should be about quickly. 

Slumber slips away from me. Dreams stir of people. Strange dark men hunting and calling out. Its a struggle oddly muffled. My eyes open to darkness. 

Arms have me and I lunge forward. They aren’t speaking my language. It feels they are questioning me.  My throat grows tight. My mouth opens but i have no breath to yell.

“Boys, you got the wrong one!” A voice distant rings.  

My mind grows dark.

“Does he look like Gus?” the voice continues.

I fade to black

Grown Cold

Razors edge 

That’s your love 

Handling with care 

Useless as words 

Feeling should be glue 

Not shrapnel or fodder 

There are no openings 

Just hardened glass inside 

Someday never comes to you 

Not as fast as you turn on others 

You can’t take the warmth 

You only chill the world to you.  

Your last moment will pass alone

Far away from those like me

Color Loss – FFAW

This week’s photo prompt is provided by Grant-Sud. Thank you Grand-Sud for our photo prompt!

Teddy surveys his ground.  He stands at the edge of the rainbow world. The shadow of gloom awaits him. The nexis of the color fade crisis lies ahead.

“Solo spots of color dot the landscape. The other world is so dark. Not even leaves for their trees!” his voice filled in disbelief.

His eyes look over dark clothes. His dull tone speaks “Best to fit in. Why they tell that I’ll never know.” 

In a flash he jumps down and descending stairs to the street.

Mr Crayola enters the dark world.  One idea on how tokeep the darkness from wiping out rainbow world.

Written as part of a challenge called Flash Fiction for the Aspiring Writer details available at https://lfffaw-challenge-week-of-july-11-2017/

After the fire

After the fire only ash remains 

Curled grey fingerprints that hint 

Solid things of matter gone 

Fragile soul made of burnt dust 

Dissolving by touch or breeze 

Heat long escaped beyond  

Embers that glowed red lond dead 

Shatter debris in blacks and browns 

Long past reach of the inferno 

In the cool air smoke scents lightly

Smell alone gives afterlife

The fuel spent 

The glory snuffed out 

After the fire, only ash remains