FFAW- Writing in the Blanks

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.”

115 words

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Anger Mushrooms

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

<a href=”https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/mushroom/”>Mushroom</a&gt;

Read on a Rock

There are signs

You need to be still

They glow, sometimes blink

Others cry out into the wildness

Hoping they will be heard

Barile message read out

Following requires little

Complications are excuses

Its made obvious for a reason

Time

Does the alarm feel anxiety?

As those moments tick by

Is their a double check?

Awakening to call for awakening

Without thinking does time move?

Or is it a shadow passing?

If we repeat things over again

Did time change or what happened?

My calendar, a measure of the past

Reasoned out to be the future

But the Sun calls the tune

The motion of our home sings out

When the language is not ours

Are we guessing the words?

In the moment we are fixed

Unaware if anything passed at all

FFAW – Close Encounters

“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.

115 words

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/

Mistress of Ceremonies – Worlde

download (3)

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]
2. obscure
3. solicit
4. lurid
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]
8. glisten
9. espionage
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]
11. whisper
12. bounty

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.

Sunday Whirl – Games without Frontiers

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.

Passing Time

“The Devil’s pocket watch had no hands.” Parson Dubois whispers to the pale breeze.

His eyes look for the passage of time or life…Or anything. His wooden bench testament of a barn no longer in use. Much like the rest of the dozen buildings long abandoned that make up Destiny. His world of three dusty rows mistaken for streets.

His mind places people about the store fronts. Ghosts of days gone by. Horses tied to posts. A wagon left half way between coming and going. Sounds of children ring out. Ladies in long dresses meander past lost in conversation about their neighbors.

The church bell clangs behind him. He jumps up to answer. His hands part the brown faded doors. The empty rows of pews lay sleeping. A simple dias with an open book holds service to a lost cause. Yet behind a partial wall there seems to be life.

His stands fast in the middle to gaze out among his missing flock. He knows no-one should have gone past him. His company creates a mystery. Even the ghosts have departed these parts.

From a corner jumps a ten treat old Reggie Whitener. His Amish hat just about swallows his head. His smile lights up the room.

“I waited till I seen Mr Miller..just like you ask of me!” Reggie stands like he is ready to run and chase the wind.

“Well, that’s a good young man.” He speaks faintly while his eyes look upon someone gone to his reward several years earlier. “Now light us a candle and take your place near your momma.”

He gives into the scene. Voices fill a previously empty church. Parson Dubois wipes his eyes of the flow of tears. He is smiling for first time in a long time. His back remains to the church. His pulse kicks up a notch causing a hot flash.

He turns to hear an angel’s voice calling the assembly toward the light. Standing together six and thirty begin to sing. Each face lights up with a soft glow. They all gently sway side to side in rhythm of the hymn. One last beacon of hope from the ashes blown around for a generation.

“You have all come back to me!” he leaves a careless laugh to his words.

The breezes blow past. Through the windows a world grows dark. The faces smile brighter.

“It’s time you came home with us.” They collectively sing.

Parson Dubois falls sidewise on the bench. His pocket watch no longer needs hands either.

FFAW – Good Ole Days

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.

115 words

Faint Memories of Yesterday

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

<a href=”https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/faint/”>Faint</a&gt;