Storied Stories

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They climbed in silence, single file, the occasional foot scraping a bare concrete step.

Lindon pressed his lips. It helped stop the trembling. This was his first ‘trip’ off the ward and he wanted to look around. To look at others for their reactions. But new or not, he’d learned enough to understand that it was better not to. He kept his head low.

A scent hit him. Like Grandma’s house. Last month. Eons ago. He blinked.

The stairs ended. He looked up. His eyes grew.

His heart, too.

A room of books.

Stories. Escape.

He knew he would survive.

 

 

For Rochelle’s Friday Fictioneers

Photo prompt © Ted Strutz

 

 

Sheltered

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(Photo: Michal Ico on Unsplash)

 

She trudged up slopes in ice

And cold

The wind bent chilly fingers down

Her coat.

Till finally she saw

Up top

A cave indenting

Ancient rock.

She crawled in,

Grateful,

To take stock.

 

 

 

For Sammi’s Weekend Writing Prompt: Cave in 34 words

 

When The Weather Allows

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“When will they come home?” Lizbeth’s voice penetrated Mauve’s daydream. It was rare to find rest in the middle of her day, and Mauve couldn’t help a touch of resentment at the interference. Guilt smothered it. The wee bairn could not help wondering. She missed her brothers as much as Mauve did her sons.

“When the weather allows it,” Mauve gazed at the sea. The maker and breaker of everything. She loved it. She loathed it. She couldn’t see a life without it.

“Tonight?” Lizbeth pressed against the rail.

“More possible tomorrow,” Mauve swallowed a sigh. “So we shall hope.”

 

 

 

For Rochelle’s Friday Fictioneers

Photo prompt © Bradley Harris

 

The Gall

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(Photo: Abigail on Unsplash)

 

She steamed and paced and stomped and stewed.

The temerity. The audacious liberties he’d taken.

It was one thing to sell the house.

Another, to have removed her name from the deed.

To have kept the change hidden.

Her parents’ house, no less.

The place of hers – not his – childhood.

Cruelty was why she’d left him.

But this?

He, vacationing on islands.

She and the children, homeless.

 

 

 

 

 

For Sammi’s Weekend Writing Prompt: Temerity in 69 words.

 

 

Wall Flower

 

Shoppers swirled through the market, ebbing and flowing and streaming and trickling and never stopping. Never silent. Not a pause.

Jiao wanted to crawl out of her skin.

Jiang’s head remained peacefully bowed over his scroll.

“Delicate like your name,” Grandmother would say, more reprimand than compliment.

For Jiao, the viscous Chi of others had always been an unwanted second skin. It weighed her down.

“Let it flow around and past you,” Jiang’s paintbrush danced undisturbed.

Easy, Jiao sighed, when you are the flow.

She tried to focus on the paints. The flowers. A quiet wall on which to hang.

 

 

 

Jiang – (male’s name) “river”

Jiao – (female’s name) “delicate, beautiful, charming”

 

For Rochelle’s Friday Fictioneers

Photo prompt © Brenda Cox

 

 

Farewell

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(Photo: Amitai Asif)

 

They said farewell.

They said goodnight.

They walked into dark

From light.

Their hearts were sad.

Their eyes were bright

With tears that grief will soon ignite.

Her passing’s new

Her suffering done.

They walked with her as

One cycle ended and a new began.

 

 

For Sammi’s Weekend Writing Prompt: Goodnight in 45 words

Dedicated with love to my aunt, whose funeral is across an ocean and a sea tonight. May her memory be a blessing.