(Photo: Circe Denyer on Unsplash)
Laid-back Lizzie
Would not be pressed
Into a tizzy.
She left herself
With ample
Time,
To saunter to and
From her
Crime.
She kept pace
When sirens blared
And ambled on
As others stared.
She did not hold
With running
Fast.
But strolling was what
Caught up with her
At last.
For Sammy’s Weekend Writing Prompt: Saunter in 51 words
“Grand, isn’t it?”
Grand indeed, Sebastian nodded, too distracted by the elegant turn and glowing skin of Maruska’s neck to care about the stained glass in the ceiling.
“Sebastian!”
Sebastian averted his eyes skyward and felt warmth rise under his collar to color his cheeks. The realization made him blush harder. He hated how his face became an open book.
Get a grip! he admonished himself. She’s taken! In fact, they were waiting for Alexander to join them. The rock on her ring was surely intended to outshine any other splendor.
“A work of art,” Sebastian murmured. And meant it.
For Rochelle’s Friday Fictioneers
Photo: © Rochelle Wisoff-Fields
(Photo: Anna Hecker on Unsplash)
She was, always, in the wrong.
The wrong path. The wrong friends.
The wrong choices. The wrong dress.
The wrong dreams. The wrong job.
Wrong husband.
Wrong … no … not the wrong children.
Just the sometimes-very-difficult ones.
No wonder,
When her every action was judged
Widdershins.
So she chose to listen
To no one,
But the small call
Of her soul,
And the small arms that wrapped
Around her legs
When she reached
Down.
For Sammi’s Weekend Writing Prompt: widdershins in 75 words
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
(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 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
(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.
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
(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.
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