(Photo: Casey Horner on Unsplash)
They gathered in formation. Pressed close against each other, every atom tight, compressed, readied for flight.
The energy reverberated. Excitement climbed.
“On your mark!”
They huddled to the center.
Bright. Bright.
“Let go!”
Radiate out!
For Sammi’s Weekend Writing Prompt of: Radiate in 35 words
They never understood, when they “put her into care,” that she already had all she needed: a trundle, a trunk, a life-vest, as many friends as any needed. Sure, she’d fallen overboard, but only in stormy weather, which meant all hands on deck to sound the “Lassie Overboard Alarm” and save her.
For years she pined. For the salt air. The open space. The freedom. Even for the callouses that Papa said were part of a sailor.
Now grown, and anchored by children of her own, the sea remained away.
But she could bring it home.
Create her Oceana.
For Rochelle’s Friday Fictioneers
Photo prompt © Jennifer Pendergast
(Photo: Paul Zoetemeijer on Unsplash)
They were drawn in, unsuspecting,
By tales of glory finally
Being restored,
From a manufactured time of
Old.
Then kept in even when doubting
To go on,
Stuck, as it were, in
The eye of a hate filled
Maelstrom.
Spun, they were,
In webs of lies.
To leave they would
Need to give up
Pretended lives.
For Sammi’s Weekend Writing Prompt: Maelstrom in 56 words
“It will have everything in it!”
Molly’s eyes shone in the dark and Gary was reminded of other eyes they’d seen reflecting in their torch beam. He shuddered.
“It couldn’t possibly have every thing,” he tried, just for the sake of argument.
She slapped his leg with her bare foot. “Don’t be daft. You know what I mean.”
“Chocolates?” A peace offering.
“Of course! Every kind of sweet!”
Molly’s stomach grumbled, and his answered. They were both of them hungry. At least the rain stopped so they weren’t quite so cold.
Perhaps tomorrow they’ll beat the garbage trucks to the bins.
For Rochelle’s Friday Fictioneers
Photo prompt © Roger Bultot
“Remove these place settings.”
Michael felt his eyes widen, but he lowered his head in silent deference. Mister Cole was Boss. And what Boss said, went, kind or not, right or not.
There will be no seating of the couple who just walked in, dressed in their no-doubt-best, stars glowing in their eyes for each other.
Wrong skin.
“We are booked. Perhaps another place.” Mister Cole’s false-polite voice. Reserved for any he thought strayed out of their lane.
The woman stared pointedly at the empty table, at Michael’s dish-laden hands.
“Pity,” she said.
Shame burned Michael’s cheeks. The plates turned lead.
For Rochelle’s Friday Fictioneers
Photo prompt © Sandra Crook
(Photo: azha-ashiq-kxX4k2El9WA-unsplash)
Nothing for it. It had to be done.
He’d get in trouble, but that was part of becoming a man.
He took notes, fussed, planned.
The time to mark the hall has come.
He hid the satchel by the bed. Set the alarm.
Woke to sunlight and calls over the Intercom:
“Lucas to the office, stat.”
Lucas the archenemy is the new Hall Mark.
For Sammi’s Weekend Writing Prompt of: Hallmark in 64 words
“Come see!” Charlie sprinted, pulling on Claudia’s hand so hard she almost fell.
“Slow down!” She may be older, but her short legs were no match to his flamingo limbs.
“Sorry…”, Charlie curbed his speed a smidge.
He led her around the back of Old Theresa’s abandoned house and through the broken fence. “See?!”
Claudia gawped. It was messy. It was overgrown with weeds and junk. It was perfect!
She hugged herself with excitement. She missed having a backyard. Nature. There was none in the orphanage.
“We’ll retie the net for shade. Bring stuff. Make it our secret breathing space!”
For Rochelle’s Friday Fictioneers
Photo prompt: © Fleur Lind
(Photo: Beth Hope on Unsplash)
She became an essence.
A sliver
Of her dreams.
Nothing near the child
She’d been, who played
A fairy’s magic theme,
With arms a fledgling’s
Widespread
Wings.
Life tossed her
From the nest.
Unhinged.
She a feather now.
A mere sliver
Of a being.
For the dVerse Quadrille challenge of: Sliver
(Photo: Molly Blackbird on Unsplash)
They say she gets to choose to be obedient, or face the consequences.
They say she gets to choose to accept her fault, or be blamed anyway.
She gets to chew on what she’d done. Even if it was done to her. It is still somehow her doing. Her consequence. Her crime. Her punishment.
She cradles what is left of her. Tucks it away. She will not be allowed to be. Or flee. Or seek a help. Or have a voice. Or make a choice. Not really.
It does not matter what she needs. It never did.
Her body just a vehicle for others’ machinations. An incubator for others’ agendas.
The growing despair is meant to put her in her place. Clip her wings. Keep her there.
She never mattered. No matter what words they pretended to say.
She gets to choose what they say she must do. Any other path is deemed a sin. A wrong she does.
She has no right to choose. They choose for her.
And if she dares seek freedom for herself, dares to try and claim back what is left of her body, she’ll be, to them, a killer.
For Linda’s SoCS prompt of chews/choose
(Photo: Intricate Explorer on Unsplash)
His chest pumped high
In disrespect
He struts
And spouts,
Magniloquent.
Follow his every word
They must,
Appease or face
Scathing wrath.
Bombastic peacock
Heading
Cult.
For Sammi’s Weekend Writing Prompt of: Magniloquent in 26 words
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