Rocket Science

“You know how to work it?” Timothy hurriedly stuffed his bag.

“Sure,” Liz shrugged. “Been a while, but not like it is rocket science.”

Timothy paused. An odd joke…but he didn’t have the time to explain anyway. “Just make sure to bring water,” he pressed.

Liz shooed her brother out. He’s been hovering ever since she’s been discharged. As if she’d never lived in a City. Never used a phone. So what if only Before?

A block later, she stood staring. Mystified.

“Water them before you dial,” a passerby offered. “Plants won’t connect your call otherwise. Rocket science, you know.”

 

 

For Rochelle’s Friday Fictioneers

Photo prompt © Sandra Crook

 

Urban Sprawl

Photo prompt © Nancy Richy

 

The day the sun returned, the roots found joy.

It’s been an endless dreary time, asleep under the solitary plant light in the basement, curled in, unwilling to release new leaf into confinement.

Then came the roiling movement, the rumbling monster that made Earth wobble under ground. A quaking that woke ancient worries, but also a forgotten hope.

For new space can manifest after the earth moves.

New like this sill. This glorious comfy ledge. This daily warm caress.

The tendrils leapt, crept, grown. They found a mirror – of themselves – reflected in the glass.

A happy urban sprawl.

 

 

 

For Rochelle’s Friday Fictioneers

 

Encircled

She set the biggest log in the center, then added odds and ends of driftwood to encircle it. The seagulls kept watch. Perhaps accusatory of her use of feathers.

“I’m sorry if it is one of your cousins,” she said.

A gull called. Her apology accepted?

She sat herself amidst the constellation, snuggled closer to the angel log, and drew her knees up to her chest.

“Sometimes a woman needs a circle of protection,” grandmother once said, a black eye contradicting or warning against errant timing.

“I am encircled,” she breathed into her knees. Her swollen eye throbbed.

***

For Rochelle’s Friday Fictioneers

Photo prompt: Lisa Fox

The Math

(Photo: Crissy Jarvis on Unsplash)

 

It was all about the math, he knew.

The breaths, the bites and chews and swallows, the number of small steps one takes, the flickers of their eyelids.

The sum of heartbeats.

It all seemed endless, but

He only had to endure one breath at a time.

A step after the other.

A blink. Each flutter against his ribs.

He dared not calculate, but still he knew it added up.

To when the awfulness will pass,

And life came back.

 

 

 

For the Weekend Writing Prompt of Calculate in 80 words

Boxed In

 

It took all afternoon, but she managed to not be discovered.

Rose had said that it could not be done. It only made Marina more determined.

“It isn’t proper,” Rose had said.

Well, what wasn’t proper was that lads went. Why would the lassies not?

She was supposed to be at the hotel’s library, peering daintily through lace windows at the expanse of sea.

Instead, she hid in the tiny cabin, inching it toward the water, hoping for tide’s help.

At last her bare toes touched a tongue of foam. It was worth the lashing she’d get once back home.

 

 

 

For Rochelle’s Friday Fictioneers

Photo prompt: Sandra Cook

 

 

Guest Tested

 

“They only glow when Marm’s here,” Eloise pointed.

I tried to not show my confusion. Being a first-time visitor to Castle Trent was a steep learning curve, but I was not going to risk being thrown out as an impostor.

“Best not upset her, though,” Eloise added, reaching for the pitcher and pouring what appeared like air into an empty iridescent glass.

She offered it to me and I tipped the vacant vessel toward my mouth.

Tasted cordial.

“A natural,” a voice boomed and a woman manifested, transparent as gauze.

“Apparently!” Eloise smiled, “I admit I wondered. Tammy, meet Marm.”

 

 

 

 

For Rochelle’s Friday Fictioneers

Photo prompt © Lisa Fox

 

 

The Thing To Make All Things

nathan-dumlao-TMU6dl6La9k-unsplash

(Photo: Nathan Dumlao on Unsplash)

 

It was going to be the thing

To make all things

Everything that they were meant

To be.

A remedy

For all the wants

And dreams.

“Ah, but you will surely bungle it,”

His mother said.

And crushed his dream

Instead.

 

 

 

For Sammi’s Weekend Writing Prompt of: Bungle in 41 words

 

Dismissed

 

“All done?” Miriam poked her head into the room.

Jeremiah nodded, thumbs digging into the small of his back.

“And right on time, too!” Miriam’s pointed at the window. “Dad’s here with the van.”

“I’m off, then,” Jeremiah stated. He did his part. It was bad enough seeing his whole life folded into boxes. He didn’t need to see it all taken away.

He brushed the hair off his sweaty forehead and turned to leave.

“Forgot your phone!” Miriam exclaimed.

Jeremiah shook his head. “It’s part of this. And …” he breathed, “I won’t need it where I’m going.”

 

 

For Rochelle’s Friday Fictoneers

Photo prompt: David Stewart

 

Field Trip

signs DaleR

 

“There it is!” Gary pointed.

Mrs. Thomas’s arm moved on its own accord to grab him. Experience. Habit. Instinct. Who knows. But by the time her hand touched fabric, the upper part of the boy’s body was protruding out of the window.

“Careful, Gary!” Her voice was soft but her pulling arm meant business.

Gary, now flat onto his seat and the window shut, could only pout.

“We will be stopping,” Mrs. Thomas soothed, “and everyone will be able to see Sign Cabin up close.”

and safely… she exhaled, firm hand on wriggly wrist. Not on my watch!

 

 

 

For Rochelle’s Friday Fictioneers

Photo credit: Dale Rogerson

Auctioned Off

Photo: Artem Beliaikin on Unsplash

 

It has become

A flag

To wave.

An identity to wrap oneself with

As permission to denounce

The Other.

Casting off compassion for some

As if it would occupy the space needed for

Zero sum care.

 

History versions, auctioned

To the highest bidder.

Adulterated variations for a fee

In ratings, rage, and righteousness.

 

The molested Truth

Auctioned off.

Her hands bound

Her essence starved

Of air

And light

Or hope.

Her very humanity

Splayed

Vulnerable,

On the block.

 

 

 

 

For Sammi’s Weekend Writing Prompt: Auction in 78 words