(Photo: Lily on Unsplash)
The day rose bright but she knew better than to trust
Cornflower
Skies.
It will turn wet,
She knew,
As soon as her boots
Hit the ground.
The gift of rain
On golden epaulets
Glittering through muddy parade
Grounds.
For Sammi’s Weekend Writing Prompt: Marshal in 39 words
(Photo: Kristian Strand on Unsplash)
“The best,” the man swept a heavy arm across the offerings.
“And there?” the woman gestured at the shadows.
“Nothing worth your time, Madam.” He looked pointedly at her tailored attire, “Unsuitable for your kind.”
“Nonsense,” she ordered.
He frowned but snapped his fingers. “Silvia!”
The child looked underfed even in comparison to the other orphans.
“Trouble,” he warned. “Used up her chances twice.”
“Or,” the woman smiled, “very insufficiently pre-loved.”
For Sammi’s Weekend Writing Prompt: Pre-loved in 71 words
“This is not what we invested all that tuition money for, Robert.”
His mother’s voice remained soft, even pleasant. One may think she was but mildly annoyed.
Rob knew better.
It was the same voice that had sent his boyhood self to the attic without dinner for the slightest infraction. That left a small child to shiver there through endless winter nights. That told his father to retrieve the paddle and “do what needed to be done to make a man of an ungrateful son.”
“I am sorry, Mother,” Rob bowed politely in her direction. Bowed just enough to let her know that he no longer cared nor feared her. “I had made it clear that your plans did not fit mine.”
“Your father expects a partner,” she stated. Ordered.
“That ship had sailed, Mother,” he replied. “I bought the farm. I’ll be my own man. Chart my own course.”
For Crispina’s Crimson’s Creative Challenge
All those of little faith who did not think he’d go for it!
They must be turning in their graves or keening over walkers. Also the doctors who shook heads at him. The nurses who fussed with his linens as if treating him as an invalid would have him forget that he’s a grown man who had lifted others and carried them first across burning sands and later out of burning buildings.
He always knew that where the rubber meets the road is where he’d meet his maker.
He’d left the Rolex.
The aide can always get another motorcycle.
For Rochelle’s Friday Fictioneers
Photo prompt © Lisa Fox
This is science. This is humanity. This is potential. This is simple. This is profound. This is truth.
A not-even-eight-minutes video can change the future. Watch it. Share it.
(Photo: Ferhat Deniz Fors on Unsplash)
“Have you seen her?” Mark thrust his head and shoulders through the open dutch door.
Ella nodded carefully. The light’s angle made the perspiration dotting Mark’s wide forehead look like dew on a banana leaf. How odd.
“And?” he pressed.
“Daphne is fine.”
Mark grunted his impatience. “That’s not what I meant, and you know it!”
Ella sighed in resignation. There will be no escaping the truth, no matter how much it could hurt him. “There’s a glow about her, if you must know.”
Mark sagged.
“And … an engagement ring on her finger.”
For Sammi’s Weekend Writing Prompt of Glow in 94 words
It was a sad day when It died.
They gathered around the carcass. Inert now that the spark of life had left.
It looked abandoned. It looked suddenly old and unintelligent. Younglings who had tiptoed by its parking, suddenly sped by in wheeled exuberance, impervious to the loss.
It was the way it was, perhaps.
The way of time.
Still the closest friends held a sort of vigil. They hummed a monotone of song, in memory of speed’s potential and of what could no longer be ignited.
Then they left. To let It be. Disjointed. Parted. Never to move on.
For Rochelle’s Friday Fictioneers
Photo prompt © Ted Strutz
(Photo: Na’ama Yehuda)
The light spun silent waves
Of day
Into her heart,
Her chambers slowly opening
Their delicate petals
To sing
The morning’s chant.
There is a hope,
She knows,
In every dawn.
Its breath imparting
An oasis
And a coming home.
For Sammi’s Weekend Writing Prompt: Oasis in 40 words
(Red Cardinal in Central Park – Photo: Na’ama Yehuda)
There was naught
That she needed
But a path
And some green
And a burbling stream
And wide sky
Overhead.
So she felt deeply nourished
By the flowers,
And the gift of bird
Who landed by her feet
To share
Her burden
And bread.
For the dVerse quadrille poetry challenge: stream
(Photo: Pop & Zebra on Unsplash)
They were going to hem and haw and huff and pout and stare.
She knew, already, from little-disguised cold shoulders
And from frowns
And neighbors’ glare,
That there will be no escaping their displeasure,
Anyway.
Even though they did not explicitly say,
Or outright forbid
Or demand that she
Obey,
She had no doubt that there will nonetheless be some community hell
To pay.
So might as well she do things as her heart designed,
And let her spirit play.
The vivid laughter of her soul
On full display.
For Sammi’s Weekend Writing Prompt: vivid in 89 words
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