Cleaning Up

lighted matchstick on brown wooden surface

Photo Sebastian Sørensen on Pexels.com

 

No amount of soap and water could clean up this mess.

Even if I were to try, I wasn’t quite sure how I’d go about it, or if the effort was worth the results. Perhaps it’d be better to burn the whole thing to the ground and start from scratch.

I eyed the matches on the stove and looked at what I could no longer justify keeping around.

I wouldn’t miss most of it. Or so I had to hope.

My fingers struck a match and I held the small flame to the ring, amazed as always by how easily it grabbed hold and circled to make a blue-yellow-purple circuit of heat.

The fire leapt and danced and hissed.

I sighed.

It was time to wave good-bye. I needed a fresh beginning.

I set the kettle on to boil, sat back down, and hit “Delete.”

 

 

 

For Linda’s SoCS writing prompt: Clean/Dirty

 

 

Day Trip

Photo prompt: Sandra Cook

 

The day dawned gray and there was threat of rain, but she wasn’t going to be deterred by a bit of dirty weather.

She dressed him in his powder blue slicker and packed a bag with this and that. She weighed the idea of leaving the cumbersome stroller, but at three, though the boy liked walking, he lacked endurance for it.

“We going to see Papa?” he asked as the train rolled into the station.

She hesitated. She was loath to lie to him.

“Not the one you know,” she answered finally. “Though he may become it. We shall see.”

 

 

For Rochelle’s Friday Fictioneers

 

 

Ladies In Waiting

Photo by Arun Sharma on Unsplash

 

“It is time yet?”

Prissy frowned. Alia always never had an ounce of patience. “Look around. Does it look like it is time?”

Edna glared at Prissy. That girl would not recognize patience if it sat right in front of her and introduced itself by name.

“Anyone want a snack?” Deena reached into her bag and pulled out an assortment of wrinkled potato chip bags, a crumbling granola bar in a zipped bag, and apple slices that had seen brighter days.

Alia’s look of horror was so comical that even Prissy smiled.

Count on Deena to diffuse the tension, Edna thought.

They all had their roles in every little drama life presented. Whether like players on a stage or play-pieces on a chess board, she wasn’t sure. Only that they slid into their respective places with predictability that was both comfortable and disconcerting.

Perhaps not so surprising they would do so now, when it might be the last opportunity for it. Their dynamics were about to change forever.

As soon as it was time.

A door opened at the end of the hall and they all jumped.

“Alia Marquette?” a uniformed woman appeared. “Your shuttle to Mars is about to depart.”

 

 

For the Sunday Photo Fiction prompt

 

A Fleeting Equilibrium

balancing rock formation

Photo: Tina Nord on Pexels.com

 

She held her breath and waited for the instant

In time

Where Earth’s equator passed through

The center of the sun.

Imperfectly balanced

As it was

By arcs and tilt and latitudes,

She cared not about

The argument that it could never be

In ideal form,

Or that the exact timing

Varied

With convictions

And perceptions of the mind.

She paused nonetheless,

Determined

To witness the fleeting equilibrium

Of light and dark,

And the shift of balance

That it could,

perhaps today, allow.

 

 

 

For Sammi’s Weekend Writing Prompt: Equinox in 83 words

 

Into The Horizon

Australia S. Levenberg

Photo: S. Levenberg

 

There was a gap in the horizon and she was going to walk through it even if it meant a pass into another world. Even if it proved a portal to a completely different side of life.

There was a gap in the horizon and it beckoned her to come inside. To walk away from all she’d known and all she could no longer understand, and into what she didn’t know, but may arrive.

 

 

For the Weekend Writing Prompt: Horizon in 74 words

 

 

The Balance

Photo: Sue Vincent

 

 

She did not understand where the castle had gone.

Tumbled walls

Like broken bones.

 

But the well was still there,

And the sword

Wrapped in stone,

Had waited stored

Well ensconced.

 

She took the hilt

Spelled the spell

And the blade pulled out

Clean

Glowing green,

Showing

All was still wrong

Just as all was still well.

 

She took a deep breath

And exhaled.

Because though

Times had changed

At least the balance

Remained.

 

 

For Sue’s Thursday WritePhoto Prompt: Blade

 

The Slow Cooker

train-731357_1920

Photo by Pixabay

 

It wasn’t going to work.

Didn’t matter. She was going to make it work. Somehow.

She threw a bit of this and that into the pot and set it. She hated that slow cooker from the day he’d given it to her. Nightmare to clean.

Down at the basement, she dug out the red four-wheeler. Dragged it upstairs. Helter-skelter added in clothing, shoes, and what-not. Grabbed her purse. Almost forgot her passport. Searched for it. Panicked. Had he hidden it?

Finally found it in a shoe box. Found money, too. Keys to who knows.

On the way out, she checked the pot. Least she could do is leave a last meal.

 

 

For Sammi’s Weekend Writing Prompt: Helter-Skelter in 111 words

 

Unadorned Underground

Carved Smadar Halperin-Epstein

Photo: Smadar Halperin-Epshtein

 

In the depths

Where the colors all bleach

To the basics

Of power,

Persistence,

And life;

Lives the unadorned

Underground

Of deep water

Carving canyons

With time’s old

Stubborn knife.

 

 

For Cee’s Black & White Photo Challenge: Nature

 

She Drives

down the mountain AtaraKatz

Photo: Atara Katz

 

Down the mountain

She drives

As fields await wheat

To arrive.

Down the mountain

She strives

Arrow straight

To a new life.

 

 

For Wits-End Photo Challenge: Road

 

Turning In

Fall CentralPark NaamaYehuda

Photo: Na’ama Yehuda

 

As the cool nights

Begin,

Snow draws near

And she pulls in.

The verdant hues of

Summer’s green,

Slowly replaced with

Sleep’s bronze

Sheen.

 

 

For the Festival of Leaves Challenge

For the Photo for the Week: Red