(Photo by Volkan Olmez on Unsplash)
Her legs were lead.
Her arms were stone.
She could not take another step.
The weight around her neck,
Shackles
She could not
Discard.
She was so tired.
But she’d gotten them away
And he was breathing still.
So she shifted the child in her arms.
Walked on.
For Sammi’s Weekend Writing Prompt of: tired in 48 words
She stood at the back and tried to make herself as small as possible.
Not easy, with her stature and attire.
Still, she hoped the shadows would afford some obscurity. Bad enough to be made to attend and be tallied. It would be worse to be noticed. To be named.
The speakers roared. The bands played deafening propaganda.
She stood. She clapped. She swayed as necessary.
She stayed alert. Her life depended on it.
But in a corner of her mind, she was a child still, pumping feet toward a blue sky. Still free. To believe. To think. To be.
For Rochelle’s Friday Fictioneers
Photo prompt © Ted Strutz
(Photo: Angiola Harry on Unsplash)
It did not matter that
The evidence was there for all
To see.
The crumbs.
The chocolate stains.
The broken shards of Nana’s cookie
Jar with
That crack from when Pawpaw drank
Too much and thought he was a
Knife thrower
But missed
The block.
It didn’t matter she was
Caught.
The child was
Unrepentant.
“Cookies are for eatin’, Nana.
No good letting them go stale
In that
Pot!”
For Sammi’s Weekend Writing Prompt of: Unrepentant in 69 words
(Photo: Frank Eiffert on Unsplash)
Clear as daylight.
A cradle rocking
On a treetop.
No baby.
Thank God.
Or was there?
Was the movement the wind,
Or a small living thing?
She felt her heart flutter in
A memory
Of falling.
Heard a rustle and shuddered.
Ran for the
Ladder.
Climbed.
Swallows nesting
In the cradle.
Wide open mouths.
A child’s toy
Flown off a balcony.
Made home.
For Sammi’s Weekend Writing Prompt of Treetop in 63 words
Miranda’s concentration was broken by the distinct whistle. She paused the script and ran to the window.
A man was peering at a tiny screen on his wrist.
“Hi!”
He looked up. “Miranda?”
“Yeah, that’s me!”
He tapped the square. “Package by Ele-Vator.”
“Thanks! Palm Pay okay?”
He nodded. “Try. They got range issues today.”
“No worries,” Miranda smiled. “Lemme pop out.”
She slipped a leg out to straddle the sill. “How’s that?” She lifted her hand.
The man raised his.
A small buzz in her palm.
He checked his screen. “Perfect. Done. Ele-Vating package now. Have a good one!”
For Rochelle’s Friday Fictioneers
Photo prompt: Alicia Jamtaas
“I’ll take the summer off and get it done,” Meyer stated.
“It will take more than a summer,” Bette pointed out. She loved his enthusiasm. She liked half-done projects less. And this one mattered. Immensely.
Meyer’s intended retort fizzled at the look in his wife’s eyes. Love lived there. Love will have to live here, too.
“It has good bones,” he said instead.
“All it is, is bones,” she chuckled. “More likely we’re looking at two years.”
Meyer nodded. “We’ll liquidate other holdings.”
He wrapped an arm around his wife. “It is the right thing, Bette, to build this orphanage.”
For Rochelle’s Friday Fictioneers
Photo prompt: © J Hardy Carroll
(Photo: Hal Cooks on Unsplash)
It’s not my fault
That she won’t stop
Talking.
My side of the family has never been a
Chatterbox.
My papa says nary a word.
My mama can hardly be called
Garrulous.
It is your relations who are incessantly
Loquacious.
With them one cannot get a word in sideways.
A dinner lasts three weeks.
A quarrel, half a century.
So do not come to me
Complaining
About Junior’s wordiness.
“You should listen to yourself,” you say?
Shifting blame is something
Else
Your whole family does
Pretty much endlessly.
For Sammi’s Weekened Writing Prompt of: Loquacious in 88 words
“It won’t fit.”
Sandra looked up from kneading. Mollie’s face was red with exertion.
“What won’t?” she asked, resuming the stretch-fold-stretch-fold rhythm. Working dough relaxed her. The knowledge that each pull and press moved energy from her muscles into what would later feed them. The cycle of it.
“The laundry. Nothing fits.”
“That’s odd,” Sandra noted. “I washed linens in it just the other day.”
“But nothing fits!” Mollie’s voice shook. “Not a sock!”
Sandra paused. She forgot how easily her sister got flustered even by simple things.
“It’s a Space-Savor model,” she offered. “Have you tried shrinking the items first?”
For Rochelle’s Friday Fictioneers
Photo prompt: © Na’ama Yehuda
(Photo: Susan Wilkinson on Unsplash)
She was up all night.
Words crowded her mind. Piled atop each other, they kept coming
Impatient. Wanting to be picked.
Even the discarded ones pressed behind closed lids, trying to repeat.
A few slipped, surprising and lubricated by unexpected tears.
Of worry.
Of hope.
Of fatigue.
She tossed and turned. She wrote. She paced.
And still words tumbled. Filling every space.
In the small hours she ran the tub.
Soaked.
Prayed to soften the callouses
And the rough edges
Snagging nonsense
In her mind.
As dawn rose, she was bare.
Exhausted.
Script mulled.
Not quite ready,
But word lulled.
For Sammi’s Weekend Writing Prompt of: Script in 100 words
“You should have let them check it first.”
“It’s not that bad,” Stephen tried.
“You always act as if you know everything,” Martha pressed. “Five more minutes and they would have found the glitch.”
Stephen shrugged. “I’ll fix it.”
“Like you did the hole in our sky?” Martha retorted, satisfied with how his hands tightened on the steering wheel. At least he was getting a taste of the frustration he was causing.
“Now our daughter will have to grow up with a partial simulation,” she added. To rub it in.
“Our simulated daughter.”
He always did get the last word.
For Rochelle’s Friday Fictioneers
Photo prompt © Fleur Lind
A place to improve my writing skills, and that's all.
We're not thriving, we're creatively photosynthesizing under duress.
History of the Bloomingdale area on Manhattan's Upper West Side
A creative miscellany of mythic fantasies
a weekly flash fiction prompt inspired by google maps
A community for writers to learn, grow, and connect.
To participate in the Ragtag Daily Prompt, create a Pingback to your post, or copy and paste the link to your post into the comments. And while you’re there, why not check out some of the other posts too!
I can't sleep...
Alternative haven for the Daily Post's mourners!
never judge a girl by her weight
original fiction and rhyme
You have reached a quiet bamboo grove, where you will find an eclectic mix of nature, music, writing, and other creative arts. Tao-Talk is curated by a philosophical daoist who has thrown the net away.
A photographer's view of the world - words and images to inspire your travels and your dreams
Life in progress
Straight up with a twist– Because life is too short to be subtle!
WordPress & Blogging tips, flash fiction, photography and lots more!
Light Words
Na'ama Yehuda 
You must be logged in to post a comment.