Blend In

Photo: Sue Vincent

 

They walked toward the light. The brambles, the thistles, the burrs, the thorns — all attempted to snag and ensnare and scratch and mark them for what would be held as treachery.

Still, they walked. Some of them bare-legged and bleeding. Others somewhat better clothed, but not much better off once flaps of torn fabric opened windows to the ravages of all manner of sharp things.

They walked toward the light. The dark, the fog, the cold, the hunger, the fatigue — all conspired to force them to turn back.

They did not.

Not when the tunnel they had managed digging, spoonful by spoonful of rock-hard soil, hiding the scrabbling sounds under the cover of endless mandatory chanting, could finally accommodate a slithery passage underneath the electrified fence.

They’d been digging it for months.

Waiting. Counting. Hoping. Dreaming. Fighting against those who dismissed the possibility, against those who threatened to give them away, against the weighing down by those who’d surrendered to messages of futility and given up.

It had been a fluke, really. A careless corner of a printed flyer that the wardens did not burn completely. A few lines and enough to give them the potential for a plan.

But they had to destroy the evidence. And not everyone believed.

Sometime even they began having doubts.

When the light arrived, many of them cried. Surreptitiously, of course. Lest the guards see. Lest they be found out.

And when the cold bit deep enough to keep the guards huddled by the watch-station’s stoves, and when the hour was late enough for no more chants to be required, they wriggled, one by one, under and out.

And fled.

Toward the light.

Where the masses congregating in the desert could swallow them. Where they would be hidden in the flocks of floodlighted extras dressed in rags. Where their dust and grime and hollows under eyes, would blend in with the crowds in caked-in dirt and post-apocalyptic make up. Where their actual horror, worse than any movie, could be made less real at last.

 

 

For Sue Vincent’s WritePhoto Challenge

 

 

Just A Crack

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Photo: Andrew Buchanan on Unsplash

 

“It is just a crack,” she said,

“A splinter off of perfection.”

‘Twas more than that, she understood,

Knowing what effort it exacted of her

To keep her direction,

To balance scales just so

They did not tip life

And hope

Into utter disconnection.

 

 

 

For the dVerse quadrille challenge: Crack

 

 

Weighted

Weighted SmadarHalperinEpshtein (2)

Photo: Smadar Halperin-Epshtein

 

The weight of the world

On his shoulders.

His heart thumps a fatigue

In his chest.

Eons stretch

Since certain with brawn

He sought

With his strength

To impress.

 

 

For Cee’s Black & White Photo Challenge: open topic

 

 

Homespun

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Photo: Pixabay on Pexels.com

 

“Can’t say I’ve known all along,” he said.

She snuggled deep into his lap, safe under the quilt, warmed by his heartbeat, listening to the song of the stars as they marched across the canopy of the world.

A different sky. This was.

The other half of life, perhaps. Better, even, now that she found home.

She, too, hadn’t known. Rotation, yes, but only as rounds of emptied hope.

Though her soul perhaps did know. It must have seen the edge of the world spin, and held on, to keep her whole.

 

 

 

For Sammi’s Weekend Writing Prompt: Spin in 92 words

 

 

Saving Daylight

Saving daylight2 NaamaYehuda

Photo: Na’ama Yehuda

 

Cherish every moment

Left

Of light as

Suns will set.

Hold on to the

Deep rewards

Of daylight breathed

Through soul,

And saved.

 

For Terri’s Sunday Stills Challenge: Daylight Hours

 

Boulder Holder

Boulder holder NaamaYehuda

Photo: Na’ama Yehuda

 

Wrapping tentative fingers

That become tangled vines

Jungle trees tell the boulder:

“You’re my rock, you are mine.”

 

 

For Cee’s Black & White Photo Challenge

 

Blue Ghost

Blue ghost SmadarHalperinEpshtein

Photo: Smadar Halperin-Epshtein

 

A blue ghost

Found its way

To the front

Of this porch.

‘Fraid of heights

It clings tight

To the spout

And flower pots.

 

 

For One Word Sunday Challenge: Blue

 

 

Up Swing

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Image credit Gamze Bozkaya via Unsplash

 

“Hang on tight!” Mermee called

And she launched

Wings unfold

O’er fields

Mountains old.

And below her

I swung

My heart in my throat

Rung

As below me unfolded

Hope and fear, life remolded.

Till claws

Let go

And I fell.

Morning broke

My dream’s spell.

 

 

For The MMLM Photo Challenge

 

Churn and Roil

churn AtaraKatz

Photo: Atara Katz

 

In the winds

Of turmoil,

Hold on tight

Don’t recoil.

For all change,

Churn and roil,

Shapes the earth

Feeds the soil.

 

 

For The Daily Post

In Your Grasp

Achziv Cave AmitaiAsif

Photo: Amitai Asif

 

It is in your grasp

To take hold

To absorb

Offered light

Life’s rewrite.

It’s within your soul

To recall

To be bold

In the hollowed out space

Of your mind

To breathe deep

To grow whole.

 

 

For The Daily Post