(Photo: Amitai Asif)
They said farewell.
They said goodnight.
They walked into dark
From light.
Their hearts were sad.
Their eyes were bright
With tears that grief will soon ignite.
Her passing’s new
Her suffering done.
They walked with her as
One cycle ended and a new began.
For Sammi’s Weekend Writing Prompt: Goodnight in 45 words
Dedicated with love to my aunt, whose funeral is across an ocean and a sea tonight. May her memory be a blessing.
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
They dug a hole and placed him in it. They shoveled dirt atop. They nailed a plaque onto a post.
They stood and mumbled words.
They bowed their heads.
They shed some tears.
They did it the way it was done.
The way friendships were supposed to close.
And still it did not feel right. That kind of burying. The post with painted plaque. The tidy mound of dirt over their spot.
The next day they lugged the old doghouse and placed it on him.
For rain.
For moss.
For bones.
Even for rot.
After all, Spot loved the lot.
For Rochelle’s Friday Fictioneers
PHOTO PROMPT © Alicia Jamtaas
Photo: Osnat Halperin-Barlev
“It will be long enough, for a life,”
He said.
She blinked back tears
And said nothing
Because she knew that no matter
How long he would be
Around
Would not be longevity
Enough
For her.
Instead, she patted his hand and
Plumped his pillows
And fussed with the covers
Over his beloved
Form,
Once robust,
Now a shadow of itself.
The shadow smiled.
He understood.
He always had.
At his last inhale, she smiled back.
For Sammi’s Weekend Writing Prompt: Longevity in 76 words
Note: Dedicated to all tender goodbyes. Especially the final kind.
They were like stars, swirling low and high across the sky, marking the path of time and soul and light and dark and what will come and what had been.
As the murmuration rose and swelled, so did the sorrow in her chest, as did tears, and longing, and gratitude.
Her grandmother had told her once, that murmurs were a way of making stars. Flocking in elegant waves across the heavens, to the places far above, where movement wasn’t labored and where breath no longer hurt and where hearts beat in the unison of souls that know all separation is only an illusion.
She held on, remembering, her tears a stream to feed flowers that would grow to feed the small things that would feed the starlings that would murmur to make stars to house beloved souls. And she thought of how the murmur in her chest – which made sound and sobs – ached and expanded as the birds’ wings wove and rose and dipped and dove.
For it was like being seen.
The starlings’ dance a last hello, a soft goodbye, a blessing on the wind.
For Sue Vincent’s Write Photo: Murmur
“I never meant to hurt you.”
Samuel’s words were sincere and still she found herself looking away as to not see his eyes, where a lie was sure to peek.
“The gardener should’ve never let this grow so,” she responded.
Samuel stilled, confused.
She did not explain, for perhaps it was not only the leafy fingers arching over the path and latching onto her living quarters that had been given leave to cross beyond what was sensible.
“Some bridges need be cut,” she added cryptically. “Good-bye, Samuel. Will you send the gardener to my drawing room on your way out?”
For Rochelle’s Friday Fictioneers
He huddled at the cupola and waited.
Sirens blared and klaxon warnings bleated in time with the flash of red strobe lights and a monotone woman’s voice repeating: “Evacuate! Evacuate!”
He shook his head at the cluelessness of programmers. Who chose this particular word for the code-red recordings?
Evacuate to where?
The wall behind him warped and heaved, and it was as if the very apparatus was gasping for air. He slowed his own breath and tuned out the scream of bending metal and the meaning of the accelerated frequency of the voice commands.
He glued his eyes to the view. Finally.
His finger traced the line of green against blue and traveled inland to the approximate spec that was Bamboi.
Was anyone home looking up? They’d been so proud. The first of their own at the space-station, and … for at least another moment, the last astronaut alive.
For the What Pegman Saw Challenge: Bamboi, Ghana
Carol H.
Am not worried for you being lonely over there, in Soul Heaven. Oh, not at all, for you have a welcoming committee with you! I can feel it. Kathryn, surely. She’s been moving front and center in the last month, preparing to receive you and ready for reconnecting. I can almost see your hand in hers as she shows you the path to new tomorrows. Others are there to welcome you, too … from recently departing friends to longer lost kin of heart and family. A multitude. A community of souls. A tribe. All holding you in love and light.
Am relieved that you are no longer suffering and that your body no longer limits your soul from soaring. You have blessed us all.
And you are a Blessed One.
There’s a candle lit for you here, as is the tradition in my family and upbringing, to ‘hold’ and ‘light the way’ and keep in thoughts and blessing a dear one who is walking a new path. Though knowing you, Carol, you are probably flying. Walking’s too slow. And you sure had enough of ‘slow’ for a while now…
The deep love of those close to you–your dear husband, children, siblings, friends–I know it helped you through this most difficult last year, and helped you know it was okay to finally let go. Love held you. May it hold you still and hold us all now as sorrow flows and gratitude fills memories with the honor of knowing you and loving you. I love you so!
It has been an honor for me. Still is. Will remain so and only grow.
tucked away in the mountains
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!
Alternative haven for the Daily Post's mourners!
never judge a girl by her weight
original fiction and rhyme
Taotalk is a forum for the discussion of both the academic and pragmatic aspects of dao and Daoism, with participants expressing themselves on Daoist writings and pragmatics from their unique perspectives. It serves as a community for Daoists, and those interested in Daoism, to gather and talk dao.
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!
Better Living Through Beauty, Wisdom and Whimsey
Life in a flash - a weekly writing blog
Na'ama Yehuda 
You must be logged in to post a comment.