Roundabout Waiting

Photo prompt: © C.E. Ayr

 

“He’s still there.” Morty whispered, his nose to the window.

“What’s he waiting for?” Bella pushed Morty over to make room, pressed her head to his.

“I dunnow.”

“You’re not even allowed to stop for pick-up on roundabouts,” Bella noted.

Morty sighed. Since she’d found a driver’s-ed pamphlet, his twin had turned an insufferable source of traffic trivia. Never mind it’d be a million years before she could drive.

“Should we go ask?” Bella fidgeted.

Morty shook his head. “Dad said wait here.”

“But it’s been eight hours!”

It had. And almost as long since the old man showed up.

 

 

 

For Rochelle’s Friday Fictioneers

 

 

In Waiting

Waiting hat NaamaYehuda

Photo: Na’ama Yehuda

 

I am waiting for you

To come back.

To grab hold

And place me

Against your forehead,

As you adjust the strap.

 

I am waiting

For you

To return

From where you’d left me

Behind

Or forgot

I might yearn

To be perched

On your brow

Holding firm

Against burn.

 

 

For the Lens-Artists Photo Challenge: Waiting

 

The Skylight

Photo prompt: © J Hardy Carroll

 

She always loved that skylight. The one thing she’d insisted on when they’d rebuilt the old farmstead. Every day since, the sun streamed in or the rain puttered on or clouds swam above, transforming the indoors into a moving tapestry.

They’d kept the bones of the building, but the roof had been rotten. It needed redoing.

Like her bones.

She lay on the flagstone floors, sauce dripping onto her from where she must have upset the pot as she’d slipped and fell and something in her broke.

The skylight her only companion. The light fading. The day still long.

 

 

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

 

Fury

Photo prompt © Sandra Crook

 

He retreated to behind the fence during low tides and sharpened his claws on the aging timbers. He nursed his rage on fantasy and fed his fury on abandoned sea-foam. Some days the seething rose a hurricane that only freezing wind subdued into a smolder. He hissed. He breathed. He knew. He waited.

The time would come.

Waiting both allayed and fanned his urgency. He scraped his restless agony into the wood, that hewed abomination they’d forced onto his bay to tame it. As if it, he, could be. Tamed.

When time returned he’d vanquish them and show no remedy.

 

 

For Rochelle’s Friday Fictioneers

 

When The Ice Breaks

greenland icebergs-933003_1920

Photo: Barni1 by Pixabay

 

He said he’ll be home when the ice breaks.

And every day she waited, one baby tugging at her skirts and another growing restless under her heart, and tried to not look at the field of crosses planted right outside her window. Reminders of the many who the frigid sea or dark winters or the loneliness of this place at end of the world had claimed.

Some days she hated Greenland. The endless nights. The gnawing cold. The monotony of the same few faces and the bickering that eventually picked open old scabs and gauged new hurts for the next arctic dark to revisit.

Other times she couldn’t fathom living any other place. Summer’s endless light. The sparkle on the water. Pups, babies, and not-so-babies frolicking. The wide spaces full of breath and warmth that thawed old sorrows into joy. It felt like coming home.

Will he?

 

 

For What Pegman Saw: Greenland

 

In A While

May flowers2 NaamaYehuda

Photo: Na’ama Yehuda

 

In a while

There will be all colors

Of the rainbow

And then some

More.

 

In a while

There will be radiant

Greens and sunny yellows

And all the different

Shades of

Purple

To show.

 

In a while

The monochrome of winter

Will make way for

Brightly colored

Spring

To make eyes and hearts

Glow.

 

 

For the Wits-End Weekly Photo Challenge: Bright Colors

Isolated Rest

Float2 AtaraKatz

Photo: Atara Katz

 

Not quite certain if it

Will be able to hold

The weight

Of tired swimmers,

Still it waits,

A little lopsided

And more than a tad

Tired

Itself.

 

 

For Cee’s Black & White Challenge: Isolated objects

 

The Tree

the tree amitaiasif

Photo: Amitai Asif

 

“I will wait by the tree,”

She had said.

“At the fork where

The road

Meets the lush, green

Horizon.”

Wait she did,

Day again and again

And a month, and another.

Wait until they had come

Trudging home

From the war,

Wearing smiles, but

Carrying the weight

Of their sorrows

Around them.

 

 

 

For Becca Givens’ Sunday Trees

 

Faded Charm

door hostage PhilipCoons

Photo: Philip Coons

 

If you’re broken by worry

Hanging by a thread

Filled with dread,

There are links

That can hold

Even the weary and old,

Who then ride

The hard time

Till restored faded charm.

 

 

For the Thursday Doors challenge