Enlightened #WritePhoto

 

 

I was alone.

My boots clicked on the stones. Ahead of me, a shape blurred and shifted. Behind me, another. But I didn’t look at either now. It wouldn’t change anything. They would still be there and I would still be alone.

The arch at the end of the walkway glowed with the promise of knowledge.

I wanted to run to it. I wanted to run from it.

With each step, I grew more uncertain. My thoughts a whirlpool.

Curious. Apathetic. Eager. Detached. Anxious. Calm.

Petrified.

I stopped. My body fought to escape its skin, pushing, pulling, stretching. Trapped, it grabbed my mind, twirling it like cotton candy, and tucked the feathered bits into a crevice I couldn’t access.

I straightened. Continued walking. Reached the arch directly after my first shadow and slightly before my second shadow.

We were alone.

And we were ready to step into the light.

 

 

 

My attempt at #writephoto, a weekly writing prompt for poetry/flash/short stories hosted by Sue Vincent

 

 

Turning comments off as I won’t be available to approve or reply. Just wanted to write a little something for Sue’s wonderful writephoto prompt. It’s been too long. 💕 Be well, my friends. 

 

Summer’s Song

 

 

She ran barefoot in the grass, hair streaming behind her in strands of moonlit ribbons.

Her mother called her inside but she wouldn’t go.

She was searching for fireflies.

 

Last year, right before her father died, he pulled her aside and asked her to listen to the crickets. Summer’s song, he called them.

They had iced tea that night in late July, the ice melting, glass beading up with droplets of water in the humid heat.

The sun cast desperate rays through tree branches, glowing orange fingers reaching out for someone to hold them. But she didn’t. And they nestled in the bushes waiting for morning.

Fireflies danced around their heads, lighting up the porch, and her father beamed with them. Nature’s nightlights, he said.

They sipped sweet tea to a chorus of insects.

She traced a line down the side of her glass, peeking through her hair at her father. Will you be here to listen to the chirping and watch the blinking bugs tomorrow? she wondered.

Her father was dying.

She was old enough to know he would be leaving soon and young enough to ask him not to go.

He had laughed. She remembered that vividly because it startled her and the sweaty, cold glass slipped from her hand.

And it felt so good to cry. For the lost sweet tea that pooled near her toes and for her father who was being forced from the world he loved with a smile on his face.

 

 

#Blogbattle is a weekly writing prompt for flash/short stories hosted by Rachael Ritchey – Join the fun every Tuesday

Read more wonderful stories and vote for your favorites here.

Week 67 Prompt: Tea
Genre: Drama

 

 

I Cannot Be

 

I lean, breathless, into another’s arms.

I am not comforted.

Knowing I should feel loved as I’m wrapped in waiting arms carves desperation more deeply into me.

My life ebbs away, sailing from the shifting shore of my body like a piece of driftwood floating out to sea.

I’m supposed to be grateful, appreciating time, when each moment my body weakens. Each second strips me of a healthy joint, robs me of another heartbeat.

I cannot be any of the things they want me to be. I cling to self-pity when all I want to do is let go.

 

 

July 15 Prompt: Life (In 99 words – no more, no less – write a story about a breathless moment. Write about life.)

Flash Fiction Challenge over at Carrot Ranch