Between #WritePhoto

 

 

He flies halfway between day and night.

His wings reach out, touch the rooftop of my home.

The silence outside me, the noise inside me…

I hear him.

Tomorrow, he tells me, will be softer. More forgiving. Wait.  

I believe him.

His message quiets my raging mind.

Delivered tenderly, I feel the force behind his words not to go gentle into this good night.

 

Feathered fingertips brush blue sky down into the pinks and purples of evening.

I will live to see him, this paintbrush of the Gods, bring the periwinkle light of sunrise up into sapphire skies.

 

 

 

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

writephoto-logo

 

I offer this as a beacon of hope for the 99-word challenge at Carrot Ranch this week.

In 99 words (no more, no less) write about a beacon. It can be from a lighthouse or other source. Use the word literally or figuratively and go where the prompt leads you.

 

 

Bitter, Cold

 

I loved him with a brutal intensity.

I often wrapped my arms around my chest as one might do on a winter’s morning when frost has formed where soft dew should be.

The strength of my emotions hurt, and I hugged myself to add pressure, like pressing on a wound to stop the bleeding.

Without warning, that love froze. Cold seeped into my heart and, even in summer, I could never stay warm.

 

The shallow pond, only partly covered in ice, lets me slip into its frigid, watery grave. As I do, I wonder what will happen in spring.

 

 

Flash Fiction Challenge over at Carrot Ranch

November 4, 2015 prompt: Frozen – In 99 words (no more, no less) write a frozen story. Is the weather the source of freezing or is a character frozen by emotion or lack of it? It can also be a moment frozen in time. What does it reveal?

 

Sarah Brentyn Reef 99 Words - sig

 

Raze the Dead

 

“Aren’t you going to say something? Try to stop me?”

Chloe looked through the smudged window, pressing her fingers against the glass. She squinted for a moment. “No, I don’t think so.”

“But we’re not supposed to do this,” Emma slammed down the knife, her sleeve falling over raised, white scars. “I could get in trouble.”

“You could get a lot worse,” Chloe chuckled, “you could get dead.”

“This is funny? It’s your fault!”

“I know.” Chloe picked up the knife, handing it back to Emma. “You know my room assignment. I’ll be there if you want to talk.”

 

 

Flash Fiction Challenge over at Carrot Ranch

August 5 Prompt: In 99 words (no more, no less) write the common premise: “I ran over a deer (or other animal) and have decided to nurse it back to health.”

Empty

 

“It’s cool that you don’t say stupid shit like ‘How do you feel about that’ or whatever.” She picked up a grey rock from its shelf and examined it.

“Well,” he swiveled in his chair, “glad to hear that. But I do need you to talk to me.”

She turned the rock over in her hand, “Okay. I’ll talk. You have this like professional office with expensive leather couches and shit then there’s this ugly, little rock. Seems out of place.”

“It’s special.”

“Why?”

“My father gave it to me when I was a child.”

“Look at you. All sentimental and shit. Who knew? You one of those losers who still lives with his daddy?”

“He died last year. You think it’s ugly?”

She looked up. “Not anymore.”

“Why?”

“You know why. If it’s really your father’s.”

“True story. Still. Why does that make a difference? It’s the same rock.”

“Ha. You got me. Fine. I’m the same person.”

“Are you?”

“What the hell. Isn’t that what you’re saying?”

“Actually,” he leaned back, “it’s not.”

She gripped the rock, “Whatever. Not playing.”

“It’s not a game. That rock is the same rock but it has changed in your eyes because of its background just as you have changed in your eyes because of what happened.”

“Tick-tock. Look at the clock. Only like 20 minutes until I get to walk out of here.”

“The question now becomes whether you are going to return that rock to the shelf because it means something to me, drop it wherever in here because it’s just a stupid, ugly little rock anyway, or pocket it because it has become precious.”

“Screw. You.”

“What would happen if I said you could take it?”

“Fifteen minutes,” she pointed at the door. “Me. Walking.”

“Okay. You can have the rock.”

“Already in my pocket.”

“On one condition,” he added. “You return it to me when you finish the program. When you learn your worth and treat yourself accordingly.”

“Deal,” she smiled. “I like this rock and now it’s mine because that’s not happening and, oh, look, time to walk. Later.”

“Not by my watch it’s not.”

She stood up. “You didn’t even look at your stupid watch.”

“Marcia. I want that rock back. Understand?”

She looked over her shoulder before shuffling into the waiting room.

 

~~~

 

He rubbed his eyes. “Anything in particular you’d like to talk about today, Jon?”

“Yeah. What’s with this empty shelf? Run out of money to buy stuff?” The boy laughed.

“Something like that.”

 

Cutting Words

 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Tara swiped peach gloss over her bottom lip again.

Allie thrust the crumpled paper at Tara.

“What is that?” Tara laughed.

“I know you wrote this. About Cindy.”

“Who?” Tara checked the mirror one last time, smoothed a hair into place, and started to walk away. Allie grabbed her wrist.

“What is your issue? Take your crazy out on someone else.”

“It’s your fault if she goes through with it,” Allie called after her.

“Whatever.”

Allie’s phone buzzed. A text from Cindy:
I’m alive. Plan 2 stay that way. C U 2nite.

 

 

April 8 Prompt: Write a renewal story that proclaims “This isn’t the end; I will go on.”

Flash Fiction Challenge over at Carrot Ranch