One of my friends from Facebook posted a challenge on her wall. Make a story out of this prompt: “The stone man and the fungi went to the beach.” Below is the picture she posted to give us inspiration. I took the first half of the sentence and did a story with it. 6 words instead of 3, but that’s okay! This one is for you Melissa. Read the rest of this entry
Ice, lock, wind
I am a dead man. Zack bobbed like a cork in the black waters of the Bering Strait. His bright orange survival suit covered most of his body but his head was getting hammered by one wave after another. He had long ago ceased to feel his fingers and toes. In the end, the ocean promises only cold and darkness.
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Three little words are all I ask. I haven’t done this in a while. I want to poke around and see if there is anything left in my dusty attic of a brain. Give me three words and I’ll write a story for you using them. Reply with your words in the comments!
I held it all close
but the dues are paid are they not
these words come at last
to eyelashes that never blinked
flotsam with no heartbeat
battling for months, but your
creator was killing you
I was afraid for you. of you
but He knows His business
no, it’s true yet…
two decades later
my heart still knows
I never got to say goodbye
I never got to say goodbye.
I don’t know how to do this. Amy Therriot-Winters sat in the foyer which featured, at the moment, fresh flowers on the entryway table and a new crystal chandelier over the stairwell. Her hand smoothed her linen slacks over and over while she looked at each piece of furniture and said good-bye to them. She had picked out each painting and drape herself, even the burled wood that stretched across the mantel. Her fireplace! The new house didn’t have one. Read the rest of this entry
We picked up little pieces of my heart. All across the beach they glittered in the rays of
sunlight peeking through the clouds. We looked for the shiny bits while we laughed and talked
and created space in our minds to remember ourselves. To remember this day.
Ambivalent, Raccoon, Generation.
Malevolent yellow eyes followed me when ever I walked through the living room. Their gaze skittered off of my shoulders and shivered down my back making my five-year old legs weak. I hid behind my mother when going upstairs; otherwise I pushed my back to the wall and scraped past as quickly as I could. The old stuffed owl on the newel was terrifying. The first time I saw it I touched the tip of the beak and got a nasty cut that became infected, I knew for sure it had bitten me. Hey I was little, what did I know? Read the rest of this entry