[100 Words] The Aftermath of a Betrayal

“Sorry only counts in church. And even then, I’m not sure it counts for much,” Evan says. “So just…don’t.”

The air hangs between them, charged and brittle; one wrong spoken word will set the whole room alight, shatter the spun glass delicate truce they’ve spent hours wringing out of their tears; their raised voices; the unsteady sleep they’d found, half afraid to touch but bodies arching toward each other, chilled from not being pressed tight together.

“Okay,” Paolo says, breathes out slowly, looks at the time. Sunday morning. “Breakfast at the diner?”

Evan sighs. “Yeah.”

_________________________________

Tara R, over at Thin Spiral Notebook, has taken over the 100 Word Challenge from Velvet Verbosity. (And I'm so glad someone stepped up to do so. Even though it's been a while since I've participated, I always loved this quick, weekly challenge.) 

This week's word prompt was "Sorry."

New Year. New Job. New.....everything. I'm hoping I'll be back with another response next week.

___________

Saturday Shorts 12-31-16

A miniscule challenge this weekend. The telling of an entire story with a short breath.

Tell me the story of a struggling artist in six words.

Come back before midnight on Sunday and leave a link to your response in the comments. I'll share it on Twitter. Pay a visit to anyone else who's participated. Have fun. 

[Impossible Things Journal] Gingerbread Houses

Building gingerbread houses gives Yuletide Faeries somewhere to stay while they work their holiday magic.

[Impossible Things Journal] Peacocks

Peacocks have a unique perspective on the world. One bird, so many eyes.

[Six Sentence Fiction] Walking the Aisle

Head bowed, he breathes deep and chokes on the odor of flowers, the subtle cloying scent of lily and sharp tang of lilac settling on the back of his tongue.

She’s next to him, holding his arm; he can feel the soft swell of her breast against his tricep and the sturdy warmth of her body molded against him from torso to calf. She breaks away as the double doors open, twining her fingers with his, and guides him down the aisle to the resonant thrum of organ music; his gait hitches right along with his breath.

At the front of the room, he finally raises his head, falters and loses a step, shiny black shoes scuffing the threadbare chapel carpet. The coffin, draped in flowers, sits on the middle of a dais with lights beaming down on it; if he didn’t know any better, he’d think he was staring at the opening scenes of some play, but the bowed heads of people in the pews, the whisper-soft sobs and rasps of tissue against wet cheeks remind him that this is reality.

She slides onto the hard wooden pew reserved for family and he follows her, looks at her, waits for her to tighten her fingers around his hand and then he turns his face forward—breathes out, breathes in—and whispers: Goodbye, brother.

[Saturday Shorts] 11 - 26 - 16

This town rips the bones from your back 

It's a death trap, it's a suicide rap 

We gotta get out while we're young 

`Cause tramps like us, baby we were born to run.

Write a 100 word story based on or inspired by this song.  

*Leave your story or a link to your story in the comments by midnight on Sunday and I'll share it/tweet about it.

[Saturday Shorts] 10-29-16

Write a 100 word story that starts with "The corpse sat across from me..."

Just in time for Halloween. 

[Six Sentence Fiction] Encounter

I was stringing up laundry in the backyard when I saw him standing at the edge of the woods, naked as you please, the only thing giving him some shred of decency being the thigh length rat’s nest of hair hanging over his shoulders.

Nan used to warn me about naked woodsmen, telling me “run if you see ‘em girl cause they’ll do you a goodly bit of mischief and no Christian woman needs that on her conscience.” But really, I’d always thought she was a little senile if not totally full of shit and besides, I wasn’t a Christian woman, so I went on hanging the laundry and keeping one eye on him.

Wild-animal timid, he’d creep close and pull back, watching me, until I ran out of laundry. I sat down on the stoop to see what he’d do and that’s when he struck, lunging into my $70 Northern Nights sheets and snapping my clothes line; I screamed and threw an empty planter at him. When he leapt out of the tangled clothes line and shot for the woods, he had my husband’s Day-Glo Incredible Hulk boxer shorts in his hand.

[Music Monday] Haunted Antique Edition

Music from the 1930s-1950s often has a haunting quality about it. It may speak to something about the era. The world on the brink of war, then in the midst of war and then locked in a cold war. Death and destruction lurking in the shadows, occasionally making itself known.

Here are a select few of those haunting songs.They'd be great for a Halloween party.

"Miss Otis Regrets" - Ethel Waters

"Nightmare" - Artie Shaw

"It's All over But the Crying" - The Inkspots

[Impossible Things Journal] Moon Whispers

The moon listens in on conversations. Sometimes, she whispers what she hears to the stars. So when you think the stars are twinkling just for you....you might be right.

[Music Mondays] October Kickoff Edition

It's that time of year again. The weather's growing cooler, the day's shorter, the leaves are changing, and the world is taking on a slightly different hue: red and gold cast in black shadows.

Do you ever find yourself looking over your shoulder a little more at this time of year? Doing a double take to make sure you saw (or didn't see) what you think you saw?

I do. Shadows are slick and wily in October. They might be hiding something.


To celebrate this haunted month, I'm digging through my favorite media (everything from movies to video games to fanfiction) for some songs that are appropriate for all those lengthening shadows, falling leaves, and those moments where you just can't help but follow that figure that's appeared in your peripheral vision. Even though it's probably just the cat. Probably.

Here are a few for this Monday.

"The Star Spangled Soldier" / The Star Spangled Banner - Chase Holfelder

"House of the Rising Sun" - Lauren O'Connell

"Oh Death" - Jen Titus

[Snippets] Tourist

Last night I dreamed that Death came by and offered me her hand. 

"Slow going, tonight," she said, "how about I show you around?"

And off we set in her custom black Mercedes, parting the night around us. With one hand on the gear, and the other on the wheel, she drove with a carefreeness born of centuries.

Saturday Shorts 9-24-16

Describe your favorite place in 33 words.

Leave a link to your response in the comments before midnight on Sunday. I'll share it on Twitter. (Or, if you don't have a blog, leave your response in the comments.) Visit anyone else who has participated. Have fun!

[Six Sentence Fiction] A Typical Friday

 

A story in six sentences.

Mama’s digging through the couch again, looking for the change that always falls out of people’s pockets when they sit on those broke down cushions. (When I was younger I used to imagine there was some kind of magnet built into that couch…I wouldn’t have put it past mama to figure out how to do something like that.)

I’ve taken Bethy and baby Jack into the kitchen and I’m trying to keep ‘em quiet, ‘cause Mama, when she’s like this, can’t stand a lot of noise.  Jack’s just started to work up a good whimper when she stomps into the kitchen—and the look on her face is the one she wore the last time I got the belt—but she’s only got her keys in hand and she’s not looking at me but the Mason jar on the fridge. She pulls it down and, when she can’t get the lid off, throws it in the sink so hard it explodes, glass and green bills scattering all over the counter; she scrapes everything up—doesn’t even notice when the shards of glass stick into her hands—and walks out the door.

A few seconds later, I hear the Rambler start up and through the little window over the sink, I can see her swerving toward town and I know when she comes back she’ll have a plastic baggie stuffed in her purse and bruises on her arms.

[Poetry] Aesthetics

Aesthetic would say

turn thoughts to paint

when psychedelics mount

and make a sculpture of

angelic silhouettes

from a masterpiece of human

passion

From white to color,

imagine every break

and turn

an experiment in time.

harmony piecing electric pictures

and the canvas

writing form

to my latex metaphor

[Poetry] Tonight

Tonight

I dreamed I was inside the Moon

or she was inside me.

Shadows from the sun

shrouded my body

and I hid in the black lining

of a cloud

Saturday Shorts 8-27-16

Write a 50 word story inspired by this picture:

 If you don't have a blog, leave your story in the comments.