Saturday, December 31, 2016

[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. 

Friday, December 23, 2016

[Impossible Things Journal] Gingerbread Houses

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

Friday, December 9, 2016

[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.
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