Sunday, September 17, 2017

Alien

Tim's Dreams by Romy Nayar

They didn't like us. The strings hurt on the wrists. The redness would never go away. They played us like puppets. They manipulated us with a smile. Then, they forced us. “You'll see it,” they said. We didn't know what they meant. Then we saw it, the grand scheme of things, and we were just a tiny fleck of nothingness. They took the children. The candles burned till the end, but they didn't know. We had our own strings. The day we pulled them, they fell. And we took off to get our children back. Arrogance can make empires fall.
100 Word Stories

Thursday, September 14, 2017

Elspeth

Salt Water

Elspeth was a dreamer. The old iron-wrought bed hung from the sturdiest branches of the old tree in the garden. She would lie under the cover and snuggle against the pillows, reading. She read stories about imaginary places and wonderfully unusual people.
A plank also hung from a branch of the same tree. It had some books on it and also a lamp that didn't light anything, but that wasn't important because Elspeth was a dreamer.
The river flew by, its soft rippling waves flapping against the chores of her small beach.
And she read on.
Elspeth, the dreamer, hanging from a tree.

Wednesday, September 13, 2017

Ten Days to Go

BWC Village

Ten days to go till the end of today. I'm counting the days, one finger at a time. The neighbors don't know yet. Life will change. I sold the house and told no one. In a way, it's sad. I have been living here for over thirty years. I know everyone. I have seen them get married, have children. I have met the boyfriends and girlfriends of their kids. I have been to the christening of so many babies I lost count. And when they walk by, they wave and stay on, leaning against my fence, chatting a few minutes away before heading off back to their lives.
Now, I have ten days, only ten days to go till the end of today, my today that will never come back.

Tuesday, September 12, 2017

Tell me

Pixel Dreams

Tell me, is it morning yet? Tell me.
When will we look at the sun and smile?
When will we tread the narrow path of tomorrow and, at least, pretend we have a future?
When will we look at the seagulls and watch them circle the dark sky?
When will we believe? I wonder.
And my soul wanders away in my thoughts, my arms stretched, embracing the world, at least in my mind.
Anyone looking at me would only see me, sitting by the window and staring outside while the rain falls, the wind whispers secrets of the past, and the present is a cat sleeping on my lap.

Sunday, September 10, 2017

Gas

Wintersweet

The painting on the wall flickered, alive with the dancing flames of the gas fireplace. The man sat on a chair. His attention was on the geometric face. He had never intended it to come out like that but he thought it was beautiful. He cleaned his hands with a colorful cloth. She hated that. She hated the smell too. She hated when he sat in the living-room in his “rags”, as she called his painting overalls. When she saw the painting, she wanted to burn it. His nails had red underneath, and the painting was still on the wall.

Sunday, September 3, 2017

Deal

The Tower by Rebecca Bashly


The deal was that you'd never scream at me. The deal was that a smile would be a smile and not a sarcastic sneer thrown at my soul. The deal was that I would live today, dream of tomorrow, regret nothing of the past. And now, I live today, dreading tomorrow and desperately trying to forget what happened. The more they told me to walk away, the more I pretended not to listen. I covered my ears, shut my eyes, sheltered my soul, and one day, in darkness, I decided to leave. May my tombstone read “The deal was broken.”