Shattered

j-hardy-rubble

Friday Fictioneers for 5/26/2017


Shattered

The teenagers called me “crazy artist lady.”

The men loitering nearby called me worse when I refused their “offers.”

My lover called me stubborn for staying. “It’s not safe.”

I scoffed. “They’re just talk.”

 

I worked all day and into the evening, but flagged. Grabbing Gordo the Great Dane’s lead, we loped to the coffee shop; I hummed something cheery.

The barista smiled. “Your showing’s tomorrow?”

“Day after.”

“You must be excited.”

“And nervous.”

 

Red paint dripped down my door from the four-letter slur. Inside, three years of blown-glass artwork glittered in the light, innocently beautiful in its destruction.

 

end 5/24/2017

Sascha Darlington

Advertisements

Future Lives #amwriting

They went to the hayloft because there was nowhere else. He was shipping out in the morning. She was off to college.

Her palms cupped the sides of his face to study his eyes and he grinned down at her. All of these years of wanting saved for these precious moments of frantic clumsiness.

She had waited for him, for always.

Sharp needles of straw pinched their skin as they made love, him trying to be gentle, her needing him as part of herself.

She felt they were on the precipice of future lives with time as tenuous as gossamer.

 

5/17/2017

Sascha Darlington

Just Another Monday #amwriting

inside-the-diner

PHOTO PROMPT © Roger Bultot

Friday Fictioneers for May 19. Click here for instructions on how to participate. Thank you, Rochelle, for hosting.


Just Another Monday

Most mornings I eat breakfast here, an egg white omelet with veggies and cheddar. Roberto now adds green chile sauce remembering I like it spicy. I sip coffee at the counter, my attention diverted from my phone to the conversation between Roberto’s dad, Felix, and three women.

Continue reading

Rosemary for Remembrance

frost-on-the-tombstone-liz

PHOTO PROMPT © Liz Young

Thanks to Rochelle at Friday Fictioneers for hosting. If you’d like to participate, visit here.

For more stories, visit here.


Rosemary for Remembrance

What would you say true love is?

Many say it’s fragile. I believe it’s strong, persistent, timeless.

The rosemary my great-grandfather planted, remembrance for the bride he lost in 1918 to the pandemic, thrives.

I note your apathy.

Let me convey a fact about rosemary: it cannot survive Vermont winters. Yet, almost 100 years after planting, this fragrant herb of the Mediterranean flourishes next to the grave of his beloved. Even in a hospitable climate, this would be a feat.

His diary said: “I fell in love at first sight and will love her with my last.”

I think…beyond.

 

end 4/29/2017

S. Darlington

X is for Xenophobia #AtoZchallenge #amwriting

x

Picture1

Rachel grabbed the sleeve of Andy’s shirt to tug him out of earshot. “Your mother has an accent?”

Andy shrugged. “Sure. Didn’t I mention?”

“No. I would have remembered.”

Andy frowned. Her tone sounded far more irritated than the situation dictated.

“Is it a problem?” he asked.

Rachel nodded. “Probably. My family is not the forgiving type.”

“Forgiving? What?” Realization flooded over Andy. “You’re kidding. My mother wasn’t even born then.”

“Doesn’t matter,” Rachel said, her lips set firmly.

“Get over it. She’s not from where you think she is.”

“She has the accent.”

 

end 4/28/2017

S. Darlington

W is for Weary #AtoZchallenge #amwriting

w

weary

Today a driver saw a laundry bag moving in the middle of route 7 and stopped to investigate. Two small dogs were inside. Someone had tossed them in the road to get rid of them instead of taking them to a shelter.

At the rescue the pup looked up at me with big eyes, and I cried. She put her paws on my chest and licked at my tears, demonstrating a huge capacity for forgiveness.

Weariness has tainted my ability to forgive people who don’t comprehend that the sanctity of life extends to all creatures.

I wonder, will they ever understand?

 

end 4/27/2017

S. Darlington

U is for Unforgiven #AtoZchallenge #amwriting

u

unforgiven.png

“Having children changes you.” These were the truest words Mother ever said.

The moment I held Maria, her big eyes surveying her world, I was smitten.

The second truest thing Mother said was “no matter how well you think you know someone, you don’t.”

Maria’s relationship with her father and me was different. She kept curfew, didn’t lie, and told me everything.

Mother said, “The greatest disappointment is finding out what you thought was true, wasn’t.”

Sitting on Maria’s twin bed, reading her journal, I amassed a list of those who would be unforgiven.

I was at the top.

 

end 4/25/2017

S. Darlington