Leaves #amwriting

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Rejoice!

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Photo © Sascha Darlington

Sunday Photo Fiction⇐this is the link if you want to participate.

Thank you to Alistair at Sunday Photo Fiction as always for providing this prompt! To read more stories for this prompt, click here.


Rejoice!

Tourists wander amidst the pods carelessly, believing the officials who decided after twenty years that the pods were harmless. Forget their sudden, unexplained appearance one night. It’s carnival time!

I was summoned to this hill by a compelling frequency of sound, murmuring an ancient address of rejoice.

I thought I was alone, but others, like me, stand sentry above this valley of pods. We exchange thoughts without speech.

With a wave of meteorites spearing across the midnight sky the dispatch enlightens: we offer no defense to humankind.

 

end 2/16/2017

S. Darlington

No Longer Your Girl Friday

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© J Hardy Carroll

Sunday Photo Fiction⇐this is the link if you want to participate.

Thank you to Alistair at Sunday Photo Fiction as always for providing this prompt! To read more stories for this prompt, click here.


No Longer Your Girl Friday

I think my editor’s having me on. Maybe I deserve it after I left him tied up to the headboard naked in the hotel room, but what’s a little fun between old friends?

“This is your collection, Mr. Jackson?” I ask, my finger hovering over the record button.

The elderly man nods. “Yes, I have Coca-Cola bottles that have the fingerprints of Elvis Presley on them. And, see that fancy vodka bottle? Marilyn Monroe herself pursed her lips against that bottle.”

While the bottles look old, they’re just there, dusty, like they could have been sitting there for years in this house that has definitely seen better days.

“How do you know for sure?”

The man turns his bloodshot blue eyes on me. “Know what?”

“That Elvis or Marilyn had anything to do with these bottles?”

“I’ve got pictures,” he says.

Relief. So maybe Bill was on the up and up. “Can I see the pictures?”

“I thought you might.” He hands me a pile of Polaroid photos, each with a different bottle but nothing else.

I shake my head as I go through them. “There’s nothing here.”

Mr. Jackson nods. “The dead don’t show up in Polaroid pictures.”

 

end 2/7/2017

S. Darlington

Will You Lie with Me and Just Forget the World?

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Sunday Photo Fiction⇐this is the linky if you want to participate.

Thank you to Alistair at Sunday Photo Fiction as always for providing this prompt! To read more stories for this prompt, click here.


Will You Lie with Me and Just Forget the World?

What were you thinking when you asked me here to the hotel where we spent two nights of our supposed honeymoon because neither of us had time or money for the real thing? Time, money, the expiration of our marriage as well since we’re now separate entities.

The elevator plods. At every floor it stops, the doors yawn open, admitting no one before continuing upward.

When it reaches the fourteenth floor, my patience ends. Every despairing moment of our married life careens into one great atomic bomb of a moment.

If the floor weren’t carpeted, my high-heeled steps would be heard miles away. I knock at the door. No loving patter, just solid thumping.

The door swings open. You are there, smiling, hopeful. I wonder what in the hell you have to smile about.

Something in your eyes is different. Something in your eyes reminds me of the boy you used to be. The first time we kissed. The first time you said “I love you.”

In the background I hear “Chasing Cars.”

You reach for my hand. I watch it enfold mine.

“I need you. I miss you. Can we try again?”

Just simple words rip me wide open.

 

end 1/28/2017

S. Darlington

When the Wolfsbane Blooms

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Sunday Photo Fiction⇐this is the linky if you want to participate.

Thank you to Alistair at Sunday Photo Fiction as always for providing this prompt! To read more stories for this prompt, click here.


When the Wolfsbane Blooms

I am, again, at the mercy of Maximilian Rolfe, who, let’s face it, has none. I want the goblet. He’s filled it with poison. Tells me to drink. As if.

I tend to think: what would Indiana do? That’s not much help because we know that good timing and coincidence work for him. For me? Not so much.

“So what’s my poison?” I ask. The question sounds cooler in the movies maybe because there it’s not really poison.

“Aconite. Swift acting to get rid of your meddlesome self.”

“Tell me again, why do you have to kill me?”

He doesn’t bother answering. He edges closer, the goblet outthrust, his icy blue eyes impassive. I note bloodied wounds on his torso showing that my pathetic attempts at fighting did damage his body.

“Aconite?” I repeat. A factoid rousing my brain. “There’s no other way?”

“Just drink so I don’t have to hear your tiresome voice anymore.”

He stumbles. The liquid sloshes but doesn’t fall. I eye the goblet’s skeletal face and then Rolfe’s.

Too cavalier. Too assured. Too murderous. Too easy.

I remove the goblet from his hands. It’s heavier than I expect as I launch the liquid toward his open wounds.

end 1/21/2017 (200 words)

S. Darlington

Bare

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Sunday Photo Fiction⇐this is the linky if you want to participate.

Thank you to Alistair at Sunday Photo Fiction as always for providing this prompt! To read more stories for this prompt, click here.


Bare (195 words)

“What about goldilocks and the three bears?”

Oh, the look I receive. When had my little girl become one to roll her eyes? “I am too old for that story. Read Harry Potter and the Sorcher’s Stone.”

I smile. Sorcerer’s has become Sorcher’s. “I don’t think we have it.”

“Daddy has it. It’s the big one with the pretty cover.”

Wasn’t it just yesterday that Cinderella was the one with the pretty cover? In an iota of a moment picture books give way to big books, in another, princess tiaras to mascara and eyeliner.

Mama’s voice reverberates as I find the book on Doug’s shelf. “Treasure each instant with your children while they’re young because the wind carries them to fully grown with just a whisk.”

Because of drink she lost her time with me. I stagger at the thought that because of work I’ll lose the time with Mandy.

I clutch Harry Potter to my chest and return to my darling girl’s side. When I begin reading, she smiles. Her eyes are like Doug’s, hopeful, big, and brown, a tinge of merriment dancing.

I think there’s still a chance for me. I begin reading.

 

end 1/10/2017

S. Darlington

 

Love In The Shadows

 

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Sunday Photo Fiction⇐this is the linky if you want to participate.

Thank you to Alistair at Sunday Photo Fiction as always for providing this prompt! To read more stories for this prompt, click here.


Love In The Shadows

“Meet on the upper street in the shadows. We’ll be together. We’ll run away. They’ll never find us.”

His words accelerated my hopeful heartbeat.

Moments before the appointed time, I barreled through the streets, the light mist coating my cheeks. My footfalls were silent with proximity to the clacking train.

He hunched there, falling into the shadow, and then she was also there, ebony hair cascading, burgundy lips curved.

My sour emotion tripped me. My scorned finger pressed speed dial.

 

end 1/3/2017 (80 words)

S. DArlington

Incensed—Sunday Photo Fiction

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Sunday Photo Fiction⇐this is the linky if you want to participate.

Thank you to Alistair at Sunday Photo Fiction as always for providing this prompt! To read more stories for this prompt, click here.


Incensed

Louise is practicing yoga. Patchouli incense burns on the tray next to the tiny gold statue of Buddha, creating a heavy atmosphere that makes my eyes water.

“You have once again proven just how ineffectual you are,” she says to me. She shoots me a sideways glance. “I know about you and Kurt. How many times have I told you that you must make Felipe fall in love with you? Kurt is a pauper. Felipe has millions.”

“Then you marry him.”

“Tsk, tsk. That’s not the plan.”

“I don’t want to be part of your plan.”

Everywhere I turn there are heavy Buddha statues. I pick one up.

“Did you know, my dear, that Karma isn’t just based on actions, but thoughts as well?” Louise asks.

I stand over her, fingering the sharply angled platform that supports the Buddha. “So you mean if I’m thinking about murder, it would have the same ramifications as committing the murder?”

 

end 12/18/2016

S. Darlington

Bejeweled

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Sunday Photo Fiction⇐this is the linky if you want to participate.

Thank you to Alistair at Sunday Photo Fiction as always for providing this prompt! To read more stories for this prompt, click here.


Bejeweled

I solder silver. Gently I place sapphires and emeralds, colors of the sea into filigree. She, with her laughing brown eyes and auburn hair, will look upon this ring with love, as it is meant to be. Her seaward passion, I know and understand. The Piscean character of her. She will hold her third finger upward and gaze, perhaps surprised at how a ring pronounces her character so well.

She will kiss him, thinking that he more than anyone else in this world understands her.

And I will put my torch away, watch my brother with the woman I love, but I have given her myself and she will wear me for the rest of eternity.

end 12/13/2016

S. Darlington

One Way Or Another–Sunday Photo Fiction

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Sunday Photo Fiction⇐this is the linky if you want to participate.

Thank you to Alistair at Sunday Photo Fiction as always for providing this prompt! To read more stories for this prompt, click here.


One Way or Another

Ever noticed how a twig blanketed in snow actually looks as if it has hairs sprouting from it? Stubbly man’s whiskers that would prick your skin if touched.

That’s what it looks like.

What the twig feels like when you grip it in the palm of your hand, snow melting instantly, is penetrating cold that would make you feel uncomfortable if your attention weren’t focused on the lumbering footsteps crunching in the snow.

A twig. Not effective at all.

Your bare hand searches in the snow for the river rocks you know abound the low bank. Your hand, numb with cold, seizes a large rounded one.

One way or another, he will never hit you again.

 

end 12/6/2016

S. Darlington