Home Part One

It's been awhile, blog friends. I'm working on getting back to writing on a regular basis. No better way to get my writing muscles warmed up than engaging in a little Carrot Ranch Flash Fiction. Each week, the wonderful Chari Mills posts a writing prompt for 99 words (no more, no less). Be sure to check out the wonderful contributions from the other Rough Writers. This week's prompt? Coming home. 

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She held the real estate flyer and looked around the front hall. The pictures were awful. Jewel toned carpets and floral patterned couches. Her mother’s decorating sense stuck firmly in a previous decade. But the house smelled just as she remembered it; a blend of potpourri and Sunday dinner. Comfort food and pretty vases filled with coloured wood chips. So long ago, she had left without looking back. Stormed down the steps determined to show the world she could be something different than what she had come from. She had learned since then you could never leave home behind.

Five Photos, Five Stories (Day Two)

Silence

Only my breath and 

hers to pull my thoughts away

from the cold silence

Thanks to Sarah Brentyn for nominating me for the Five Photos, Five Stories challenge. I thought I'd try a haiku today. Sarah's are so beautiful and it's a bit daunting to attempt a kind of writing I've had little experience with. But these days, I'm all about testing my limits, trying new things, and being gentle (or at least trying to be gentle) as I fumble around and find my way. 

The “rules” of the Five Photos, Five Stories Challenge are:

1) Post a photo each day for five consecutive days.

2) Attach a story to the photo. It can be fiction, non-fiction, poetry, or a short paragraph. It’s entirely up to the individual.

3) Nominate another blogger to carry on the challenge. Your nominee is free to accept or decline the invitation. Just have fun.

Five Photos, Five Stories (Day One)

No Islands

If I had the choice

I'd return here again 

With your hand in mine.

And my heart in hand. 

Thanks to Sarah Brentyn for nominating me for the Five Photos, Five Stories challenge. I'm calling this one No Islands and it is likely the first piece of poetry I've written since I was a teenager. But hey, when it feels like you're starting from scratch, you can worry less about restrictions. 

The “rules” of the Five Photos, Five Stories Challenge are:

1) Post a photo each day for five consecutive days.

2) Attach a story to the photo. It can be fiction, non-fiction, poetry, or a short paragraph. It’s entirely up to the individual.

3) Nominate another blogger to carry on the challenge. Your nominee is free to accept or decline the invitation. Just have fun.

He loves me, he loves me not.

Waiting has always been hard for me. So much so, that I believe I cultivated a habit of lateness to make sure I rarely had to endure the discomfort of waiting. I'm not much better at it now, but I'm working on sitting with uncertainty. Which, in this case, is really just facing the possibility that what I'm waiting for might not ever happen. 

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The sidewalk was cool, cold even, but I sat down anyway, hoping he wouldn’t be too long. The air was damp and I could smell what was growing, even if I couldn’t see it yet. Reaching for a dandelion, I counted each tiny petal as I ripped it from the comfort and cluster of the stem. I told myself that he’d be here by the time I’d reached 50. Then 75.

An hour later a stack of wilted stems were heaped beside me as I heard my mother’s voice.

“He said he’s sorry, sweetheart. He’ll see you next week.”

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Thanks to Charli Mills at Carrot Ranch Communications for this week's story prompt. In 99 words (no more, no less) write a story that is a snapshot of spring. Be sure to check out the wonderful contributions from the other Rough Writers. 

Distraction from Distraction

This week's challenge was to write about vices. Given that I have so many, I'm surprised that this was harder for me to write about than some of the other prompts lately. But I like the idea that vices are really just coping strategies. And that vices are not just things, but people. 

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She didn’t know how it started. And after awhile she stopped caring. All she knew was that she needed it far more than she ever thought she would. 

Near the end of the day, her thoughts wandered eagerly towards the distraction, and gently, she prodded them back to the present. 

Until the dishes were dried and put away. And the floor was swept. 

Then she poured herself that first drink and did what she’d been waiting to do all day. 

Closed her eyes. Thought about his hands. His words. The broad muscles in his back. His smile. His smell.

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This week's 99 word prompt can be found over at Carrot Ranch Communications.

This Too Shall Pass

I used to hate change. I used to resist it and try to organize it and predict it. Now, on a good day, I welcome it, and on a not-so-good day, I shrug and welcome it anyway. Change doesn't give a shit about me and my plans. 

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The air had a hint of warmth underneath the cool breeze. Something was growing, somewhere. New life pushing itself up from beneath the cold, wet soil.

The tears had barely dried on her cheeks last night when she’d felt that same push from beneath her sadness. For a brief second, she’d understood that her heart would heal, that he wouldn’t always be the last thing she thought of before she went to sleep.

It wasn’t just hope, and it sure as hell wasn’t innocence. It was the certainty that everything changes. And the change she felt coming was welcome.

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Check out the 99 word prompt over at Carrot Ranch Communications, as well as the other contributions from the Rough Writers. 

Scorched

I grew up reading science fiction and I was familiar with dystopian story lines before I knew dystopian was a word. This week's flash 99 word prompt from Carrot Ranch reminded me of so many of the stories I read in my childhood about a ruined planet. Thanks, as always, to Charli Mills for the challenge. 

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She’d been sweating out here for hours. Turning over dirt. Moving it from one place to another. She accepted the canteen gratefully when it came her way, barely remembering the time she would have refused to drink from the same container as a stranger. 

“Thanks,” she said and wiped her hand across her mouth, likely just smearing the filth on her face into streaks. 

The young girl who worked beside her looked down, but she saw the smile that turned up the corners of her lips. 

Taking a chance, she leaned in. “Come see me later. I have news.”