Not that kind of woman

 

 

Empty bed in the morning

Loneliness sleeps beside me in the space you left behind

Coffee and breakfast for one

Conversation echoes from memories playing like a movie in my mind

 

Sunlight streams through the window

Touching my skin but it leaves me cold and restless

because I keep wondering

How did I get here? Where did it all go wrong?

Throw my coffee down the drain

along

with all thoughts of you

 

I want to give up, call it a day

On this disappointment we call life

Is there someone that can help me?

Help me to get back up

But I’m not that kind of woman

Giving up is not something I’m good at

Maybe it’s enough to keep me going

Going in the dark

 

The nights are way too long

There ain’t enough movies to distract myself from calling you

Fall asleep to the sounds of Hollywood

I slept in your arms hearing you breathe, listening to every heartbeat

 

I want to run back to where I used to belong

Comfortable familiarity like a 90s sitcom

Let it be, I must move on,

better things ahead,

that’s where I belong

 

I wont give up, wont call it a day

On this disappointment we call life

Is there someone that can help me?

Help me to get back up

See I’m not that kind of woman

Giving up is not something I’m good at

Maybe it’s enough to keep me going

Going in the dark

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Thoughts of a dying dream

I was born with you, the day of your birth,

in your awakening

Out of those moments of joy bursting with light.

I stood by you, through years of your longing,

in your flagellation

Through those moments of pain echoing with the truth.

 

We have always been one, though you split us in two

Denied me, seeking fulfilment from others besides me.

Embarrassed, you walked away

I saw you look back eyes dark with regret.

You had no sense to know you could never forget.

 

Once in your mid-life, I sent you flowers, a fragrant bouquet

Hoping to remind you of what we had, and all the missed hours.

You read the note, threw it in the bin

Hid in the bedroom and found you could not hide from what was within.

That night, in the yellow of the porch light, you looked up at the stars

wondering, always wondering.

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And here we are, together still at the end of your life.

Yes I’m still here, beside you, within you

And I bloom in your chest, with a lot of regret.

You tell me you’re sorry, you don’t know what happened

I say nothing, just let you speak, hear your voice cracking.

 

The pain in your voice is much for me to bear.

I know I tried to tell you over the years

that for you to truly live, both of us need to have life.

 

But I will die with you, the world never knowing who I am

More tragic than this, is the self you hid from the world.

All I could do was show myself to you

Hoping you would find your courage.

Something you could never do.

 

Oh the life we could have lived!

The possibilities we could have explored!

 

It is harder for me still, to question my own existence

The dream that never could and never will,

be more than a thought in your head

A fledgling hope that never took flight.

Why was I here? It makes no sense.

 

Then I look in your eyes,

moments before the light in them goes out,

and I see the same questions stirring about.

 

****

Inspired by an article I read on the regrets of the dying. Unfulfilled dreams were one of the biggest regrets.

There is something about unfulfilled dreams, hopes and desires that cause us so much pain. Most of it seems to go against logic and reason and it takes courage to follow them.

Undeniably, dreams are a part of who we are. To fulfil them is to fulfil ourselves. To give them life, is to give us a life that feels authentic, and has a buzz to it that makes us feel very much alive.

Need a better title. It is a WIP. Suggestions welcome!

Here’s to your dreams ūüôā

 

 

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Desert dawn

PHOTO PROMPT © Jan Wayne Fields

“C’mon! It will be worth it.”

“This was a bad idea, Dawn.”

“Oh stop your moaning. Just a few more steps.”

Robert screwed up his eyes against the morning sun, “It’s at least half a kilometre up! You’re going to kill me.”

Dawn trod easily over the rocks. Behind her, he watched the muscles flex in her calves.

At the top of the hill they looked out across the spreading desert glowing a pinkish-orange from the rising sun.

“What did I tell you? Isn’t it beautiful?”

Watching her face, his breath caught by the wind, he whispered, “It sure is.”

100 words

Written for Friday Ficitioneers where the challenge is to write a story in 100 words or less, hosted by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields. Click the blue frog to read more flash fiction.

Thanks to Jan Wayne Fields for providing this week’s prompt.

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Bonfire

Playing around with a song idea. It’s half done, and the idea is mostly there. But just wanted to hit that publish button and put something out there.

*********

 

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I set myself on fire to keep you warm

You say that you love me

but you can’t see me burn

 

Bonfire on the beach beneath a sky full of stars

And I could do it all night babe, for your smile

It’s just that through the smoke, the stars dim for me

So I begin to wonder about Life’s possibilities

 

Chorus

Love that invites to another world

where fires burn to light the way

and when i arrive it feels like coming home,

Coming home to stay

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Sunday lunch

 

She leaned back in the chair, the cold wrought iron pressing into her back. Through her grief a smile rose to her mouth. Countless Sunday lunches, warm garlic breads and ice cold lemonades. She could almost hear the chatter, the laughter ringing around the table. Young and old.

A hand touched her shoulder, she didn’t have to look to know it was her brother, Barry.

“C’mon sis, I’ll make you some tea. Let’s go inside.”

She stood up and took one last look at the chair where Dad always sat. Sunday lunch would not be the same without him.

99 words

Hooray! My picture was chosen for this week’s flash fiction, and I couldn’t be more thrilled! Thank you, group leader, Rochelle!!!!I took this picture while on holiday, and the lodge I was staying at had a sombre air about it. Later I heard from hotel the hotel staff that the father of the family-run business had just passed away. So naturally their story came to mind.

I apologise for not commenting ¬†much on last week’s flash fiction. Life has thrown me major life changes which has given me the most confusing mix of incredible joy and sadness at the same time. I promise to double my efforts this week and read as many of this week’s posts as I can.

Written for Friday Fictioneers hosted by the most talented artist and writer, Rochelle Wiesoff-Fields. The challenge is to write a story in 100 words or less. Click the blue frog icon to read more awesome flash fiction by more great writers. Make coffee, sit back and enjoy 30 second stories.

 

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Meet me in the land of dreams

PHOTO PROMPT © Sandra Crook

We sat in the gardens of an ancient ruins, side by side. Laughing with the ghost of my mother. She looked young like me, but felt older.  Behind us the shrubbery crawled over an abandoned castle, most of it gone. What stood was crumbling.  Above us thick green canopies shaded us.

“When will we meet again?” I asked her, taking note how black her hair was, without the strands of grey that sprouted when she was still with us.

She offered me only a knowing smile as her answer.

Of course. I wasn’t permitted to the knowledge of the unseen.

100 words

My mother passed away two years ago. Yet I never feel as if she is gone. I still feel her overbearing, sometimes annoying, presence with me. (This was really how our relationship was! No angelic talk here ūüôā )

And when I dream of her, it feels as if I’m really seeing her, and in the dream I’m aware she has passed on.

There have been many dreams of her. The year she died, she came into one of my dreams on the eve of my birthday and I hugged her in delight, knowing she was not with us.

The above story is part of one of the dreams I had of her, where there was an abandoned castle behind us.

Proudly written for Friday Fictioneers hosted by our leading writer, Rochelle Wiesoff-Fields. Write a story in 100 words or less! Click the frog icon to read more flash fiction by other awesome writers.

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Fine lines of the heart

PHOTO PROMPT © Marie Gail Stratford

 

Zahra leaned towards the mirror, dabbing eye cream around her eyes hoping to see those dreaded fine lines vanish. She turned her face in the dim light, trying to catch a glimpse of the smooth-faced beauty that once won her pageant titles.

Her husband appeared behind her reflection. “Still as beautiful as ever!”

She smiled softly. She never noticed just how grey his hair had become. Were those wrinkles on his face from years of laughter, or from sadness? Guilt pinched her heart.

She took his face in her hands and planted a kiss on his eager lips.

98 words

The image made me think of a flower that has lost its bloom, and that led to thoughts of ageing beauties. Zahra, in arabic, means flower.

This story was in part inspired by a poem I once read about an ageing couple, (the title and poet eludes me, sorry). The husband looked at the lines on his wife’s face and found beauty in them, because they were¬†borne from the history of their lives together.

Written for Friday Fictioneers hosted by, Rochelle Wiesoff-Fields. The challenge is to write a full story in 100 words or less. Click the blue frog to read more flash fiction from other writers.

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Innocence on snow

PHOTO PROMPT © Dale Rogerson

 

“What’s your favourite animal?” Clifford blew into his gloved hands and rubbed them together. He glanced at his step-daughter who skipped and hopped beside him. Each time her boots kicked up snow, she giggled. And something warm kindled inside him. He hoped she was warm enough.

“That’s easy. Unicorns.” She answered without skipping a beat.

“Unicorns? Izzy, they’re not real.” He bit his lip.

She stopped and bent to draw in the snow. “How do you know?”

“Well, I’ve never seen one.”

“Doesn’t mean they’re not there.” A snowball hit him square in the face and Izzy skipped away, laughing.

100 words

Written for Friday Fictioneers hosted by talented author and artist, Rochelle. Write a story in 100 words or less. Click the blue frog to read more flash fiction from other writers.

 

Thanks to Dale Rogerson for providing this week’s image prompt. Cosy and warm, despite the obvious cold weather. Personally, I hope Izzy always believes in the magic of unicorns.

 

Cold tea and cigarettes

PHOTO PROMPT © JS Brand

 

Viggo awoke to the aroma of spiced tea. Smiling sleepily, he reached across the bed towards her but his hand fell on worn sheets.

He bolted upright. The boat lulled gently in the tide.

A single cup of tea sat on the counter by the sink. And a packet of his favourite cigarettes.

Lighting one he blew grey smoke around his tiny cabin. He loosed a slow sad chuckle. She was saying goodbye in the best way she knew how. Tempest, his beautiful gypsy woman of never-ending horizons was gone.

He sipped his tea. Cold from waiting too long.

99 words

Written for Friday Fictioneers hosted by leader Rochelle. The challenge is to write a story in 100 words or less.

Click on the blue frog to read more cool flash fiction.

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A friend in need

 

PHOTO PROMPT © Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

Bindi split the wood with a satisfying crack. Sarah always asked her why she did men’s work. Sarah did nothing but sit pretty. And since she had come to her homeless and in need, Bindi had come to hate her backstabbing, ungrateful ways.

“Have you seen Sarah anywhere?” Her husband Greg appeared unexpectedly.¬†Wouldn’t you like to know? she thought.

Gazing off into the forest bordering their farm, she shrugged. “Probably ran away again.”

A smear of blood near the axe handle caught her eye.

“We ought to get a new axe. This one has seen its last.”

99 words

This serene picture of chopped wood discs, (thanks to Rochelle for this week’s image) inspired me back to thrillers. Guess where Bindi hid Sarah’s body?

Written for Friday Fictioneers, hosted by Rochelle where the challenge is to write a story in 100 words or less.

Click the blue frog to read more flash fiction from other great writers.

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