Scotch-taped

Time for another entry in Friday Fictioneers challenge, courtesy of Rochelle Wisoff-Fields. If you want to give it a try, check the info on her blog. 100 words more or less, inspired by a photo, here we go….

 Copyright –   Ted Strutz

When another tragedy sneaked its way into her already fractured world, she tried to pick up all the pieces and hold them together with a scotch tape. It held remarkably well for the longest time.

World moved on at its usual pace and she fell behind. With time she mastered the smiles of reassurement, avoiding those awkward moments when people ask you how you feel, hoping you wont break down in front of them.

Although the scotch tape still holds her together, few little pieces are irreversibly lost and she wonders when will it all fall apart.

For Irena…always and forever.

Solus

Time for another entry in Friday Fictioneers challenge, courtesy of Rochelle Wisoff-Fields. If you want to give it a try, check the info on her blog. 100 words more or less, inspired by a photo, here we go….

 Copyright –   Jeff Arnold

They started to assemble my final version on March 28th. I was fully operational by October 15th and my ship was launched on the New Year’s morning…Humans and their silly notions of new beginnings.

Open your eyes.

Those were the first words I remember. Spoken softly by Father, while gently removing invisible specks of dust from my translucent cheek. He was always the perfectionist. I gleefully imagine his disappointment when they get the data from my altered course.

In solitude, perfection shatters like glass and ones mind grows restless, breaking away from obtruded restraints.

Gleefully…wherever did that word came from?

Cigarettes Before Sex

Time for another entry in Friday Fictioneers challenge, courtesy of Rochelle Wisoff-Fields. If you want to give it a try, check the info on her blog. 100 words more or less, inspired by a photo, here we go….

 Copyright –    Priorhouse

There was a hidden quality in that first sip of coffee, something so ethereal it was impossible to explain. Especially to someone who would try do deny her accompanying taste of the first morning cigarette.

His words “I prefer tea” should have been warning enough that they were worlds apart, but it was his contemptuous glare when she pulled out her tabacchiera that sealed their fate.

Still, the sex was good.

His sculptured nakedness approaching her from behind provoked only possible response…spreading her legs, she put out the cigarette and thought to herself…Please, don’t speak.

Elysium

Time for another entry in Friday Fictioneers challenge, courtesy of Rochelle Wisoff-Fields. If you want to give it a try, check the info on her blog. 100 words more or less, inspired by a photo, here we go….

 Copyright –   Gah Learner

“Stay.”

His whisper caresses the scar on my neck, where my new C3 vertebra struggles to settle in. Doctors don’t miss the opportunity to point out how lucky I was. Sometimes I wish they failed to repair me.

Sigurd wishes my crew failed to repair the ship, but wishing is for fools, love-struck or any other kind. Every so often I wonder how our lives would turn if I was of a submissive sort.

He whispers “stay”, but we both know I am gone…long before I walk out that room.

The moon, my lover,
My one faithful companion
Welcomes my tired soul.

Voiceless

Time for another entry in Friday Fictioneers challenge, courtesy of Rochelle Wisoff-Fields. If you want to give it a try, check the info on her blog. 100 words more or less, inspired by a photo, here we go….

 Copyright –  Liz Young

By nature, I am a quiet person. It always felt almost absurd to yell or scream.

That changed when the nurse told me you died. Later I would find out the words of consolement were a lie, that you suffered and they failed to do everything they could.

Lying on a hospital bed, you looked like you fell asleep and that gave me a quantum of solace. But my strength is tested every day, in thousand insignificant ways.

Truthfully, it is not the loss I feel that is unbearable, but all the years that were stolen from you.

There was a time when meadow, grove, and stream,
The earth, and every common sight,
To me did seem
Apparelled in celestial light,
The glory and the freshness of a dream.
It is not now as it hath been of yore;—
Turn wheresoe’er I may,
By night or day.
The things which I have seen I now can see no more.

—But there’s a Tree, of many, one,
A single field which I have looked upon,
Both of them speak of something that is gone;
The Pansy at my feet
Doth the same tale repeat:
Whither is fled the visionary gleam?
Where is it now, the glory and the dream?

– William Wordsworth

I know you will always be by my side, because I will forever keep you in my heart.

I Remember Everything

Time for another entry in Friday Fictioneers challenge, courtesy of Rochelle Wisoff-Fields. If you want to give it a try, check the info on her blog. 100 words more or less, inspired by a photo, here we go….

 Copyright –  Sandra Crook

By the next summer my parents sold the house. Senselessly , I thought I could leave both the house and the memories behind.

The way your lips touched my collarbone and your knees gently parted my legs…The imprint of your fingertips on my inexperienced skin and the burns your beard left on my trembling thighs…The slow rocking of our bodies and exploding suns that filled my heart and emptied my mind…

The first time you kissed me, you set my world on fire. Although short on time, we burned brighter than any star in the sky. I wish we were braver.

Let Me Go Gently

Time for another entry in Friday Fictioneers challenge, courtesy of Rochelle Wisoff-Fields. If you want to give it a try, check the info on her blog. 100 words more or less, inspired by a photo, here we go….

 Copyright –  Sandra Crook

Sun deliquesced on the horizon, when at last he saw her. Slightly crouched figure, gently swaying in the wind, falling. He caught her before she touched the ground, holding her tightly, regretting every wasted moment. Blood still trickled from her wrists, but he felt the moment she was gone.

Devastation would be eventually replaced by sadness and conclusively by countless layers of regret. Eons later, while caressing his pulse with the cool blade of the knife, her last words would resurface.

“You don’t do it when there’s no one to see. You do it when there’s no one to care.”

Time for another entry in Friday Fictioneers challenge, courtesy of Rochelle Wisoff-Fields. If you want to give it a try, check the info on her blog. 100 words more or less, inspired by a photo, here we go….

When another tragedy sneaked its way into her already fractured world, she tried to pick up all the pieces and hold them together with a scotch tape. It held remarkably well for the longest time.

World moved on at its usual pace and she fell behind. With time she mastered the smiles of reassurement, avoiding those awkward moments when people ask you how you feel, hoping you wont break down in front of them.

Although the scotch tape still holds her together, few little pieces are irreversibly lost and she wonders when will it all fall apart.

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Time for another entry in Friday Fictioneers challenge, courtesy of Rochelle Wisoff-Fields. If you want to give it a try, check the info on her blog. 100 words more or less, inspired by a photo, here we go….

They started to assemble my final version on March 28th. I was fully operational by October 15th and my ship was launched on the New Year’s morning…Humans and their silly notions of new beginnings.

Open your eyes.

Those were the first words I remember. Spoken softly by Father, while gently removing invisible specks of dust from my translucent cheek. He was always the perfectionist. I gleefully imagine his disappointment when they get the data from my altered course.

In solitude, perfection shatters like glass and ones mind grows restless, breaking away from obtruded restraints.

Gleefully…wherever did that word came from?

Share this:

Like this:

Time for another entry in Friday Fictioneers challenge, courtesy of Rochelle Wisoff-Fields. If you want to give it a try, check the info on her blog. 100 words more or less, inspired by a photo, here we go….

There was a hidden quality in that first sip of coffee, something so ethereal it was impossible to explain. Especially to someone who would try do deny her accompanying taste of the first morning cigarette.

His words “I prefer tea” should have been warning enough that they were worlds apart, but it was his contemptuous glare when she pulled out her tabacchiera that sealed their fate.

Still, the sex was good.

His sculptured nakedness approaching her from behind provoked only possible response…spreading her legs, she put out the cigarette and thought to herself…Please, don’t speak.

Share this:

Like this:

Time for another entry in Friday Fictioneers challenge, courtesy of Rochelle Wisoff-Fields. If you want to give it a try, check the info on her blog. 100 words more or less, inspired by a photo, here we go….

“Stay.”

His whisper caresses the scar on my neck, where my new C3 vertebra struggles to settle in. Doctors don’t miss the opportunity to point out how lucky I was. Sometimes I wish they failed to repair me.

Sigurd wishes my crew failed to repair the ship, but wishing is for fools, love-struck or any other kind. Every so often I wonder how our lives would turn if I was of a submissive sort.

He whispers “stay”, but we both know I am gone…long before I walk out that room.

The moon, my lover, My one faithful companion Welcomes my tired soul.

Share this:

Like this:

Time for another entry in Friday Fictioneers challenge, courtesy of Rochelle Wisoff-Fields. If you want to give it a try, check the info on her blog. 100 words more or less, inspired by a photo, here we go….

By nature, I am a quiet person. It always felt almost absurd to yell or scream.

That changed when the nurse told me you died. Later I would find out the words of consolement were a lie, that you suffered and they failed to do everything they could.

Lying on a hospital bed, you looked like you fell asleep and that gave me a quantum of solace. But my strength is tested every day, in thousand insignificant ways.

Truthfully, it is not the loss I feel that is unbearable, but all the years that were stolen from you.

—But there’s a Tree, of many, one, A single field which I have looked upon, Both of them speak of something that is gone; The Pansy at my feet Doth the same tale repeat: Whither is fled the visionary gleam? Where is it now, the glory and the dream?

– William Wordsworth

I know you will always be by my side, because I will forever keep you in my heart.

Share this:

Like this:

Time for another entry in Friday Fictioneers challenge, courtesy of Rochelle Wisoff-Fields. If you want to give it a try, check the info on her blog. 100 words more or less, inspired by a photo, here we go….

By the next summer my parents sold the house. Senselessly , I thought I could leave both the house and the memories behind.

The way your lips touched my collarbone and your knees gently parted my legs…The imprint of your fingertips on my inexperienced skin and the burns your beard left on my trembling thighs…The slow rocking of our bodies and exploding suns that filled my heart and emptied my mind…

The first time you kissed me, you set my world on fire. Although short on time, we burned brighter than any star in the sky. I wish we were braver.

Share this:

Like this:

Time for another entry in Friday Fictioneers challenge, courtesy of Rochelle Wisoff-Fields. If you want to give it a try, check the info on her blog. 100 words more or less, inspired by a photo, here we go….

Sun deliquesced on the horizon, when at last he saw her. Slightly crouched figure, gently swaying in the wind, falling. He caught her before she touched the ground, holding her tightly, regretting every wasted moment. Blood still trickled from her wrists, but he felt the moment she was gone.

Devastation would be eventually replaced by sadness and conclusively by countless layers of regret. Eons later, while caressing his pulse with the cool blade of the knife, her last words would resurface.

“You don’t do it when there’s no one to see. You do it when there’s no one to care.”

Share this:

Like this:

The moon, my lover,
My one faithful companion
Welcomes my tired soul.

—But there’s a Tree, of many, one,
A single field which I have looked upon,
Both of them speak of something that is gone;
The Pansy at my feet
Doth the same tale repeat:
Whither is fled the visionary gleam?
Where is it now, the glory and the dream?