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.
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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.”

The Nature of Daylight

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 –   What’s His Name

You stand there, looking at the shadows of a place we called home.

“Ok then…”

Standing at the doorway, I look at your back.

You throw a cigarette butt where I used to plant spring daffodils. Barely visible line of smoke vanishes in the air and I feel nothing. The empty ashtray on the floor of the barn taunts, nurturing my taste for irony.

Watching you drive away, I think about all the times you came into my bed, whispering “I am home.” … and me desperately wanting to whisper back – I am whole.

But you were not my fix.

Aperture

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 –   Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

Some hearts are like overstuffed closets, with doors wide open. Emotions falling off the shelves, memories tangled like dozen colorful scarfs, with no room to breathe.

Other hearts are like empty corridors, filled with echoes of hopes and disappointments  bouncing off the closed doors.

You imagine your heart is like the most beautiful library, well-organized, overflowing with books filled with laughter and tears, joy and despair, memories and dreams…and you think you have it all in impeccable order.

You think you can turn the key and walk away.

But then you hear the knock on the door…from the inside.

Forfeit

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 –   J Hardy Carroll

The fire is gone. I see it now.
In the way you notice silver in my hair…
Or how your eyes glide over my weathered body…

“Fourteen years is not much of a difference” your eyes smiled back then. I smiled back at your youthfulness and let you play with my heart. I wonder if slow burn with someone closer to my age would hurt less than this wild fire we had.

You say you love me and I know you believe it…
But I see the truth in your eyes…
I lost before it ever started.

In My Dreams You Always Smile

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 –  Sarah Potter

I left the memory of us in the top left drawer of our old desk.  It seemed like a too heavy burden to carry, so I left it all in Mom’s winter garden.

Years gone by and still I dream of us. With hugs and kisses you blew away all my childish pains and worries, even when your oxygen tank became too heavy to drag around.

The old desk is gone. Along with the winter garden and you. The improvidence of childhood is replaced with the ever present sorrow of old age. But I hold tight to our memory.