Sanaa is hosted Prosery Monday at D'Verse Poets tonight. She
has promted us to write a piece of Flash Fiction with no
more than 144 words using this line “Only mouths are we.
Who sings the distant heart which safely exists in the
center of all things? – from Rainer Maria Rilke, “Heartbeat.”
She sat quietly in the small space she’d discovered on the top floor of her uncle’s house. A box room, probably meant for storage, but there was a chair, some old boxes of books and small window overlooking the lake.
She was reflecting on recent events that had brought her here. The hectic comings and goings of visitors had given her an excuse to disappear for a while.
Grateful for the solace of the tiny room, she let her mind wander wherever it chose to go. A sudden knock on the door made her jump.
“Ella. Are you in there?”, said her cousin Joel.
She wondered how long before someone came looking.
“What are you doing?” He demanded. “We need to talk”
She replied reluctantly, “Joel, if you are a dreamer, come on in. If not, then you can just let me be. OK?”
Lillian is hosting Prosery Monday at D'Verse Poets tonight and has
prompted us with the line "If you are a dreamer, come on in".
The line is from Shel Silverstein’s poem, Invitation, as published
in his wonderful book, Where the Sidewalk Ends.
We are to write a piece of Flash Fiction no more that 144 words long,
excluding the title, and MUST use the prompt line as stated.
Image by Gaby Stein from Pixabay
Opening my eyes I saw sunlight streaking through the blinds. My heart fell instantly with a thud as I realized I was in the guest room. Again.
The previous day had been fairly uneventful and we had chugged along with the rhythm of two married people who knew each other very well. My husband, needy and bad-tempered due to some physical demands, and me, the enabler. Most of the time it worked, but on some occasions, particularly when I was tired from giving all the extra attention, that’s when the fireworks fly.
He’d snapped an order at me. I appeased him and chose to be quiet while I tried to cope with the feelings welling up inside of me. What am I doing here? I am miserable but “I prefer keeping in mind even the possibility that existence has its own reason for being.”
“Just let me go”, I said angrily as I pushed his arm away and headed down the hallway.
“Why do you always have to be in control?” I yelled at him slamming the door on his enraged voice.
I need air and space, I thought. Much space between us. I can never think straight when he gets so argumentative and demanding. My back is always against the wall and I struggle to justify my actions when he is firing questions at me.
I went out to the hazel wood because a fire was in my head and it felt like my stack would blow. A gentle breeze through the trees was calming and eventually the flames died down. I could think clearly once again.
Kim, from Writing in North Norfolk is hosting Prosery
at D'Verse Poets tonight. She has prompted us to write
a story of no more than 144 words to include these lines
from "The Song of the Wandering Aengus" by William Butler
I went out to the hazel wood,
Because a fire was in my head,
You can read the whole poem here
Image by Valiphotos from Pixabay
Weary from walking she looked at her watch noting the time was 10:25 PM. She remembered leaving a little after 9 o’clock. Exhausted and aching she murmured to herself ‘sometimes the great bones of my life feel so heavy’. She began to cry.
It had been a pleasant day. She had accomplished a lot, feeling a ‘good tired’, as she liked to say. Dinner was prepared, the table was set as usual. She waited for her husband to come home.
He wasn’t usually late without calling. By 8:00 dinner was beginning to look sad.
He worked nearby so she slipped out the house and started walking to his business.
She entered the building making her way to his office. Opening the door she found him at his desk with his assistant on her knees in front of him. She was not picking up paperclips.
It was finally here and the magnitude of the moment had not been lost on me. Yes, I was nervous. Who wouldn’t be? It was not every day a woman like me, who had come from such humble beginnings, would now be standing here in these hallowed halls.
As I waited, a strange feeling came over me as if someone else was inhabiting my body. A weight had been lifted off my shoulders and I felt liberated and strong. The pit in my stomach magically disappeared and I felt the adrenaline rush of confidence.
I was meant to be here. It felt familiar and I knew somehow, inexplicably, that I had stood here in this same spot before. At this moment, reading what I have just written, I now believe my signature on this document gives me the freedom I have longed for.
Lillian is hosting Prosery Monday at D’Verse Poets and has prompted us with a line from Louise Gluck’s Faithful and Virtuous Night – reading what I have just written, I now believe. Prosery challenge is to write no more than 144 words, excluding the title, and use this line from the selected poem.
Deferred Action for Childhood Arrivals (DACA). In the US “Dreamer” describes a person who has lived in the US without official authorization since coming to the country as a minor. People of this description who met certain conditions would be eligible for a special immigration status under federal legislation first proposed in 2001. This is a controversial and politically charged subject and Trump has tried to reverse the Dream Act as part of his anti immigration agenda. However, late last Friday afternoon, a federal district judge ordered the Trump administration to fully reinstate the Deferred Action for Childhood Arrivals (DACA) program, which allows nearly 700,000 undocumented immigrants who came to the United States as children to live and work there. Courtesy of Vox
In the still of a moonlit night he lay snug inside his sleeping bag. His mind wandering back to what had made him to come to this place. Was it to be at one with nature, or just an escape from the madness of the city. He had felt compelled to return to his favorite place in the forests of northern Michigan.
Here he could breathe and think clearly. He remembered camping here as a boy with his father who had told him this was a spiritual place. He didn’t quite understand what that meant but he knew enough to respect the land and the wildlife.
It was at that moment that he heard the wolves cry out. He remembered the sound and what his father had said.
“Don’t be scared son. In their dreams they sleep with the moon, not outside our tent”.
Merril is hosting Prosery Monday at D’Verse Poets and has prompted us with a line from a poem. We are to write a piece of flash fiction of no more than 144 words, excluding the title, and it must include the line below.
We spent a lifetime not even knowing each other. Spinning our wheels with failed marriages and empty relationships. Coming from different parts of the world we inexplicably ended up in the same city. Moving in the same orbit but not connecting until that one special night when we finally met. I was cynical and you were the perfect gentleman. We had so much in common and talked into the wee hours sharing stories of world travel.
We lived the dream until the health scare came. The focus was no longer on us, but “it”. It consumed you. Even when you were made safe and fully recovered, it lived with us. Haunting me like a mistress. Now instead of love we are at war with each other.
When it is over said and done, it was a time, and there was never enough of it.
Merril is hosting Monday Prosery at D’Verse Poets and has prompted us with a line from Allison Adelle Hedge Coke’s poem, “A Time”. When it is over said and done, it was a time, and there was never enough of it. We are to write a piece of flash fiction (Prosery) including the prompt line. Prosery is exactly 144 words excluding the title
It was already dark as he closed the car door, thankful for the red moon to light his way down the road. How stupid to run out of gas, tonight of all nights. Angry with himself for not checking.
This was unfamiliar territory but he knew the road followed the river for miles. Coming to a crossroads he stopped momentarily. He felt a chill in the air and heard a moan like an autumn wind high in the lonesome treetops. The strange noise made him shiver. He was cold, having forgotten to bring a jacket, and the hair on the back of his neck was standing to attention. He moved on.
Feeling a presence, he halted turning quickly, but no one was there. Looking around cautiously he resumed his walk. It was then he felt the blow to his head and everything went black.
Lillian is hosting D’Verse Poets Pub tonigh
and the challenge is Prosery (not poetry)
A short story of exactly 144 words excluding
the title and we are to use one of the
following lines from Carl Sandburg’s
poemJazz Fantasia"Moan like an autumn wind high in thelonesome treetops" OR choose 2) "a redmoon rides on the humps of the lowriver hills".
Promote Yourself Monday - Go Dog Go Cafe
Image by Robbowolf from Pixabay