The prompt at 6WSP is Date
The prompt at 6WSP is Date
I thought being a wing walker would have been a cool thing. If you were lucky, you’d be colorfully costumed, strapped and cabled to a wing flying high above a Crosby /Hope movie. We are in a new century where movies are made by amateurs and people will do anything unusual to be momentary stars. The latest thing is novices jumping off the wing of a plane with something strapped to your back. What’s on your back is a surprise: Sometimes it’s a parachute other times it’s a jet pack, and occasionally its lunch. Did I mention the live streaming?
This Flash Fiction was written for a photo prompt of two people sky diving into a metro area off a building or a wing.
Reflections in windows tease and haunt, showing what was, and what is no longer.
Demons, creatures, faces and things of terror live in almost everything.
It reflects her suffering, an enticing apparition. … begging for release.
My father told me they did ‘things’ to bad people on The Hill and I should stay away from there.
Their faces turn up, beseeching. I watch as they enter my opening maw.
Dark shadows of night interpose, greedily they suck the last drop of day.
Nothing will deny sky from its horizon.
Fingers clutch at the crumbling windowsill.
A picture forms in the panes of glass as it does every day before dusk becomes night.
I’ve realized that the window shows the truth. It only shows pain.
It was one of the few that still had glass in the barren building.
The writers for Pen of the Damned:
Jon Olson Zack Kullis Magenta Nero Craig McGray Nina D’Arcangela Leslie Moon Joseph A. Pinto Blaze McRob Thomas Brown Tyr Kieran Hunter Shea
The above is just a compiled teaser from this week’s selection of horror in 100 words. There are some tasty morsels at Pen of the Damned.
The photograph the work of Nina D’Archangela
This grey dismal scene
embossed my mind
long forgotten memories
path of my past
icicles dripped dark lies
“failure, fool, worthless”
mud sucked boots
clothes would never dry
and the sky, the sky
spoke the words
“there is no sun
it’s been removed”
only darkness looms
etching finality on your tomb”
no places to dream
those were taken away too
go ahead and scream, and scream
no one will hear you
here I stood
holding my hand
the one that couldn’t remember
tried so hard to forget
we stood together
at the past’s path again
Here’s to a New Year for Friday Fictioneers. Enjoy the work submitted by fantastic writers and poets.
*plunk” another pebble fell from my hand.
She’s gone. slipped right through my fingers like the stone.
I remember when she told me, “Honey, I’m a ghost. We have to find my killer before I lose my potency.”
“Ghosts have potency levels?”
(The little things I didn’t know about my wife.)
“He killed you for your family’s BBQ recipe?”
” Best in the west” she grinned as she quoted the label.
I fell in love all over again, chasing down her killer.
They found him in a vat of the family recipe.
Now I hold her memory and aimlessly watch ghost koi.
Today’s Friday Fictioneer’s photo prompt is the photograph of the Koi taken by Douglas Macilroy.
To say music was “my life” was an understatement.
From dawn to dusk I sang the songs my heart wrote.
When I lost my voice, my fingers became one with the keyboard.
My brother dismantled my keyboard; the guts were strewn like a dissonant message from my room to the instrument.
“You killed the song in my head,” I screamed in the key of C.
I was cut on a metal shard, bloodied notes fell to the floor.
I refused to let him take credit for the score written in red that day.
That score became a famous Dark Mass.
Today’s dismantled keyboard is the prompt for Friday Fictioneers. Wishing Rochelle a Happy 1 year celebration as the conductor of the Friday Fictioneers
“It’s fine art!”
She proudly waved her hand at her creation
This once little known artist had gotten a grant to turn a two-mile long canal into a gallery.
Where there had been reeds and lily pads there were one hundred shopping carts.
He smiled to the tour group he was leading.
“This artist has portrayed what life was like for the middle class in the 21st century. Four-person families lived out of one shopping cart. We kept the shopping cart belonging to my grandparents.”
A young boy cried out. Who will feed the ducks???
This weeks watery prompt for Friday Fictioneers is inspired by Janet Webb. Our hostess Rochelle deserves the honor of a set of waders this week.
Here is the link to the more “political” post that this photograph inspired.
“Hello, Hello in there?
My friend Eddie said he got a new head of hair here.
I can live without hair, I have a hat. The thing is well things haven’t been working that well since Maude died.
Sure they have implants and pills, but what you offer is kinda like a second-hand version of the fountain of youth.
I can pay the price.
I know the drill: Dance with the pretty girl, light the candles, ring the bell, take a swig of this 100 year old stuff… Uggh
Just so you know I checked the calendar – it’s not April 1st!”
Today the Fictioneers are going on a romp to a thrift store led by Rochelle. I’m sure we will find all sorts of goodies.
“I see her far away in the distance.” a youngun called.
The tall looming lady was a welcome sight after long weeks at sea.
“Hot meals will be a welcome relief after weeks of soapy soup,” the weary matron thought.
The pretty girl, in the gown, that was beginning to show its wear, wore a tight smile. ” I hope he likes me; there is nothing to go back to if I’m sent back.”
“Will there really be work for the likes of a scrawny boy with naught but two pence to rub together?”
The Lady distanced herself from the expectations.
Today at Friday Fictioneers Rochelle has up whipping up stories on the sea entering New York harbor.
The curio shelf stirred my imagination.
My fingers turned the tiny pedal of the bicycle.
I was racing down a hill with no brakes.
“Phew” I gingerly placed the miniature velocipede in its cubby.
I pulled the conch to my ear.
Waves crested over my head pulling me to the ocean’s floor.
The shell dripped as I replaced it.
Hand turned brass chess pieces gleamed.
I was in Palermo, a gun in my face.
The dropped pieces rolled away.
An ancient spearhead looked so enticing.
“Nope”, I was not about to grapple with a poison tip and angry tribesmen.
This week Rochelle entices the fictioneers with a prompt with endless possibilities this week. There is one catch, it has to be written in 100 words. and if you get a chance stop over and wish Rochelle a Happy Birthday!!!
Drowning in the busyness of life, and how I stay afloat, and find peace and stillness amidst the chaos
1 Corinthians 1:21
Faith cometh from hearing, and hearing by the word. (Romans 10:17)
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"Unleash your creative talents and share them with the world!" ~ Raja's Insight
"A safe fairyland is untrue to all worlds." -J.R.R. Tolkien
~ et mea Messis erit ~
A Gathering for Prayer and Reflection
#read #push #learn #click
What the world needs now in addition to love is wisdom. We are the masters of our own disasters.
"Namastè & One Love" ❤️💛💚
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