Furtive thoughts

Is it the golden leaves of autumn

Or is my heart on fire?

Are those the rain bearing clouds of November

Or a reflection of my eye’s desire?

Portentous grey firs loom in the distance

An omen of misfortune dire

No, No. I refuse to dive into my dreary thoughts again. There is great beauty in nature’s canvas. I must be positive. Positivity begets the positive. I shift perspective and start again.

Ah the golden leaves of autumn

In applause do deify

Curtains of clouds open

Reveal a caerulean sky

Glory to the Lord

Nature and flora join in outcry

Image by Bikurgurl

Written based on 100 Word Wednesday photo prompt from Bikurgurl

The Sunday Market

I like it when daddy takes me to the Sunday Market.

I like seeing the townsfolk in their smart clothes. Not like daddy who only ever wears overalls. The ladies dressed in pants driving their trucks. Daddy sees me lookin and snaps, “Get back to them apples, and don’t be getting any ideas in that head of yours.”

But ideas I do get. Sometimes I imagine that Tim with the smiling eyes is going to pull me behind the tent and whisper, “Run away with me pretty Sally. Be mine.” But then I snap back to reality… No one’s calling me pretty with them welts on my back.

Image by Bikurgurl

Written for Bikurgurl’s 100 Words Wednesday 173 prompt

The Search Party

I hear them call my name.

Or am I just imagining it. At this point, I hardly know. Perhaps my desperate mind has started hallucinating… like seeing a mirage in the desert.

At least the cold has reduced. But then I think back to all those movies. The victims always stop feeling cold when they are about to die. Maybe I’m dying… This is it… The end. Yet I feel no fear. No panic. I feel nothing. I’m standing on the outside looking at this stranger. Look people, here she is.

The leaves rustle again. I’m too exhausted to even look.    

Image by Bikurgurl

*****

Written in response to Bikurgurl’s 100 Word Wednesday 171 prompt

Frozen tea

She sits at the table sipping her long-gotten-cold tea. The concept of time no longer applies to her.

“Finish your tea, mama.”

My words don’t startle her… don’t interrupt any thought. At least she doesn’t view me as a stranger today.

“The boys will be coming home for dinner.”

Vacant eyes communicate that she’s yet to process who ‘the boys’ are.

The pictures on the wall bear witness to a beautiful life filled with family and friends. Yet all that her mind sees is a long empty road.

Suddenly she breaks into a heart wrenchingly beautiful smile – “You look pretty today,” she says.

Image by Bikurgurl

My thoughts on 100 Word Wednesday 170 prompt

The Exit

Image by Bikurgurl

Traffic was reasonable.

He flashed his indicator and started merging into the right lane. The exit to the airport was just 7 miles away. His eyes darted to the clock. It shouldn’t take more than 10 minutes at the car-rental. Yes, he was making good time.

He had seen the marine plant truck pull in as he left. $55 a ton was good money and they wanted the load lifted as soon as possible.

They had thought him a fool for selling the place with the seaweed wrack.

The joke was on them. Only he knew what lay at the bottom of the pile.    

PHOTO PROMPT © Sandra Crook

Written in response to Bikurgurl’s photo prompt for 100 Word Wednesday: 169 and Rochelle’s photo prompt for Friday Fictioneers of 9 Oct 2020

This cockroach

You ask me – Does anything even matter anymore?

Well, let me counter. If it didn’t, would you even be asking the question?

Image by Heather Mount

The human spirit, my friend, is like a cockroach. It will survive anything.

You may be under the blazing sun, you may be in beautiful meadows, the powers that be may have flushed you down a drain, the world may appear to be in the bowels of desperation, but if you look hard enough, you will find that little cockroach.

It may look lost. It may look dead. But believe you me, it will eventually start gasping for breath. Micro-inch by micro-inch it will crawl forward. And before you know it, that ferocious little sucker will be dashing away before your eyes.

Does anything even matter anymore?

We are not the first to ask this question, nor will we be the last.

It is this seemingly hopeless call that will herald a revolution.

Life will always matter. The future will always matter. Truth will always matter.

And even if there are but a few good people, this question will be asked, the people will rally, and this question will be answered.

Yes, it matters.

*****

Written for 100 Word Wednesday: 168

Just Shoes

A flash… a spark of vibrant blue amidst the rotting foliage… and my feet came to a screeching halt.

My heart starts racing as the 9pm news flashes through my mind. No! It could not be…

I desperately shut my eyes willing it away. Dear God… not here. Not again.

Slowly, very slowly, I open them, praying fervently… but there they are.

My trembling hands reach for the phone. I best call the cops. 

Suddenly a scream penetrates my fog – “Bring your shoes in right away.”

I heave a sigh of relief. Just shoes left outside by a careless kid. Damn… I’ve become paranoid.

Written for 100 Word Wednesday – 167 based on the image by Bikurgurl

The view from the top

What do you suppose they are discussing, with their heads huddled together?

Perhaps they are deliberating imperative matters of serious consequence. The strong tall leaders of fernkind… debating the risks of climate change… strategizing defence… “First we sacrifice the thistles,” they might say. Every great battle has its share of collateral damage after all.  

Or perhaps they are just posturing. They who are in positions closest to the oxygen source may just be waiting for natural selection to weed out the small and weak.

You can’t blindly trust the leaders. One does not have to be great to get to the top – just tenacious.

Image by Bikurgurl

In response to Bikurgurl’s 166th 100 Word Wednesday prompt

Autofocus

Daddy I need to pee. Little hands tugged at the man.

Stop shaking me. I’m trying to focus here.

But I need to pee. Badly.

Why didn’t you go before we left?

I did. It’s coming again.

I shouldn’t have got you that soda. Next time you’re wearing a diaper.

I’m too old for diapers.

Ya. Then your old enough to hold it in.

The cars zip by. The little boy hobs from foot to foot. The man waits for the perfect composition.

Please daddy. A silent whimper.

Focus. The camera captures the perfect picture.

It misses the flowing tears.

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In response to Bikurgurl’s 100 Word Wednesday: Week 97 challenge, based on a photo by Sebastien Gabriel.

Sleepless

My hands are frozen, my legs feel like heavy lead. My head is pounding, every cell in my body screaming for oxygen. I’m going to die. I don’t want to die. I scream for help. But nobody is looking for me. The only one looking at me is him. Unseeing, unblinking, his eyes grotesque and bulging. “Help me,” he pleads.

Insomnia haunts my nights; fatigue rules my days.
I reach for my PTSD pills. I don’t want the chemicals, but I can’t survive the dreams.

Because sometimes the dream changes; sometimes the unseeing eyes are mine.

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Foreword:
Trauma effects not only the survivors but the rescuers too.
In 2011, the World Aquatic Health Conference recognised PTSD as a legitimate concern amongst life guards, particularly because the profession regularly employs teenagers and requires making split second decisions that have life and death consequences.

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This work of fiction was written in response to Bikurgurl’s 100 Word Wednesday: Week 92 challenge based on a photo by Alex Iby