Scattered

I lie scattered,

like an old toy that has been used, abused and outlived its value.

My kohl-sodden tears etch the tumultuous journey of my life across my withered face.

Somewhere in the recess of my foggy mind the wail of a siren gets louder.

photo by Nareeta Martin via Unsplash

*****

In response to Three Line Tales 246

Purpose

Long

purposeful strides leading somewhere…

A somewhere that could very well be nowhere…

Yet even a purpose to nowhere is better than no purpose at all.

photo by Zac Ong via Unsplash

Written for Week 245 of Three Line Tales

When waters flow

“It’s supposed to be our honeymoon. You wanted a romantic place. You wanted a surprise. I’m not asking you to swim, just walk across a few bridges.”

The brochure he waved before my face did nothing to reduce my panic or dislodge my frozen feet.

Somehow my desperate shaky hands managed to open Google and type “Potamophobia.”

In response to Week 241 of Three Line Tales.

Photo by Sam Mouat via Unsplash

Note: Potamophobia is the irrational fear of rivers or running water. Suddenly I wondered ‘what if a Venetian actually feared water?’ and thus sprang this tale.

Barren

When the streets were barren, when the lights were dimming, when the ancient clock tower threatened to strike six, the old man’s words often came back to hound him; ‘These paintings won’t put food on your table.’

The old man was wrong. Everyone with a buck in the pocket wanted to be an art aficionado, and the replicas sold really well.

The old man was right too. A hungry belly made him put down his brushes. The colourful prints splashed behind him were for the passersby; he himself looked down at the grey cobble.


In response to Week 153 of Three Line Tales, based on a photo by Beata Ratuszniak via Unsplash

There’s no such place as far away


photo by Lalo via Unsplash

Through choppy seas and misty winds
Take flight despite the drag on your wings
For the song of life is yours to sing

Though the path be dark
If you fail you face the shark
Yet of the skies you are the king

Defy the gail to paint the sky
The tides may change yet fly on high
Let the angels sing to the beat of your zing


In response to Sonya’s Three Line Tales: Week 148 challenge.

Title credit goes to Richard Bach. The picture reminded me of his book by the same name.

The Star

It didn’t really matter that her scales were all over the place, or that each tune sounded no different than the other; as a true artist, she performed from her heart, straight into the hearts of her audience.

As the song finished, she was greeted with thunderous claps and cheers.

She was the star performer of the Mercy Home for Special Kids.


In response to Sonya’s Three Line Tales: Week 147 challenge, based on a photo by Lechon Kirb via Unsplash