through her eyes he sees
tomorrow’s promise of joy
hidden till that day

Thanks to Susi at I Write Her for the haiku challenge and the great photo by Elena Mikhaylova
Writer. Feminist. Historian. Person.
through her eyes he sees
tomorrow’s promise of joy
hidden till that day

Thanks to Susi at I Write Her for the haiku challenge and the great photo by Elena Mikhaylova

Ben was patient. He could wait.
No couples or guys. Girls or little kids or moms were best. He could outrun them.
His back ached but he’d wait. For the perfect target.
SPLAT!
Shock. Fear. Relief. Then anger or laughter.
Run or bow? That space of unknown. That moment. Perfection.

This 280 character tale about *The Water Balloon Bandit was inspired by Kat’s Twittering Tale challenge.
Twas fun to write but I think that Ben may benefit from some therapy!
Cover Photo by Nathan Dumlao at Unsplash.com
A sea unending
Shifting countless grains of sand
Inspiring wonder

Thanks to Sue for the inspirational photo. Click here to find out more.
She used to worry. Why was she so unhappy? He gave her everything.
Every day his people came. They made sure that every part of her body was taut and sleek and limber. Masseuses and yogis. Stylists and waxers. Doctors and manicurists. Poking and prodding. Smoothing and stretching. Watching.
Then they’d go. And she’d be alone for a few precious minutes. Before he came back.
Every day, he’d stroke her hair and tell her she was beautiful.
But still she was unhappy.
She never told him. He’d been taking care of her since she was fourteen. He would never understand. He’d call her ungrateful. Or do worse.
But still she was unhappy.
She’d become accustomed to the feeling. Wore it like an invisible shield while she smiled at him. But, now.
Now she worried about something else. It had been two years. Something had shifted. She’d heard whispers. His attention was wandering. She could feel it.
What would happen to her? He’d never take her back. But what if he was gone? Then could she go back? She could barely remember their faces. They probably were fine without her. Why would they want her now? Did she even deserve to go home? After everything.
She shut her eyes and gripped the scissors she had stealthily pocketed from the stylist’s tray. He’d be back any moment. She had to stop worrying. She had to decide. So she did.
And for the first time in a long time, she felt happy.

I’ve begun to think I’ve only got a dark side! I blame the current state of the world. I’m actually quite funny IRL! Anyway, thanks to Fandango’s FFFC for today’s dark inspiration.
thick skin, hard to peel
sweet and juicy underneath
am I an orange?

I’m currently in research mode, so the book on my desk is Raymond Arsenault’s St. Petersburg and the Florida Dream. Following Linda’s directions, I closed my eyes, flipped it open, and pointed. I landed on the description of a photo from circa 1917: “transporting crates of oranges.” Thus, this deeply probing look at my interior life 😉
Plus consider this, my Wear Orange for Gun Safety contribution.
