reverie broken
memories wet on my cheek
a dream in a tear

Thanks to Putting My Feet in the Dirt and to Fandango for two great ideas that worked perfectly together.
Check out their sites for great writing and the rules of the game.
Writer. Feminist. Historian. Person.
reverie broken
memories wet on my cheek
a dream in a tear

Thanks to Putting My Feet in the Dirt and to Fandango for two great ideas that worked perfectly together.
Check out their sites for great writing and the rules of the game.
Today, I offer a “tongue in cheek” look behind the scenes of my budding career as a sculptor.*
“Is that your first sculpture?” He asked.
That’s a bit of a cheeky question, I thought before replying: “Yes. Hard to believe, isn’t it? It’s so life-like. And look at those cheek bones!”
“Erm … yes. They are definitely … erm… cheeks.”
“I know! Next up: nudes!”
“Great. More cheeks. I can’t wait.”
Real life collided with the weekend challenges to produce these 71 cheeky words, so thanks for the great prompts to Sammi Scribbles (sculpture) and Linda’s SoCS (cheek).
*I am actually taking my first-ever a sculpting class and this is my first sculpture (of my husband’s head) but that is where the resemblance to real life ends. If you knew what he actually looks like then you’d understand why I have zero illusions regarding my future as an “artist.” It is fun though!
Apparently this was it: the prison’s law library. One row of ancient books on a rickety cart. Was that smell despair or just mildew? Probably mildew. The stink of despair was coming from—as they say—inside the house.
Did they still call it the Big House? Or was that passé? She much preferred that to slammer or joint. Big House sounded almost genteel. She pictured herself dismounting a sleek black stallion. Handing the reigns to the stable boy. Shaking her hair out and coyly declaring, “I’m headed up to the Big House for a drink. Join me. Won’t you.”
Her daydream was abruptly shut down by the guard’s rough shove. “If ya want somethin’ take it. I aint got all day.”
“Give me one moment please.” She knew her tone irritated the hillbilly guard, but she had spent years smoothing out the rough edges of her accent. If, no—not if—WHEN she got out, she had to fit in with the “right” people. One failed attempt wasn’t going to stop her. She had big plans.
She shook the image of his body from her mind. No time for that. She smiled as she selected a book. Comeback time.

Photo Credit Morguefile
Thanks to Sunday Photo Fiction for the photo inspiration for this 200 word piece of flash fiction. Visit the site for some great writing and the rules of the game.
Quit staring at me! You’re starting to give me a complex!
Don’t blame me if people are looking at you. What do you expect!?
I expect people to mind their own damn business!
But seriously Sue, what’s with the monkey face?

These 41 words of sheer fictional genius (ha ha) were inspired by Sammi’s Scribbles challenge to use the word “complex” and by my own occasional inner dialogue.
Silence, music for an introvert’s soul.
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Holidays got me like …

Thanks to 6WSP for easing me back into things!
