Writer. Feminist. Historian. Person.
Determined to shake off the misery for just one day, Margaret vowed to adhere to her self-imposed 24-hour digital detox. Word puzzles filled her first hour. A quick trip to Trader Joe’s for flowers was next. All was good, but then she caught sight of her woebegone expression in the revolving door. Without thinking, she clicked on Insta and the dopamine rush cast a temporary “woe-be-gone” enchantment. Damn, she had failed again! Oh well, there’s always tomorrow.
As it often did, the whoosh of the burner sent Linda’s mind back. He wasn’t her type, but she had promised her roommate she’d be the fourth for one double date. Standing in her shared college kitchen, he had said “do you mind” as he had casually leaned over the stove and lit a cigarette on the pilot light. Linda had always hated smoking but something about that casual lean gave her a thrill. Now forty years later, the thrill was still there. Thankfully the cigarettes were not.
Thanks for the inspiration to tell a highly fictionalized version of our first date.
the end comes like purple haze
with shards of red
penetrating the deep blue
inside the middle
inky black and sparkling white
swirl above the buried blue
begin again with shards of red
the inky black burns pink
and the deep blue rises again
Written for dVerse MTB and David’s W3. I’m not sure if I did either justice, but I tried!
Laura, our host, at dVerse says:
Today’s MTB prompt is poetry with a colour motif:
Lisa, our POW, at W3 says:
Fall always feels like a season of both endings and beginnings, doesn’t it? For this week, let’s explore those transitions in a Quadrille—a 44-word poem, a form first shared with us by the wonderful d’Verse Poets Pub.
Your poem can lean into endings, beginnings, or the mix of the two.
The house was quiet.
Finally.
The loud click of the lock had echoed in her mind for just a moment as she shut out the last of the stragglers. But the constant stream of words had stopped.
Finally.
No more kind-hearted souls urging her to “eat something.” No more obsequious parishioners offering her sympathy and prayers. No more polite policeman asking stupid questions. No more of his exacting demands for unattainable perfection. No more of her internal screams of anguish. No more.
Finally.
She gazed out the window. His final view offering her an open road to the future.
Finally.
PHOTO PROMPT © Sandra Crook
The attempts at unblocking my writer’s block seems to be have channeled me to the dark side! Thanks Rochelle and Sandra for the inspiration for this 100 word ode to revenge or maybe regret or possibly hope. The reader can decide. Visit her site for more info on the Friday Fictioneers challenge.
alone with my thoughts
blank ripples on the white space
the canvas whispers
sweet nothings to nobody
my solitude unbroken
Claude Monet. The Studio Boat (Le Bateau-atelier), 1876, Oil on canvas.
Today’s challenge from dVerse asks us to do either of the below:
I’ve been struggling with a bit of writers/creative block so this is my reflection on that unsettling feeling.
Visit the dVerse page for more info on the prompt:
Tina Stewart Brakebill 