#FOWC – Page 12 – Tina Stewart Brakebill

Their Home

November 23, 2018January 29, 2020 Tina Stewart Brakebill

She sat at the edge of the stream and stared at the house. Their home.

The tumbling water reminded her of a song. She could hear the melody in her head. But the words just wouldn’t come. It’s not fair. Songs are not her department. TV shows and historical facts. But not songs. That’s his lane.

He’s supposed to be here. He would know.

But he’s no longer here. Or there. In that house that was their home.

For just a moment she was overwhelmed by anger. Then frustration. But that stupid song would have to wait.

It was time.

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Photo Credit to Brian Brakebill (who thankfully is still very much with me and continues to inspire me with his photos)

Inspired by and written for Friday Fictioners and the PHOTO PROMPT © Dale Rogerson with some further inspiration from Reena’s Exploration Challenge (home) and Fandango’s FOWC (melody) and Your Daily Word Prompt (overwhelm)

Haiku & Other Poetry, tutto e niente

hurricane

November 21, 2018January 29, 2020 Tina Stewart Brakebill

wielding destruction

as a shield to be carried

she blustered and raged

abstract art burnt color — Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

Thanks for the inspiration Heeding Haiku (hurricane) and Fandango’s FOWC (carry)

Haiku & Other Poetry, tutto e niente

The Tryst

November 18, 2018January 29, 2020 Tina Stewart Brakebill

under stars they vowed
dance till the sun sets us free
but day broke her heart

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Thanks for the inspiration

Sunday Photo Fictioner

Fandango FOWC (tryst)

Flash Fiction, Random Rants, tutto e niente

Rejection

November 15, 2018January 29, 2020 Tina Stewart Brakebill

Where the hell was that girl with his whiskey? It was cold in the courtyard. And drafty. But they wouldn’t let him smoke inside. And he really needed one. It was his first in six months so he probably didn’t need it so much as he wanted it. But right now he wasn’t in the mood to dissect the difference. He was too busy trying to pretend he didn’t really care. But his attempts at pretending collapsed almost immediately. He couldn’t lie to himself. He had wanted it. Bad.

As he thought about their rejection, he second-guessed every decision he had made. Where had he gone wrong? All he ever really wanted was to belong. Maybe that was it. Maybe they could smell the overwhelming need seeping out of his pores like a rancid perfume. The kind that claims to be glamorous but really is just cheap. Well screw them. He didn’t need to belong to their stupid group. Probably just a bunch of blowhards and know-it-alls. He took a long drag off his Camel and let his mind drift. He could see the headline now: “Unknown Author Defies Odds with Million Dollar Book Advance.”

But even as that thought formed, a single tear dropped. Stupid writing workshop.