Writer. Feminist. Historian. Person.
Dreams for tomorrow.
Fingertips tracing my face
with child like wonder.
Love growing in the pauses
as our hearts beat together.
Thanks for the inspiration to Linda’s JusJoJan Challenge (fingertips) and to Ronovan Writes Haiku Challenge (child / grow).
Negative vibes deleted. Love magnet available.
Thanks to the Saturday Six Word Story Prompt (delete) and Linda’s SoCS Challenge (magnet) for today’s inspiration.
Some days were better than others. He’d leave the house. Buy groceries. Walk in the park. Feed the squirrels. Try to go on without her.
But most days were bad. On those days he’d stay in bed. Thinking only of her. Hurting as badly as he had that first day without her.
And then there was today. The anniversary of that terrible day. 365 days of pain. And planning. Now it was time.
He imagined them. Walking hand-in-hand on the boardwalk. Oblivious to his pain.
Reaching into his bag, he smiled. Today was going to be a better day.
Photo Prompt © Roger Bultot
I swear this started out as a sweet story but at about word 63, it turned … well, I’ll let y’all be the judge and end it for yourselves. What’s he reaching for?
Thanks, as always, to Rochelle’s Friday Fictioners Challenge for providing inspiration.
young love grows weary
his touch turning icy hot
as their paths diverge
Thanks to Your Daily Word Prompt for DIVERGE and to Putting My Feet in the Dirt for the wonderful phrase ICY HOT.
Susan felt like a fool. It was 1977 not 1957. My god, she was a liberated woman! How could she fall for his line?
Stupid!
But, still, she stayed. Remembering. Champagne. His voice in her ear. “I can’t tell you where I’m going but meet me here on Christmas Eve.”
Stupid!
Did she think she was Deborah Kerr in some kind of Hollywood movie? She should go.
Stupid!
But, still, she stayed. Remembering. Laughter. Sparkling blue eyes. “This’ll be our magical place.”
Stupid!
But, still, she stayed. Waiting. Till she heard those whispered words: “Hey beautiful. Is this seat taken?”
Photo prompt courtesy of Dale Rogerson
These 100 hopeful words were written for Rochelle’s Friday Fictioners Challenge.
Was it in her head or did he come through the magical doors?
Tina Stewart Brakebill 