Writer. Feminist. Historian. Person.
“Sit still!” she commanded, as I shifted in my chair, “you’ll only feel a pinch.”
Despite her supposedly reassuring words, her eyes gleamed, glassy with malicious anticipation.
Fright prickled the skin on the back of my neck, and I twisted away from the needle.
Maybe I could do try and do a runner.
There must be a road. My mind drifting back, as my body dropped like a sack of potatoes and my vision turned to dust, there must be a road.
Why so glum?
Well … March came in like a lion, and it looks like it’s going out that way as well, not an effing lamb in sight; plus everything is so egregiously awful, how can you NOT be glum?
I just think about the Easter Bunny.
For crying out loud, you’re a full-grown person!
Which is why I’m focusing on the Bunny, because, as Cormac McCarthy said “…you fix what you can fix, and you let the rest go,” and for me, snapping the head off a solid-chocolate bunny sounds like the perfect way to let go while plotting the revolution.
Aaah … Vive la revolution and the Bunny!
It’s been awhile since I’ve written so thanks to the following for my inspiration.
YOUR SERVE.
The umpire’s ruling rang in my ears as it triggers an endless overlapping loop in my mind: I am in control, this is why I practice, treasure this moment, unless you blow it, I won’t, you might, I can’t, gratitude, I need to channel gratitude, this is my chance, someday I’ll tell stories about this moment, I’ve got to shoot my shot, I won’t blow it, I will not blow it.
The whistle blows time and I swallow my last chug of Gatorade.
It tastes slightly medicinal or maybe that’s just the bitter edge of my nerves as I step onto the court and take my shot.
Boy oh boy, that serve had some extra spice on it folks, but was it in or out?
YOUR SERVE.
Thanks to FOWC (RANG), Sunday’ Six Sentence Story (SPICE), and the Sunday Whirl (SEE BELOW) for some great words that inspired me to show off my lack of tennis (or pickle ball?) knowledge.
Memories flooded my brain as the smoke from the flickering candle enveloped me. The hint of menthol cigarettes lingering in the air only amplified my déjà vu. My cowardice urged me to turn and run, but before my feet could obey this frantic command the sight of the Two of Swords reminded me of the weight of the choice ahead of me. I couldn’t let one bad incident stop me from seeking guidance. Maybe if I had listened that time, instead of mocking, I would have taken a different road, so instead of taking flight, I sank into the chair. Holding my question in my mind, I shuffled the cards and made a promise to myself: this time, I would listen, really really listen.
The Two of Swords card, conceptualized by Pamela Colman Smith
I had fun today, creating a six-sentence story and incorporating some additional word prompts that included CARDS, AMPLIFY, CHOICE, and INCIDENT. Visit the site below for more info and more great writing.
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.
Tina Stewart Brakebill 