Like most homes with kids, bedtime meant stories. In our house, it was tall tales and ghost stories told by my dad.
Learning how to cast shadow puppets against the wall, and tales of shooting and twinkling stars were my favorites. Especially if we had just seen it from the varandah before bedtime. Then, there were the magical tales of the moon. Always the moon.
Ellie and Portia always wanted to know why did the cow jump over the moon? Also, what was the man in the moon doing while this was happening? To this my dad always had an answer, a different one everytime, and more fantastical than the last. Ellie and Portia would get really quiet. Those two – “…In their dreams they sleep with the moon… “
For Prosery Monday over at dVerse Poets Pub hosted by Merril where the rule is to use this line in your prose, no alterations, in no more that 144 words.
She is not one to say it often. I’m not sure why that is. Maybe she doesn’t know how, never learned how. Maybe she’s just not good at it.
My mom has been on her own, for the most part since she was thirteen. Her mom died one morning as she was readying her daughters for school.
I’m thinking since then, she has had issues with god / creator for letting such a catastrope befall her and her younger sister.
Some things trickle down, whether it was meant to or not.
I am no good at love. Most times leave me feeling like a lunatic, if not acting like one.
But, I keep an open heart. Even so, “I don’t know why I was surprised every time love started or ended.” I guess in a cock-eyed sorta of way, I believe in love.
Over at dVerse Poets Pub the prompt is to write prose (keeping it tight at no more than 144 words) and to include the line below:-
“I don’t know why I was surprised every time love started or ended.”
She came to visit on a peaceful saturday evening. Meandering conversations about everyday things, morphed into events of childhood and upbringing.
The traumas and dramas, the love and conflicts. Families and their decisions made out of love, that is truly misunderstood by the young minds they were meant to shield.
Then came reflections on this life changing sorrow. There are moments caught between heart-beats, that goes the way of time. There is no changing it. There is no revisiting it And its one true quality is that it is everlasting.
This was one of those moments. After the revelation it just hung in the air.
a mother’s grief – in remembrance through decades, she kept the last T-shirt he wore, bullet hole intact
For dVerse Poets Pub where Kim is hosting and the phrase to be incorporated in the response is ” There are moments caught between heart-beats”
This hillside is an open wound. The other side of the gorge is twice as high as the side where the house is. The creek at the bottom runs swiftly with the roar of a waterfall.
The earth have been giving way under the tall trees at the edge of this hill for a while now. It has become a game of sorts trying to guess which tree will succumb next. Especially after a persistent rain.
The kids delight in coming here. They never forget their super soaker water guns. In a desparate move we started adding grass seeds to the water, and telling them to point toward the hill. This feels hopeless.
A cow is screaming across the arroyo. Everything else wanders through here. Why not cows! I start toward the window – I wake up, entangled in the blanket.
For dVerse poets pub The line we are to use with our flash fiction of 144 words or less are:-
It was mid morning on a weekday.
I was working in my garden.
Doing battle, was more like it.
This unruly patch is the only green in this row of yards.
The grape is tangled with the honeysuckle.
Lina’s broom is on a surge for the sun while stiffling the lavendar.
When far away an interrupted cry.
It was the voice of a woman. I could hear the blows landing, and the rebuke with each blow. This, even after she had stopped crying out. A man’s voice, full of rage, blaming her for it all. She refused to give him the satisfaction of crying anymore.
He kept hitting her.
I couldn’t figure out which house this was coming from.
I felt helpless, pissed off and horrified all at once
Then there was a gurgly scream from him
Followed by silence.
For dVerse poets prosery #1, word limit 144 words max and include this line
“…when far away an interrupted cry..”
This prosey contains 140 words..I think.
Stop over and do some reading, or even participate here.