Ashes are all that remain of the flame.
Flames of passion, once a fuel, pushing forth, pushing onwards.
Ashes are scattered, broken dreams are scattered, mind is scattered.
Fractured reflections glare forth, fractures of confidence, fractures of purpose, fractures mended once before.
Darkness beckons, coaxing, begging, pleading, yelling, demanding.
The absence of flame, the inevitable, the fall.
“Red is power.”
“Red is love!”
Gale twisted the hem of her shirt between her fingers as her sisters fought. Jeanne, the youngest, refused to agree with their eldest sister, Heather, on the meaning behind the strange glass bottles. There were three vials: red, green, and yellow; and they were set against the twisted root of an old yew tree. Gale had heard the stories around the village about a witch making the woods her home, so while her sisters squealed with delight, Gale stood apart from them and the gnarled tree.
Did he think me gone?
The irksome fool. I may not be where he could see me, accost me, but I would never be gone. It would be too much of a kindness if I merely ceased existing, to let him go on in peace. No, he has wounded me too deeply for me to submit into nothingness. The idea that I do not even trouble him as a passing thought torments me on a daily basis. How can he live in peace while I continue to suffer at the mere sight of him? Continue reading
[Prompt: The story behind how that one random shoe is lying in the road ]
“I swear, if I have to pull this car over, you kids are going to regret it!” my mother growled from the driver’s seat. I stopped smacking my little brother in the back of the head to glean more information.
“What are you gonna do when you pull over?” I asked without a shred of respect.
My mother sighed heavily and glared at me through the rear view mirror, “Tom, don’t push me any further. I mean it.”
I rolled my eyes and went back to annoying my baby brother. My mom deserved this abuse after embarrassing me in front of all my friends. Being 15 with a driver’s license, my mom had no excuse for pulling into the school parking lot and barking at me to get in the backseat to take care of my brother’s spit up. My defiant glare had prompted her to add a comment about relaying my behavior to my shrink, catching me completely off guard and rousing laughter from my friends and any other person within earshot.
[Prompt: Use these seven words in your story: smug, substantial, meddle, slink, ethereal, artisanal, convolute ]
Clara really wanted to slap that smug look off her ex-boyfriend’s face. He had no right to meddle in her affairs. They had broken up over a month ago and she wanted nothing to do with him and his ‘artisanal’ ways. Stupid hipster. What she ever saw in him she might never know, because it certainly wasn’t his convoluted arguments about how he thought she was mediocre. If he found her so below his expectations, she had to wonder why he was bothering to harass her. He had purposely stalked her while she was on a date so that he could ambush them later and bait her into a heated argument until her date awkwardly fled the scene. She had been so embarrassed and all her ex could do was grin victoriously.
[Prompt: It came from our dreams ]
Sasha felt the warmth of the morning sun kissing her cheek before she reluctantly opened her eyes. Blinking slowly, she let out a deep sigh and stretched the sleepiness from her limbs. It took a moment for her mind to transition from the fuzzy dream state and into reality. She was a slow riser, minimal responsibilities lent her the precious extra time required. Rolling to her side she glanced at the digital display on her night stand.
“Shi-“ she didn’t finish the profanity, too distracted by the realization that she was late. She didn’t typically have to be anywhere in the morning, but today was different. It was her eighteenth naming day.