Lady who fainted

Lady who fainted

13 August 2017

 

Heart never tainted

Eyes focused on the painted

Lady who fainted

 

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Based on Ronovan’s Haiku challenge using Lady and Painted. See rules here

When no words are needed – Stive Morgan and Moon Haunter

The Devil’s Wife : Valentine’s Day on Earth

The Devil’s Wife : Valentine’s Day on Earth

14 February 2016

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Courtesy 7-themes.com

She looked around her, the cherry blossoms were whispering secrets of the spring, the lakes were heaving with their golden liquids. All was bliss in Eden and Belzebu was by her side. This was going to be the second best Valentine ever, she thought to herself as she felt him embrace her from behind.

Her thoughts roamed back to their time on Earth when his parents had banished them back in time because he had burnt the moon in his anger over nearly losing her. He was so impulsive she thought to herself with a chuckle.

 

It was spring and the flowers were blooming. The air was dense with dewdrops. Earth was just discovering electricity. A young man by the name of Tesla lived in the shadow of someone greater who barely allowed him to breathe. He was enlightened and the older frightened, the saddest and most common denominator of humankind’s bleak history. They arrived like a lightning bolt into Tesla’s private chambers startling the life out of his young wits. The waves still shook through the air as they were introducing themselves to him and he touched the sparks all over the room where they had landed. Tesla asked Belzebu about the sparks and marveled at how the dewdrops in the air combined with the Earth’s energy compressed produced the sparks. Soon enough and after he had quizzed Belzebu a million times again about the sparks and Earth’s energy system and engrained power grid, he had ensured they would get a head start on life by procuring an odd job to Belzebu as a stable boy and watchman. By the conditions of his parents, Belzebu was allowed to seek nothing else than a simple life. The pay was sufficient and they also had food and lodging provided for them at a small cabin neighbouring the woods. Belzebu fretted initially over having to resort to a labourer’s life but one look at his wife’s smile then comforted him beyond words.

 

She watched him toil, so powerful once that he could cover the Earth in one stretch and fly to the moon to send it flaming and rocketing into the cosmos, there he was, tending to the horses, procuring water, repairing hedges and weeding the areas where she grew flowers. She wondered how he did not miss his powers and why he did not rebel against this situation. After all, his parents had made their conditions simple and clear. All he had to do to get full control over Eden was renounce her and their breed but he remained steadfast in his desire to keep both. He could not use any of his powers and the first breach of this would make both lost to him forever. When Valentine’s day arrived, he had a surprise for her, beautiful red, blue and purple roses that he had grown on his own. She wondered how he had blended into one rose bush all three colours but visibly he had not used magical powers as they were still there unharmed. When she asked, he merely smiled and kissed her softly, saying it was his secret. She then asked him how it was that he resisted using his powers just for her. He gazed into her eyes, his eyes overflowing with love and told her “You make me want to be a better man”.

She sighed. So many memories but that one sentence and that particular memory played fondly with her mind and heart every Valentine.

 

Reading of the story:

lovelife Touchofart eu Tomasz Alen Kopera

Written in the context of Friday Fiction with Ronovan Writes (the prompt being a line from a favourite movie). Ping back and rules here

https://ronovanwrites.wordpress.com/2016/02/12/friday-fiction-with-ronovan-writes-prompt-challenge-13/ 

 

Ray Charles and Mary Ann Fisher – Sweet Memories

You make me want to be a better man – As good as it gets

Romance – Frédéric Chopin

The Moon’s Death

The Moon’s Death

31 January 2016

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Courtesy walkingwithvision.wordpress.com

 

The moon shook and curled up like gentle fire. I held my hand up to her caressing the sparks, trying to cajole them back into unwinding. The night would end and if she did not unfurl her grace the sun would have a hard time rising. She resisted my touch, her eyes downcast and her lips pressed into dying denial. Beyond her head I could see the skies split into what was meant to be a sunrise but the sun had shunned the skies. I sensed his presence in the moon’s depths, beseeching her to uncurl her round petals. Behind me, the clamour of the city and wails of hungry infants were calling me back to the lands and I dropped back, helpless, drifting through the clouds.

 

It was a grey daylight drizzle that welcomed me as I opened my sore eyes, spent weeping for moon’s demise. The sun was nowhere to be seen, without his bride of night to glow again he was not so keen. I looked around the city from my balcony anticipating sunrise but only amorphous grey met my eyes. I realised I had to dive again into Morpheus realm and cross the rivers of the shades of the night to try to coax her again into undying so the sun could shine his light.

 

When I emerged on the other side, the strangest sight met my eyes. The moon was lying down roaring with laughter as the sun was tickling her feet with his rays. Her woes of the night forgotten she seemed much besotted and the sun could barely contain his heat as he beamed at her, happy she was finding back the fun in the nights. Around them, the clouds were awash with a buzz of curiosity and anticipation – which explained the grey drizzle of that morning. I cleared my throat and asked timidly if we could finally have some shine and they could choose which one would go for it. When I left, they were sorting it out with a match of rocks, scissors and papers.

 

My eyelids fluttered, warmed by the sun’s beckoning. I woke up to another gorgeous sunny morning. All was well in the skies.

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Courtesy loveyourspirittumblr.com

Reading of the flash fiction : 

Written for Friday fiction with Ronovan writes  https://ronovanwrites.wordpress.com/2016/01/29/friday-fiction-with-ronovan-writes-prompt-challenge-11/

Pingback and rules here

Stars Die – Porcupine Tree

Remember me lover – Porcupine Tree

Buying New Soul – Porcupine Tree

 

 

 

As Time flies still

As Time flies still

16 January 2016

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Courtesy emm0100 on deviantart.com

 

She shrieked. Her mother ran in from the other room, wondering if she hurt herself. She was standing there, trembling, her face contorted with fear as she gazed at the middle-aged woman in front of her. Look she screeched at her mom, who is that fat woman? It is you, answered her mother, tears running down her face.

 

She looked at herself in the mirror. Time had passed faster than she imagined. Ten years! She could not believe that this had happened. The words of her mother explaining everything drowned into the distance and she only picked up bits and pieces so akin to the bits and pieces of herself that she was now picking up, recollecting her past as she examined that unknown paunchy dull woman. …Catatonia… you were… depressed… never reacting… I took care of you despite …fed you… combed your hair… bathed you…

 

The grandfather clock seemed to pound the seconds synchronised with the beating of her heart as she reached out to the image of herself and the vision of her hand with its strange reflection, chubby with the nails crooked and bitten off was another shock. Ticks and tocks, how many more shocks, her mind whispered. She still could not believe so much time had passed without her even living those moments truly. Of essential time she had not felt the chime, she told herself. It was as if someone had stolen those years, hidden them away from her. Oh but to find the key to the treasure chest and wind back those memories to contemplate!

 

She looked back to her image, the weary tired eyes with the crow lines extending towards the cheeks. Those cheeks once so rosy and spruced how they were all faded now sad and grey. That sagging tired jawline could sink the spirits lower than wine she thought to herself as her finger traced them slowly towards her temples. Her head was aching now and she pressed her temples hard wincing under the pain but glad to be feeling again something at least. All those years gone by that she would never be able to witness like grains of sand they had seeped through her fingers and would never come back. What had happened to him she wondered. Tempus fugit… a cackling voice repeated over and over in her mind as she sunk to her knees.

 

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Courtesy forum.theluminarium.net

 

Written in the context of FRIDAY FICTION with RONOVAN WRITES Prompt Challenge #9

Ping back and rules here

 

 

Miles Davis – Tempus Fugit

SPECTRE Soundtrack – 19. Tempus Fugit by Thomas Newman

Sam Smith – Writing’s On The Wall

Los Muertos Vivos Estan (Movie Version) (“Spectre” soundtrack)

Under the baobab tree

Under the baobab tree

12 January 2016

baobab

They loved each other dearly and met under the baobab tree, just a few meters away from marshes that ended the land belonging to his family. She was dark, he was white. She was a native and he had all the rights. They did not belong together, this they knew was their social plight. Their hearts spoke a different law though. It was under the bough rich of leaves and sunshine that they carved their love in stolen letters. It was under the moon silent and blue that they met at the feet of the baobab tree.

 

One day his mother saw him sneak out. She figured what that was all about and soon there would be no rendez-vous. She gave him and other members of the family a piece of mind or two. Bewitched he must be, was their conclusion. She surely used sorcery some powerful infusion for she was black and small while he was tall, strong and white and their love, really, was not quite right. The county decided it was time this should stop and never again another lad to quit crop.

 

They say she screamed and begged for her life but they knew better. Her mouth sewn the cries shut would let them go about their holy task unfettered. She burnt brightly and though her flesh cringed and peeled not a tear nor a sigh eye and mouth revealed. When he heard he hastened broke all chains threw himself on the pyre embracing her remains. They tugged and tugged at his free arm but his body remained locked to hers by a charm. He died arm extended head flung to the skies and it was then that she released those cavernous sighs. Fire caught the baobab tree that hung near and ashes breathed into the night once the fire had cleared.

 

Years later at that very spot a curious couple of baobab trees grew tight as in a pot. When you look closely you can still see the stitches on her mouth and his arm extended his head flung back to shout. The blue skies shine bright and nourish them with light for now they are together and will remain so forever. On moonlit nights, you can hear her sighs plaintive and low like a baby’s cries.

ice ember hystericalminds com (2)
Courtesy hystericalminds.com

 

Written for Friday Fiction with Ronovan writes prompt challenge. Rules and prompt here

Reading of the short story:  

Wind of Change – Scorpions

More than words – Extreme

 

 

 

 

This was not about them

This was not about them

20 December 2015

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Courtesy express.co.uk

The sky was grey. Jenna hated when the sky was grey. It felt like it would fall on her head as the clouds hung low and foreboding. She felt she could almost touch their dark rim. She sighed and put on her black leather coat to match her black tights. She would have to take a taxi to St James as none of her relatives would pick her up. She paused in front of the kitchen ledge in front of a large old parcel. Her hands reached out slowly but she forced them back in her pockets. Somehow, she found they had made their way back to the parcel, caressing distractedly its faded paper flowers. She picked up the parcel almost against her will and rushed out as the taxi honked again angrily. She must have been daydreaming because the neighbour yelled at her that the driver had honked at least five times and the rest got lost as she grimaced a smile towards her neighbour’s scowling face and ran leaving her grumpy neighbor’s words to trail away behind her.

The taxi dropped her right in front of St James. At least one advantage for not driving to the place she thought to herself. She entered and saw them all lined up in a small row. For such a celebrity there were much less people than she would have imagined. In fact there seemed to be only the closest family. Looking at them from far she imagined them to be some consortium of crows cawing at each other, the queen crow, her aunt, throwing her wings about in an absurd way. She moved closer and felt more than she saw her aunt stiffen, all drama wiped out from her frame. Hello Aunt Estelle, said Jenna. Nobody answered even as she turned towards her cousins greeting them. Cold looks met her attempt at friendliness. Jenna’s hands fell to her sides. She heard one of her cousins whisper to another that she should not be here after showing such ingratitude towards their dad. She squared her shoulders and moved forward. This was not about them. It was her right to be there.

Another cousin, the daughter of another aunt whispered that it was all Jenna’s fault that people even gave credit to those awful stories that came up and that had spurred the investigation that caused her uncle’s heart attack. Jenna gritted her teeth. She had heard about the young piano student’s mother complaining. It was certainly not her fault. She had only flung a box of chocolates at her aunt and uncle screaming that she hated her uncle and had disappeared so many years ago. People had thought she was being extremely ungrateful towards this couple who had taken her in at 10 when her mother was first ill. People had blamed her for the way in which she left. Jenna straightened her posture and stared ahead. It was not her fault that it happened to be a box of chocolates that the little girl gave her mother saying that Uncle Elliott, the piano teacher, had given them to her to be a very good girl. It was not her fault either that Uncle Elliott did not actually know what was the true meaning of a good girl and that the girl’s mother did not agree to his notion of it. It was not her fault that the police did not share either Uncle Elliott’s ideas on what a good girl was.

Jenna stared at all her cousins in a row, at the various aunts and uncles who simply looked away when she looked at them, trying to establish eye contact and make them understand that she did not mind anymore. This was not about them anyway, she told herself again. She remembered Ralph’s suggestion on letting go and moved forward quietly. The casket had a glass portion at the top and she could see her uncle smiling back at her. Her hands felt damp and chilly as they clutched her pants and the edges of her leather jacket. She reached slowly into the large bag on her shoulder and drew the parcel out. As she fumbled, her hands too sweaty, the old paper  tore and all her cousins, aunts and uncles gasped as one by one more than a dozen small chocolate boxes fell from the parcel, the chocolates falling out from the boxes and spraying the coffin brown and white. Jenna stared at the messy coffin which looked like someone had vomited all over it and looked back at her cousins who had now closed in on the coffin looking aghast at her and at the coffin. She looked back calmly, not feeling any sweat anymore on her palms. It was as if the parcel and its contents had dried off all the sweat forever when they fell from her hands onto the coffin. Her aunt Estelle raised a hand as if she meant to embrace her but Jenna backed away from her. She broke through the row of her cousins and walked, never looking back. This was not about them.

 

 

This post was inspired by a prompt from the Ronovan writes series with this week’s prompt being about a family gathering.

Ping back and rules here

A Beautiful Lie

A Beautiful Lie

12 December 2015

 

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Courtesy playunravelblog.com

 

Sally liked to eat spinach. She liked it so much that she had it cooked in various types of dishes and toured the world in search of new recipes to try out – not really of course but in her head, silly, or she would probably be eating something else than just spinach.

Sally was lonely. How could it be anything else? If her parents had named her Chappy perhaps she would have been happy or if her parents had made her a boy, perhaps her life would be filled with Joy but no, they had made her a girl and named her Sally predestining her to be lonely. Come to think of it, had she been a boy and had they named her Vlad, she might have been sad. Then again she might also have been glad or mad, which she was most certainly boy and Vlad or not.

Now enough of all that emotional nonsense and back to some fitting and filling food like spinach for instance. As I said, Sally liked to eat spinach and you might even say she was obsessed by spinach to the highest degree. If she were a King – or a Queen for that matter, she had again lost her head would have said the hatter, forgetting that she was a girl after all – she would make sure to issue a decree that spinach be eaten by all and that it be served throughout the kingdom for free.

Sally had no kingdom though or at least none that others could see. Her friend the hatter saw it of course but that did not count any more than the crown on her head did because none could see hatter either. So Sally the lonely – hatter excepted – Queen with a kingdom that none could see sat at her table eating spinach. Of the finest sort it was, the spinach – at least hatter and her were both of the same opinion.

  • Two is a company you know hatter she said.
  • Well of course dearest queen and best spinach eater of all my friends
  • Am I your bestest friend hatter?
  • You’re my bestest best friend ever.
  • Do I look like a beautiful queen?
  • You are the fairest queen ever in this kingdom. Cross my heart with a piece of silver if I lie to you; please my Lady. Times are tough

Sally looked up at hatter but it was not he really who had said that nonsense. He was not used to saying such nonsense you know. Anybody who knew him would tell you that. It was a man standing in front of her table his face looking like it could really do with some spinach to put some colour back into the pale of it which spread everywhere except the tip of his nose that was bright red.

  • Would you like some spinach, she volunteered
  • No ma’am
  • But I am sure you will feel much better
  • I am sure you will feel better eatin’ that spinach an’ all yerself ma’am and I’d hate to spoilt it for ya
  • Oh well, I guess you’re right but I don’t have any silver for you, just perhaps a pound or two but tell me what will you do if I give one of them to you?
  • I should buy me some food ma’am
  • That sounds reasonable but I still don’t understand why you don’t just eat it right here and now as this spinach is really a treat

The man with the face shuffled and kept quiet eyeing her purse so Sally took one pound out and gave it to him feeling like Florence Nightingale handing out some life-saving medicine. She held back and smiled a wide smile at him

  • Do I look like a beautiful Queen?
  • The most beautiful queen ever ma’am
  • Am I your best friend now?
  • You’re my best friend ever ma’am

She gave him the pound the large smile still on her lips and as she gazed at him disappearing, she caught a glimpse of herself in the rear-view mirror of a car. A big chunk of spinach was stuck in the middle of her teeth colouring her smile and her hair looked like she had just wrestled with a wildcat. She looked up searching for the clown-faced man and found him entering the pub across the street, an arm raised already ordering his daily dose or so it seemed. So much for honesty she thought. She checked her reflection again and smiled a green smile. It was still a Beautiful Lie.

 

spinach activerain com
Courtesy activerain.com

 

A Beautiful Lie – 30 seconds to Mars

 

This post is part of the FRIDAY FICTION with RONOVAN WRITES Prompt Challenge #5

Ping back and rules here

The idea is to write a short story using as title the title of a song you like. For me it was A Beautiful Lie

Please feel free to comment. This is my first attempt at short fiction and I have difficulty writing concisely in prose although I have made progress in writing short in poetry thanks to the Japanese forms of tanka, haiku and senryu. I am aware I am still a stretch from actual flash fiction 😀