Checkout - Carry On Tuesday prompt # 68

Written for Carry On Tuesday - This weeks prompt - I know I stand in line

CHECKOUT

I know I stand in line waiting like all of the others for the flame haired checkout girl to swoop her white hand back and forth . . . but today I don't feel like a shopper, today it is different.

I observe as the groceries are freed from the supermarket trolleys and set down, sliding, a jumbled heap to be packed in rustling plastic that never degrades. I am mesmerised by the movement, the beep, beep of recognition as the scanner meets bar code.

Her nails are painted a vivid blue, she wears a ring of heavy silver and turquoise. Her long lashes make sweeping shadows as her downward turned eyes follow the stream of cans and packets, her lips purse with concentration as she rescues a lost coin and returns it to a waiting hand.

Clattering and muttering, snippets of conversation float around me but do not gain entry into my world today. Today is different...

Still and silent, I watch as she pulls at her tumble of red hair and in one deft movement pins back an unruly curl... and I see her soft grey eyes flicker with recognition then fill with smiles as she finally notices me standing there in line.
.

Faith - Sunday Scribblings

Written for Sunday Scribblings prompt 230 - Faith

F A I T H

Her name was Betty but they called her Faith because she lived that way . . .

She skirted around the edge of things, walked the high wires of life. Dark places and neon lights shone in her eyes and she talked and laughed and sang, her throaty voice a snake charmer pulling hidden things from baskets and making them rise. . .

Over and over she jumped the chasms, stepped over the cracks and pulled the veils from things that should have stayed covered. Plumes of blue smoke, wailing guitar sounds and haunting messages left on your answerphone made sure you always wanted to pick up when she called.

She merged into the shadows but you could recognise her by the dancing sparks when she moved, lithe and agile she jumped the walls . . .

Her name was Betty but they called her Faith because she lived that way . . .
.

Stony River - Microfiction Monday #46

This weeks picture prompt from
Microfiction Monday

at Stony River

The task: a tweetable 140 characters or fewer inspired by the picture below...

I used to live in Coolville, lots of sightseeing tours as all the houses had false facades, it is beautiful there, almost like a film set...

(exactly 140 characters)

Saturday Centus Week 17 - Seeing Red continued

Saturday Centus
WEEK 17 ASSIGNMENT

Take any other Saturday Centus story (yours or someone elses) and using ANOTHER 100 WORDS... tell us the "rest of the story". Please copy and paste the first story so we can read both entries easily.

I am going to follow on from my own Saturday Centus story
Seeing Red from week 15's prompt.

S E E I N G R E D

She had gone again.
All tossing hair and slamming doors. She flounced her way down the front path, kicking at strewn toys hastily discarded at teatime when bread and jam took precedence over play. She marched off down the street leaving a trail of heady perfume in her stilletoed wake.

Raised voices from the kitchen proclaimed that it was the last time she would ever be trusted. I listened to them from my perch on the top step and didn't know whether to laugh or to cry as Mum emerged from the kitchen with her arms full of Dads shirts, all now a fetching shade of pink.

Cassie had left a red sock in the washing again.

P A R T T W O

It was after midnight when I heard her come home.
I cringed as I heard the front door shut with a loud click... she wasn't even trying to be quiet.

I was already nervous, anticipating the icy chill around the breakfast table. I was determined to just keep silent, say nothing.

Morning came and I dawdled, brushing my hair a hundred times as I paced my tiny bedroom.

. . . Cassie arrived at the kitchen door just as I got there.

I just knew there would be trouble as soon as I saw Dad smartly dressed for work in his pink shirt.

Writers Island Prompt #18 - If Only

This was written for
Writer's Island
Prompt #18 - If Only

"Facing it, always facing it, that's the way to get through. Face it."- Joseph Conrad

S T O R M

The wind whipped her hair and wrapped it around her face, she reached up and pushed it back behind her ears.

She was too close to the edge, she knew it but didn't care.

It was exhilarating to feel the spray from the crashing waves and to feel the storm building. She squinted her eyes against the rushing wind and licked her lips, tasting the salt, tasting the ocean she longed to be a part of.

Towering clouds were racing across the bruised sky, grey and purple, like a vast mountain range and it was changing as she watched. . . morphing into ever darker more ominous shapes. Her heart was racing as the low rumble of thunder moved closer and the air crackled with electricity.

The silver black ocean hurled itself at the shore, crashing over the slippery rocks where she could barely keep her footing. She was soaked to the skin, wet strands of hair wound around her neck, her eyes stinging and streaming with tears.

Streaks of lightning turned the sky into a lightbox. . . and the waves roared, the thunder crashed and she could no longer hear herself think.

She screamed into the sound, joining it,
adding her energy to the display she was a part of.

She felt passion run through her like a storm . . . and she was the waves crashing and the arcing lights in the electric sky. She felt the thunder like a force within and the wind just kept on howling.

She fell to her knees, clinging on to the slippery black slate. . .
she was spent
charged
alive

One thought repeating over and over in her ocean filled mind . . .
If only I could stay here forever. . .

Water - Thursday Think Tank Prompt 12

Poets United holds a weekly poetry prompt. The Thursday Think Tank
This weeks prompt word is
W A T E R
Here's mine, it is not a new one but it sprang to mind when I read this weeks prompt :-)

The ink black ocean that knows my name

yearns to enfold me in her depths

never more to search the sky

with eager eyes, that drink colour like wine

Intoxicated by blue

The howling wind, abetted by

insistent waves that scream and shout

tug me to her lonely shore

where watching, one eyed

her accomplice moon

does nothing to reassure me

Once again down into the surging seas

internal tides, beginning to swell

I know that as the rhythm enters me

searching for my surrender

I will begin to dance

Image and words - Susannah Bec
For more of my poetry visit Out of My Ocean

Flooded - Magpie Tales #29

http://magpietales.blogspot.com hosts a weekly writing prompt, write a small vignette or poem using the photo below as your inspiration. This is mine. . .

Slanting shadows, creaking doors,
whitewashed walls and wooden floors
corridors that echo with childrens fun
windows thrown open to afternoon sun

Patchwork quilts draped on the back of chairs
the well known scuffs half way up the stairs
Roses and cushions and the smell of thyme
. . . and fire lit evenings with a glass of wine

Smells from the kitchen where the radio sings
of raindrops on roses and other wonderful things
Tree branches that tapped on an old window pane
Lavender, candles, the smell of the rain

Impressions of a house, I have only just seen
in a far off place that I'm sure I've not been
Have flooded my mind, poured out of my fingers
although they're not mine, the memory lingers

Not my usual style, this one just 'happened'. :-)

Circles - Carry On Tuesday #67

This is my first try writing for
Carry On Tuesday
This weeks prompt
"So little done, so much to do."

C I R C L E S

Back here again - same spot different day

no breeze this time and the sunshine has gone

It is quieter, stiller, more subdued somehow

why is it, that whatever road I take

it always leads me right back here

So little done, so much to do

I think that I may just be

walking in circles

a g a i n

For more of my poetry visit Out of My Ocean

Full Moon - Three Word Wednesday

This is my first time joining in with

Three Word Wednesday
where each week you write something
using the three prompt words.
This week's words are . . .
abstain - halo - prayer

F U L L M O O N

I step outside into the cool evening air, the moons shimmering halo
a delicate silver gauze pinned on to the vast black velvet sky.
I abstain from thought as a whispered prayer escapes my
lips and enters the stillness of this magical night. . .

Stony River - Microfiction Monday #45

Microfiction Monday

at Stony River

where a picture paints 140 characters, or even fewer.

Here's this week's picture. . .

He kept it there, just over his shoulder
a stark reminder that death was waiting
a visual touchstone that screamed in his ear
L I V E !

Saturday Centus - Week 16

This is week 16 of Saturday Centus themed writing meme.

This week the prompt and the title of the story is . . .

What I did over my Summer Vacation.
The Rules are: Your story must be written in first person AND must be exactly 100 words long. It can be fact or fiction.

What I did over my Summer Vacation.

I walked along the waters edge, crashing waves and soft sand a balm for a city girl like me. I made my way up the steep track and along towering cliffs up toward the lighthouse, sunbaked under the cobalt blue sky. I sat on the soft green grass and listened to the gulls as they wheeled overhead playing in the thermals. I gazed out to the horizon as the fiery sun slipped lazily down to the ocean, then watched as purple gave way to the black star studded night . . .

I sat at home, eyes closed, dreaming. . . and I was there.

Writers Island Prompt #17 - Time Travel

Time Travel

I opened the door and there you were
Just as I had left you so long ago

The frozen moment immortalised
still replaying. . . over and over

But, now I am here again
to tell you I am sorry

to ask you to
forgive
me

This was written for
Writer's Island
Prompt #17

For more of my poetry visit Out of My Ocean

Thursday Think Tank Prompt 11

Poets United holds a weekly poetry prompt.
The Thursday Think Tank
This weeks prompt word is
PAIN
Here's my contribution . . .


I see the pain
it highlights joy
the sharp contrast
makes things sweeter

I feel the pain
it's a part of life
an unavoidable side effect
of the privilege of being alive

I understand the pain
it gives shadow to light
it adds dimension to experience
without it we would not be whole

I know the pain
it's in every thorn
on the graceful stem
of this beautiful fragrant rose

Magpie Tale # 28 - Echo

http://magpietales.blogspot.com hosts a weekly writing prompt, write a small vignette or poem using the photo below as your inspiration. This is mine. . .

She sighed, and the long soft sound seemed to gain an echo as it hissed its way around the bathroom. She sank further into the warm soapy water and stared up at the skylight above. Huge raindrops splattered against the glass, obscuring the blue sky that had been there just a moment before. It mirrored her mood and her tears begin to flow, running silently down her cheeks to join the bubbles below.

She longed for the days when her tears had been hot, stinging and burning as she sobbed and wailed. At least then there was passion, a sense of release, a notion of emptying herself of all the pent up feeling she struggled with.

Now the gentle tears just oozed from her, she felt nothing but the hot water she was laying in.

She looked down at her toes pressed against the hard white tub and gently nodded to herself. It seemed fitting in this white unfeeling room that she had painted her toenails black.

Stony River - Microfiction Monday #44

This is my first try at . . .

Microfiction Monday
at Stony River

where a picture paints 140 characters, or even fewer.

Here's this week's picture. . .

Black knight you haunted my dreams

until I found the courage

to lift up your visor

and found

only light

Magpie Tale # 27 - When Two Worlds Collide

http://magpietales.blogspot.com hosts a weekly writing prompt, write a small vignette or poem using the photo below as your inspiration. This is mine. . .

She lay there on the cold hard ground. Her hair was fanned around her like a fire, crackling orange tendrils curling on the dark earth. Sparks of life in this chilling scene.

He felt his heart leap into his throat, the pulsing in his temples threatened to unbalance him as he felt the sweat oozing from hidden pores, it collected in the deep lines of horror etched into his brow.

His voice had gone, he tried with huge effort of will to summon it from deep within him where it had retreated. It came like a train through a tunnel, bursting out into the light .

J a n e! . . . the desperation in his voice released the tension in his body and he dropped to his knees and buried his unbelieving head in his hands.

Oh, hello, I didn't hear you there! What are you doing creeping up on me like that! - I was just trying to get a close up photo of these beautiful colours. Look at that turquoise and isn't the rust a wonderful accent? I thought we could use it in the dining room when we redecorate.

What on earth is wrong? she said, as she finally scrambled to her knees and turned to see him sobbing.

Saturday Centus - Closer Than They Appear

This is my first time taking part in Saturday Centus themed writing meme. This weeks prompt is to write something using the line "objects in the rear view mirror are closer than they appear". Here's mine! :-)

Closer Than They Appear

Objects in the rear view mirror are closer than they appear...

That was the third time she had read it and still she was no nearer to understanding what he meant. She looked down at the now crumpled bit of notepaper that had hastily been torn from its ringed binder. The fragments of torn paper were still clinging grimly to the cryptic message. The tenous link with the page that they were once a part of, reminded her of their marriage.

An involuntary sigh escaped her lips. She still loved him, she just didn't understand how the distance had opened up between them, and now these notes he had taken to leaving for her. Well at least he was trying to make contact, even if it was rather strange.

She caught sight of herself in the mirror of the dressing table, a grey strand falling across her eyes, she hastily pushed it back like she was pushing back time.

Then she saw it over her shoulder, there was another of the notes tucked carefully into the intricate frame of their wedding photo. She walked slowly over and picked up the note and tears sprung to her eyes as she saw the scrawled words. . . always and forever.

She understood this one and ran down to the kitchen to find him.

MagpieTale #26

http://magpietales.blogspot.com hosts a weekly writing prompt, write a small vignette or poem using the below photo as your inspiration . . . here's mine. :)

She left it there while she went indoors to answer the phone. The phone had been ringing all morning but she had ignored it, blanking it out and letting the sound of bird song fill her mind as she walked slowly around her rather overgrown garden.

She had touched the new growth on her favourite plants and bent to smell the sweet scents, ignoring the incessant ringing from indoors. She crushed fragrant rosemary in between her fingers and breathed it deeply, closing her eyes and tipping back her head to feel the warmth of the sun on her face. She could hear the bees buzzing and the gentle cooing of doves.

She returned again to the old water barrel, twisted the tap and watched as the captured rainwater rushed into her old watering can. Distracted by the telephone again, as its noise pushed to the forefront, displacing the bird song and gushing water as it demanded her attention. The overfilled watering can splashed her sun brown feet, she jumped back and quickly reached down to stop the deluge. A large spider ran for its life as the rivulets of water meandered down the uneven path.

Picking up the watering can she carried it sloshing over to her geraniums and watched as the gentle stream of water soaked into the dry soil, and dribbled down the side of the shiny cobalt blue pot.

And still it rang.

She pushed past the lavender, relishing in the waft of scent, and put up her arm to move the bending bough of the buddleia so she could pass. In moments she was amidst a cloud of white butterflies, fluttering and dancing in the air before returning to land on the purple blooms. She put down the watering can and reached out to stroke the warm fur of Arabella, stretched out enjoying the sunshine her soft apricot fur glowing against the dark green leaves.

It was ringing again, she took a deep breath and made her way to the conservatory door. She slipped off her old dirt splattered shoes and made her way over to the telephone. It was red and shiny and shrill on the polished surface and seemed incongruous against her unembellished, hard working hands. She stared long and hard at her dirty nails as she rested her hand on the receiver, until suddenly she could stand it no more. . .

Hello.