That thought again, recurring.
Brain clutches at it,
Eyes glaze over,
What lies ahead, ignored.
A car comes forward
Steering wheel, useless.
One errant thought.
Two souls departed.
The Challenge: Exactly 33 words including an onomatopoeia
Acknowledgement: Thank you Trifecta for placing me 3rd place in last week’s challenge; I really, really appreciate it 😀 (kisses)
End note: Hope you like this week’s post as well.
They marched with a cry,
To the war of the century,
The one to end all.
The charge broke.
Two fronts met.
The cry became a whisper;
A million souls departed.
A million dreams lost.
This weekend Trifecta is asking for exactly 33 words plus the following three words:
I thought I’d do one and offer it for the men who died at the Somme. I know it’s an old war, almost a century old, but I have always found that particular battle heartbreaking. Maybe because of Wilfred Owen’s writings, or maybe just because I can picture any one of the million men, the million boys who died in the mud next to a river that turned red, as either one of my siblings; marching off to manhood, brainwashed into thinking that they are fighting a war that would end all wars, only for them to waste away and have the same blood and carnage repeated just two decades later.
I watched him as his hardened eyes focused on the screen; men in camo covered in dust, a mike shoved under their unwilling mouths, replying to questions in a rehearsed monotone. Colour abandoned his face, shriveled out of him like water from a sponge forgotten in the sun. A hundred condolences rushed to my tongue, none adequate. I stepped forward instead, and placed my hand on his shoulder. But his eyes, now red, never left the TV, his mind wondering only of the son he’d lost; the one standing next to him a mere presence trespassing on his grief.
This is in response to Trifecta’s challenge:
Color: complexion tint:
a : the tint characteristic of good health
b : blush
I changed it to the British version, but the word is still there, up for your critique. Thanks for reading.
A battle rages internal.
Two fronts equally matched.
Dreams shoot fire dragons,
Their arsenal bright.
Present, drops anchors,
Heavy chains made of bills.
Which side will prevail?
The choice is yours.
For Trifecta; 33 words inspired by:
“It’s the possibility of having a dream come true that makes life interesting.”
― Paulo Coelho, Alchemist
From Scott Vanatter with permission-Copyright- Indira
There are many of my kin I admire; those whose death made history. The Great Cedar who was cut down and shaped into a cross. My great uncle that supported the Roman soldier named Sebastian while arrows pinned him tighter to his bark. Others, nameless, whose bones formed ships that discovered the Americas and the Orient.
Will my death, like theirs, mean anything? Will I be turned into necklaces, icons in silver and gold?
A woman is hugging my midriff, praying that my roots hold against the monstrous cyclone approaching fast. My prayers join hers, as I stand and wait.
Rochelle from Friday Fictioneers chose a wonderful picture for us this week by Indira. I hope you like my story and if you wish to read other inspired stories featuring mystical foliage, scattered ashes, ancient barks and magical leaves, be sure to visit this page here.
Clean our souls from this evil.
Wash our cobblestones clear of blood,
Rinse away our memories,
Of heads rolling, fear.
Let us only remember
From this rebellion;
The price we paid to be free.
Your wisdom dazzled me.
Admiration came easy.
I knew nothing.
You taught me everything.
* Continue reading
Master lay in bed, wheezing, choking, looking up at the water mark on the ceiling. He was alone except for his servant sitting straight by the bed, his eyes fixed on the man, his irises filled with love. Continue reading
At birth she weighed half a stone. My baby became a beauty but all she saw was fat. Now, at sixteen, I see her smiling at the skull jeering in the mirror.
copyright – Jennifer Pendergast
The little old lady sat on the couch. Two cats slept on her lap. The other snuggled next to her feet. Three flights of steps separated the old lady and her arthritic legs from the world. But the little lady did not mind. Meals came on wheels once a day, cabbage stew and soup, no salt. All in all the little old lady was quite content, she waited for her son, the last of three. He would return one day as he had promised and help her cross the gulf that were the three flights of steps.