Expectations in the Dark – The Last Good Thing (update)


old-woman-praying1

She had always expected grandchildren.  She had expected, even as a young girl, to live deep into her twilight surrounded by chittering, smiling faces.  Even before she had thought of having children or even knew what that meant, she had expected grandchildren.  She had expected full tables at thanksgiving and long lists of names at Christmas.

She could always see it so vividly.

Sitting next to a man who would have looked remarkably like a potato that lay in the cupboard too long whose skin had gone loose as the inside had lessened with time.  She would have borne the years with more grace and would have had tight skin that shone like a mirror as it stretched across her forehead.  She had expected to buy him little sweaters that he would have worn as he sat in front of a typewriter, or sat in his favorite chair reading the paper or a book that he loved.  The sweaters would have always been soft against her face when he hugged her unexpectedly in the middle of a frigid morning. Continue reading

Expectations In The Dark


 

            old-woman-praying1She had always expected grandchildren.  She had expected, even as a young girl, to live deep into her twilight surrounded by chittering, smiling faces.  Even before she had thought of having children or even knew what that meant, she had expected grandchildren.  She had expected full tables at thanksgiving and long lists of names at Christmas.

She could always see it so vividly.

Sitting next to a man who would have looked remarkably like a potato whose skin had gone loose after too long in a cupboard.  She would have borne the years with more grace and would have had tight skin that shone like a mirror as it stretched across her forehead.  She had expected to buy him little sweaters that he would have worn as he sat in front of a typewriter, or sat in his favorite chair reading the paper or a book that he loved.  The sweaters would have always been soft against her face when he hugged her unexpectedly in the middle of a frigid morning.  Continue reading

Helios 12 – Second Draft


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            She lay there in the dark chill of her bunk and tried to ignore the grating beep of her alarm.  It had pulled her out of the deep dark hole of sleep a few minutes before but she always hated that damned sound.  It might have had something to do with the fact that she slept so much better out here.  No traffic noise, no birds to wake her, no sun coming up and invading her room through her windows.  The sun was always up out here, but it only came in when she wanted it too. Continue reading

Haunting – Velvet Verbosity 100 word prompt


peepI feel childish.

Awkwardly haunting her back garden in the wee hours of the morning.  Peeking through the curtains in a pathetic attempt to catch a glimpse of glistening pink skin.

She knows I’m there.  She loves that I’m there.  It excites her.

At least that’s what I tell myself.

The neck-broken tulips under my feet will serve as evidence later.  They will say that I stomped on their corpses in anticipation.  The delicate yellow heads crushed and battered.  They deserve the same chalk halo.

She loved me in the end.  Throat wrapped in precious silk.  She loved me.

Word Count: 99

So I’m not quite sure I like the way this turned out, but it is what it is.  

http://www.velvetverbosity.com/2013/07/09/100-words-339/

Trifecta Prompt – Crude – (warning – violent content)


So it’s been a little while since I’ve written anything.  A lot of stuff going on and I was honestly just a bit of a breather over the summer.  Let’s get back to it shall we.  

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I watched them hack him into pieces that no longer looked like they came from a human and shove them into their mouths.  Their tools were crude misshapen gouges of nearly black iron, and I knew by the grunts that accompanied their thrashing blows that they were not sharp.  The jagged metal was tearing more than it was slicing. Continue reading

Morsel – An, as-of-yet, unfinished continuation of “A Place to Rest Your Head”


0000002811Down the wheezing stairs–to the right, the moth-eaten sack hangs on a hook.  Every night I crowd into the moldy burlap and hug my knees until my stomach aches me to sleep.”

       – Morsel           

            There is house in central Vermont at the apex of a cul-de-sac.  The address is 385 Champlain Circle.  There are no other houses in that particular cul-de-sac.  There are no other houses in that particular community.  There are piles of decaying wood and plaster in each lot of that community, but they have all but turned into hillocks dotting a long abandoned landscape.  In the basement of 385 Champlain Circle there is a staircase.  At the bottom of the staircase, just to the right, there is a burlap sack hanging on a rusty hook.  It is slightly green from mold, and if you were to see it at night, it would look quite full.  This is where Morsel sleeps. Continue reading

Helios 12 – Short fiction from a prompt


sun  An aching beep pushed its way into her mind dragging her from the depths of sleep with a slow insistence. She opened her eyes and stared at the small blinking set of numbers that told her it was six o’clock in the morning earth time.  She glared at it, wishing–not for the first time–that she could destroy the blinking numbers with her mind.  When nothing happened aside from the incessant beep-blink-beep-blink repetition, she sighed and pushed her arm from beneath the warm blanket and flicked a switch.  A small light popped on at the same instant as the beeping stopped and the ceiling of her sleeping chamber became gradually brighter, giving the appearance of a curtain being drawn back from a window on a Sunny day. Continue reading