Friday, 10 May 2019

February 2019

#01
The Mirror by Ryan McCormack - 299 Votes
It’s Monday. I don’t get paid until Friday. We’re screwed. We’re absolutely fucking screwed.
I’m terrified of getting nicked. Social services’ll take the kids away. People’ll say I deserve it. That fat lazy unemployed slag with her mental health problems. Look what she’s putting her kids through. How’d she get herself into such a state?
Like they have a clue. Like they ever look under the surface.
Fucking scum. Pointing their fat fucking fingers at me. Judging me. They want me to fail. I fucking know this.
They never have to look at themselves when they've got someone to blame.

#02
The Pet Detective by Tiffany Tripson - 211 Votes
I was the best private eye in the city.
Every morning before the day’s work I read quietly, my body in full sun.
“Lola’s gone!” The shout made my whiskers twitch. James.
I peeked over the book at my irritating neighbor. Lola was his daughter. Sweet kid.
Sniffing the air, I caught blood. And something else.
“She wear lavender?”
“No,” Eyes wide, “A clue? There’s so much blood. You think she’s okay?”
I swung my legs off the desk, slamming my book down with a loud thud.
“Dammit Jim, I’m a cat not a doctor! Let’s go.”

#03
A Slippery Dish by Alyson Rhodes - 198 Votes
Liz wondered if their guests could catch the whiff of Phillip’s cooked Conger eels mixed in with her homemade taramasalata and warm pitta bread. She thought she’d shown great fortitude tolerating ‘Spike’ and ‘Evelyn’. The slamming of their muscled bodies against the glass tank’s walls in their bedroom gave her nightmares. Phil lost three fingertips to the slippery duo, but he shrugged it off. “Accidents happen,” he laughed. Liz noticed her husband of twenty-five years chewing hard on his food. A thread of something rubbery protruded from his lips. Liz sighed with satisfaction. “Bon Appetit everyone,” she raised her glass.

#04
Death by Bernie Hanvey - 74 Votes
I opened my eyes and spoke with the angel at the foot of my bed. He didn’t have wings or look like Brad Pitt. His name was Derek; originally from Basildon.
“What happened to me, Derek?”
“You’re dead,” he replied.
“How?” I asked, my voice catching in my throat.
“Car crash.”
“When?”
“An hour ago. They tried reviving you. Your time of death was six-thirty.”
“So, I was on my way home from work then?”
“I suppose so,” Derek replied, not seeming to care one way or the other.
“Did they say what caused it?”
“You were texting someone, apparently.”

#05
A Picture of Youth by Robert Grossmith - 280 Votes
'We were happy though, weren't we?' No response, so he answers for her. 'Sure we were. Before you got sick. Before they put you here.'
Nothing again. Only that fixed glassy smile, the sparkling monochrome eyes gazing blindly up at him, their champagne fizz undimmed by time.
He plants a parting kiss on her brow, icy cold to the touch, and lays a hooked finger against the pale glossy cheeks, grey, paper-thin.
Then returns the treasured snapshot to his wallet, steadying himself briefly against the too new headstone -- 'devoted wife, mother and gran' – in readiness for the slow trudge home.

#06
Pulse by Jamie Harding - 44 Votes
Every six minutes, Pulse appears, rash-like, on my feeds: Fb, Twitter, Outlook, BBC>SPORT>FENCING. How they dodged the Beeb-E-Cee's advertising remit I'll never know, but there it'd be; before and after pics of a Polynesian-lookin' woman who had subscribed to Pulse, shoved her blood their way and remedied herself on their advice.
I plunged and ordered a Pulse-Pack, which subsequently arrived. As I prepared to aspirate my one remaining knee, Buxton yelped, annoyingly, at life. I headlock'ed the hound and withdrew its sputum.
Soon I would post Buxton's - not mine! - blood back to Pulse and await the results with disturbing intrepidation.

#07
The Day I Died by Steph Sweeney - 45 Votes
My life was perfect until our safe home was broken into by a massive hand. It took my siblings as they screamed.
I watched as they were given to this giant grey monster; it snorted them into its nose and placed them in its dark cavernous mouth. White blades cut into them, shredding their insides.
The hand reached in slower this time and took me out of the bag; I clung onto the hand.
I lay dying. I felt my eyes grow heavy as I saw the hand take out Mother. I closed my eyes as I heard her wail.

#08
Greyhound, Wind by Karen Walker - 312 Votes
The greyhound and the wind know each other well.
They speak the same. Roaring at the start of the chase, in the fury of the storm, and calming to a whine and a whisper.
The wind brings rumors to his long nose. It tousles his fur, tickles ears so they twitch and twist and it plays, throwing leaves to catch.
The wind pushes him, slows him when the race is done and carries him home from a tumble.
In return, the greyhound gives body to the wind. So that man may know what it looks like in flesh and bone.

#09
Tumbleweed by Olga Godmin - 44 Votes
When my daughter was four, we visited my aunt in Karaganda, a city in the middle of the dry Russian steppe. Tumbleweed grew everywhere. In the summer, tumbleweed’s prickly seeds fell off the plants and gathered into large clusters. They rolled around the steppe and along the city streets.
“Mommy, what is it?” my daughter asked.
“Tumbleweed,” I said. “They tumble wherever the wind blows. Camels eat them sometimes.” She had already seen a camel in a zoo.
She wrinkled her little nose. “What if a wind blows, and a camel is hungry?” she asked. “Would the camel chase them?”

WINNING ENTRY
#10
The Ball  by Andrew Troth - 436 Votes
Come on. Throw it…
Yeah, of course I’m ready. Throw, throw, throw!
Wheeeeeeee!
Where’d it go? Where?
It went this way. I know it did. Where, where, where?
Is that it? Nope. Similar, but not right.
This is it! Yay!
Quick. Pick it up, pick it up. Before anybody steals it.
Gottit, gottit.
Now, quickly, which way did I come from? Gotta get back to him.
Back as fast as I possibly can.
Look, look. I found it. Here it is
Sorry it’s a bit slobbery.
Throw it again? Pleeeeeeez?
Yay! Again.
I could play this game all day long.

#11
The Pebble by Franecs Tate - 73 Votes
Still a work in progress, the pebble sits in my palm. Some tasks, however, are complete -no features remain- either groove or protrusion. The surface ground down over geological time and blinked from existence. All corners chipped away by churning rocks and abrading particles. A once and future mountain; a once and future speck of dust. All that remains is a half-inch thick disc of uniform depth, but not uniform shape, to be tossed back into the sea’s never-ceasing tumbler, to bleed matter until the pebble is nought but a grain of sand. The perfect dimension for a mythic universe.

#12
The Greenness of Home by MJ Christie - 208 Votes
Cold, north-easterly wind bites through my anorak, nipping at the flesh beneath my sweater. Wrap up, she said. I did but it hasn’t made any difference. Still the cold seeps in through the gaps. Penetrates my bones until they threaten to crack. Muscle isn’t much help. It pounds and strains against the elements – against the sorrow that remains since he departed. Those things are best remembered and not spoken of, she said. I think she means unfelt. As if he never breathed. As if he never was. I feel him still, when I’m quiet. Here in the greenness of home.

#13
Revealed Secret  by Inguna Broze - 76 Votes
That day my previous well-established world crushed and I was thrown into the ice-cold current called – adult life. A phone call summoned me to our neighbours, the Dixon`s. In the drawing room I met their guest – a heavily made-up elderly woman with enormous earrings.
“Now when you have come of age, I and my husband decided it was time you learned the truth. Your father sends his greetings. He loves you.”
I must have fainted as next thing I remember was a glass of water pressed to my lips. I knew that from now on I was on my own.

#14
Elizabeth by Hannah Arnott - 265 Votes
“We havenʼt heard from your mum all day.”
We trudge round, hands gripping pocket linings. Ring the doorbell. Knock loudly.
Nothing.
The lounge is vacant, television blaring. The dining room silent, cereal bowl empty.
“Upstairs.”
Bedrooms lie as still as their dust.
Laurence rushes to the bathroom, I catch a glimpse, I pull him back.
There, slumped on the toilet, Mills and Boon has fallen flat. Blue and black and sagging all over.
The lounge isnʼt vacant now, voices murmur.
I listen as they drag her down the stairs, with the opposite of ease. Bump bump bump bump.
Dignity departed.

#15
Fall from Grace by Wally Smith - 201 Votes
The feather floated down, drifting side to side on the warm air rising from the sea; gliding then suddenly dipping as a gentle breeze nudged it along. Soon, another feather appeared and then another, until a shower of cascading white feathers drifted in a haphazard pattern against the dazzling azure sky from which the sun shone upon the Aegean Sea. Feathers were blown towards an island, where a child watched and waited, chasing the feathers until he caught one. The child was unaware of the figure falling into the sea, as he ran home to show his mother his prize.​

#16
Move and You Die by Zoe Powell - 359 Votes
Move and you die. Simple as that.
An exhale. A twitch. A blink out of line. Just because its dark doesn’t mean they can’t see you.
You’re not the only one here. There are others trapped within their own bodies. You can feel the heavy beating of their hearts pulsating through the room and the screams bouncing off the internal walls of their brain. How did we get here?
There’s a hand on your back.
I mean, what hand? There’s no hand on your back, pay no attention to that. Just your imagination playing tricks on you!
Your nose itches.

#17
But Not Forgotten by Emily Nicholson - 40 Votes
“She’s lost it!”
I was vaguely aware of peripheral laughter and smartphones.
“GUYS! Get to class. Lauren? You… okay?”
I wasn’t. It hurt my head and my heart to exist right then. The intensity. Dread.
Sir sighed. “I’ll get Mrs Paul.”
*
I stared around the office, waiting to be dismissed.
‘A blip’ they called it. Stupid little word; over as soon as it leaves your lips. Temporary. But the damage is lasting.
Blip. Like. Blip. Share.
Every moment is forever. Permanent. Unforgiving.
*
Blip.
Text from Dad:
Where are you, Lauren? Mum is worried. Come home. Please.
Blip.
Deleted.

#18
A - list meditations by Freyja Torn - 411 Votes
"Why would I ever marry YOU?" screamed the brunette, banshee, who we'd all seen, a week before (having won a minor - celebrity, jungle - based game show), clucking about on local television.
Flummoxed, the six foot tall, sturdy, dread- headed man levelled her with his base voice,
"This too shall pass and you will still want the love that only an honest life can provide."
"What? Get away from me, you freak!"
And with that, he departed, as his silence danced delicately down the street.
As she twirled to meet her paparazzi, her heel snapped in the brittle, reception of no-one.

#19
Work/Life Balance by Craig Potter - 51 Votes
Don't you think the doily makes the phone less intrusive? The monitor more inviting with some net curtains?
I swapped the office chair for a rocker, instead of propping myself up unnaturally.
With some pillows it even doubles up as a bed.
I found a plug for my kettle, easing kitchen congestion, and a lamp added much needed ambience.
Work life balance was further improved with the addition of the washing line and ironing board.
Admittedly though, the canary does whistle too much when the television is on.
Sorry, I don’t understand?
You’re sending me home?
But I am home?

#20
An Unlucky Accident by Carrie Hewlett - 51 Votes
“One for sorrow, two for joy…”
“What does it mean?” His son asked.
“You should salute a single magpie to cancel out any bad luck,” his dad said. “Or something unfortunate will happen. Two for joy means something good.”
“Did you not do that before your ladder slipped?” His son questioned, eyeing his father’s plaster cast.
“No. My bad luck, huh.”
“Hmm,” his son answered, walking away. He didn’t like to tell his father that he’d been riding his bike and accidently knocked against the ladder causing it to slip. Thank goodness he’d just seen two magpies thereby escaping punishment!

#21
Wittgenstein's Cat by Paula Puolakka - 99 Votes
The way how Mr. Kaczynski was treated in the media was a case of "Wittgenstein’s cat."
To the U.S. government, he was pure evil and later, slipped into the same category with the foreign terrorists. During his captivity, the world turned into a wasteland. The "overlords of technology" aggressively executed their programs, destroying Nature.
The state of the world, a fact, as Wittgenstein would state, should be a proof for every one of the 7.7 billion inhabitants of Earth that Mr. Kaczynski was right all the time. Wittgenstein’s blessing is that he has not been forced to witness the insanity.​

#22
Goldilocks by Paige Lawson - 262 Votes
A grand display of porcelain dolls decorates the otherwise empty room. Seemingly the same, but each with a personalised touch. All are clothed in a white pinafore dress, a red ribbon tied around their waist. Their eyes are are framed with thick lashes, coated with mascara, and curled to perfection. Red painted mouths are pushed forward in a pout, waiting for lips that will never meet.
“Wow. Their hair is so soft,” she whispers.
He stands behind her, stroking the back of her head, and pulling a knife from behind his back. “Yes. I think yours will fit quite nicely.”

#23
Hands Across Time by Julie Sheridan - 398 Votes
Mary waits at the gate. ‘Hello, my love, I’ve been waiting for you.’ She stretches out her hand.
The one I held in the back row of the pictures. The one I placed a ring on and pledged ‘till death do us part.’ Those hands peeled potatoes, rolled pastry for the best apple pies, soothed our baby girl, bashed out ‘Moonlight Sonata,’ on our old piano and ignited passion skin on skin in the dark hours.
‘What kept you?’ She asks.
‘Oh, you know life and stuff.’
She smiles. I take her hand and together we walk into the light.

#24
Rituals  by Joe Luther - 48 Votes
She pours herself another glass of water. Her wrist aches, but she doesn’t show it.
‘This chicken,’ he says, holding up a strip of brown meat. ‘This is special.’
‘Thank you,’ she says.
‘It’s excellent. I mean, really excellent. One of the nicest meals we’ve had in a long time, don’t you think?’
‘It’s nothing. I threw it together.’
‘I don’t believe that. Not for a second.’
‘Would you excuse me?’ she says, standing.
A flicker of irritation passes across his face, but then he is eating again.
‘This chicken,’ he says, as she leaves the room. ‘Superb. The best.’

#25
The Bird Feeders by Andy Mannion - 170 Votes
As the hearse drove away I recalled that fateful morning when I had found Tom struggling for breath gripped by a severe asthma attack.
I glanced over the fence at the empty bird feeders now hanging deserted in Tom’s garden. For reasons unknown the birds had always preferred Tom's feeders to mine, something Tom took great pleasure in reminding me of whenever I popped round for morning coffee.
I then turned and watched in awe at the finches balancing precariously on my feeders. Patting my thighs in quiet contentment I suddenly realised Tom's missing inhaler was still in my pocket.

#26
Sunshine by Linda Golding - 51 Votes
The sun baked hard down onto Trevor’s back. He knew he should go inside but he could not force himself to move. Trevor was of fair complexion and could feel himself slowly turning red as he lay in his garden. He had started off reading a tacky crime novel which he had bought for the beach but he had then fallen asleep, for how long he had no idea. The thought of taking a watch or any kind of time piece into the garden with him did not appeal. So there Trevor lay slowly cooking into a raw red mess!

#27
Weapons by Rose Tempest - 71 Votes
'You're one hard bitch, you know that?'
'Yes, I do... now come on kids, get your things together, time to go home.'
I look the other way as Michael and Jodie hug their father.
'It's so hard to say goodbye to them, you gotta understand...' his eyes plead into mine, 'Let me have longer with them? All next weekend, maybe?'
'No way. You chose this new life,' I look about the hallway, 'you said you didn't want the one you had. The one you had with us,' I usher the children out, 'So no. You can't see more of them.'

#28
The Son's Plea by Julie Sanford - 52 Votes
I am your bringer of life, I birthed you into this world, Kicking and screaming your face red and indignant. The love instant, I held you in my arms through my darkest times, you gave me hope, brought the light my reason to live to fight for all that was good, I will move mountains to make you happy. But there is one thing I cannot control, yet still every day you scream out in distress. Your pleas rip trenches into my scarred soul. My son my child. I have tried yet repeatedly fail alas, I cannot fix the internet.

#29
Rhubarb by Keith Davison - 254 Votes
I walked purposefully towards Christine, planning to rebuild recently damaged bridges.
“What?” she demanded.
“What do you mean, ‘what’?”
“You’re the one who came over here looking all macho.”
“I can’t do anything without you having a go at me. I’m trying to make an effort. I just want to talk like we used to…but it’s getting…it’s getting Rhubarb,” I replied, my anger subsiding.
“Rhubarb?”
“Yes, wet rhubarb.” I motioned vaguely at the rain.
“My mum and dad grow rhubarb in their garden. I don’t like the smell of it.”
To this day, I’ve not touched rhubarb, never mind custard.

#30
Snapped by Talitha van Niekerk - 70 Votes
She: isolate, desolate, conflict ringed. Abuse from every corner; respect is taught, but here not learnt. Teacher of all, mentor to none. Knowledge stored in vain, to prepare a generation for fame. Clamour around her tower; where books perish to red ink and shame, question marks, challenging remarks; as she shapes and moulds a clay, dry and devoid of elasticity. They defy the mould daily, replacing reason with pandemonium. Bang. Another chaos eruption; Krakatoa spews forth vestigial words and sounds, a meaningless tumult assaulting her fortress ceaselessly. She: contained no longer. Red on pages; red on walls; headline in papers.

#31
Last Words by Alex Morrison - 48 Votes
After the flood, the king demanded an audience with the Sea God. The Sea God agreed, and took the king far out to sea in a small boat.
‘You have drowned many of my people,’ said the king. ‘Why?’
‘Fun,’ said the Sea God, prising dirt from beneath a fingernail with a prong of his trident.
‘I order you to stop.’
The Sea God chuckled. ‘Bold words. You humans love words – last words in particular. You want to be remembered for saying something brave or clever.’ He threw the king over the side. ‘But usually you say…’
‘I can’t swim!’

#32
Choices by Megan Rutter - 140 Votes
“You must choose...” was static in my mind— a constant reminder of the high stakes. Either I died an unorthodox hero, or I played into the cruel fate where an innocent was sacrificed. On instinct, I ran and knew in a hummingbird heartbeat my choice was made. Like the sound of an ominous death march, my feet pounded against the foliage and electricity coursed through my veins. Even with inferno swallowing my lungs as if I was a Salem witch on trial, I refused to stop and ignored the deadweight aches, the searing pain. Pain was human, I wasn’t human.

#33
After the Crash by Judith Bristow - 118 Votes
I’m crouched in the heart of a gorse bush, spikes ripping my dirt smudged skin with every in and out breath. The flames are smaller now, and smoke carries your ghost away from the chaos, and away from me.
The thick smothering air guards the heavens from my ascent along with you; but you never wanted that anyway. The residual truth pains cut into my guts tenaciously.
At night I’ll step over the tangled misery of our former life, wriggle your ring from your burnt-up corpse, and leave the rest of you behind to become forever interred in earth’s keeping.

#34
Clockwork by Jonah Levkowitz - 311 Votes
We share a glass house. With the universe an arching dome, there is nowhere to hide. In agony, my lover and I only watch one another from either side.
Sometimes our lives are intertwined; gracefully hovering in each other’s presence. Close enough to touch, but our hands aren’t big enough. We are bound in metal coffins; turning in an eternal current. Our cog eyes can only stare at each other, becoming lost in perpetual pools of copper.
In our world-without-end, we listen to the tick-tock of our heartbeat, and know that even if we’re apart, we always beat as one.

#35
Kerbside  by Andrew Jolly - 68 Votes
I roll down onto the road, no problem. The tarmac is smooth, and the ease at which my wheels pass over the surface brings a smile to my face. It’s the little things. They’re the things that make me forget about losing my leg. But then I see the opposite kerb. It’s huge, like 10 inches high. Bollocks. I skirt it, and round the bend, looking for that illusive slope. Not one to be found, I spin my left wheel, exasperated; my empty trouser leg comes loose and catches the wind as my chair rotates. Fluttering there: my personal flag.

#36
Legs by Brian Webster - 244 Votes
He stared as Kate entered the room in the shortest shorts he’d ever seen. Wearing red high-heeled shoes that showed off her long, shapely, legs she stepped lightly into the transporter. It would dissolve their atoms to be reassembled in the other cage across town and would change travel forever.
The controls lights flashed briefly and they stepped out in the new location. Success.
Kate screamed and baffled he stared at her short, stumpy legs wondering what was going on until looking down he realised he’d acquired beautiful legs in red high-heels. Smiling he whispered, “maybe it’s not all bad”.

#37
What Is It You Ask?  by Nasrin Sultana - 37 Votes
It is a shade of dusky brutal red to some. It is the embrace of an unfaithful inamorata to some. It is the crackling sound of bones breaking to some, but it is also nothing to others. It can feel like a lover’s arm clasped around your heart quenching your throbbing pulse, but it can also feel like a paper being folded and unfolded many times until its remains are crumpled and its traces remaining in the crevices of your palm. What is thing you ask? Why, dear it is the very thing that has the world in chaos. Hate.

#38
Flattened by Benjamin Giles - 380 Votes
This morning on my run I saw a dead possum. Ringtail. Flattened on Art Gallery Road outside the Botanical Gardens entrance. Who is going to pick that up? I thought, running on. Should I tell a Gardens ranger? Or was it beyond their domain? Why couldn’t I clean it up they’d say? And perhaps they were right. Perhaps I should.
Later, when Albert and I were packing the boot for his cricket game, he pointed out a dead rat, squashed on the garage floor just behind our car. ‘Maybe we killed it Dad.’ The day had developed an ominous theme.

#39
Entry withdrawn from contest at the request of the writer. 03/03/2019
The No One Woman by Lucy Rose
As she kneaded the dough, flour floated into the air like ash from a volcanic eruption. It was a strange kind of chaos. The kitchen had the scent of spices and ebbing embers from the stone oven. Cinders and ash coated the floor, leaving behind strange little impressions from her bare footprints. This woman was no one and she would never be remembered, but she was making a meal that would be never be forgotten. The woman put the bread in the stone oven after carving out rolls and waited for them to toast.
She was making the last supper.

#40
The Itch  by Chiara Picchi - 65 Votes
The itch tingles, spreads, scampers up Seth’s shin, shifts, drifts direction, cramps the calf beneath the skin. An itch that can’t be scratched, etched deep in the flesh- unwelcome, unattainable, edging him towards insanity as attempts to appease it appear ineffective. Fingers flex over fabric, fingertips ghost, graze, gash, nails strike skin, serrate, lacerate, expose flesh. Blood surfaces, slithers, stains, suffocates the itch. A rush of relief arrives at last but it’s but a fleeting instant- the itch insists, ignites exasperation. It’s impossible to eliminate, eradicate. An eternal torture, a torment designed to deplete lucidity and reduce rationality to ruins.

#41
Philosophical Psychopath by Akeem Balogun -121 Votes
I met a philosopher in prison. He told me being outside wasn’t so different to being locked up. “Society is a prison,” he said. “Education’s absent, the food’s full of shit and medication’s poison.”
I kept quiet, and I listened.
When I was released, I burned down a school, a supermarket and a pharmacy.
I was imprisoned again. “What on God’s earth were you thinking?” the philosopher said. I stared at him and watched his nose twitch as he noticed the smell of smoke. A look of shock appeared on his face the same time the prison’s fire alarms sounded.

#42
The Door by Sam Palmer - 374 Votes
When he walks through the door I’ll know. His face will tell me his answer, it’ll be spread across it like a stain.
‘I can’t do this anymore.’
‘You want me to leave her?’
The word I want to say sticks in my throat, rough, jagged.
I shrug. ‘I can’t make that decision for you.’
He held both of my hands in his. ‘I just need some time.’
That was the last we spoke, the silence a fissure. Images of him creep into dreams like wraiths, a manifestation of hope. I wake feeling his hand on my hip.
I wait.

#43
Duty Free  by Mairi Jack - 59 Votes
Dreams of a holiday for the first time in her life bewitched the girl as she ran from her sparse council flat to join her new beau in the taxi.
Succumbing to his kiss, passion swamped any regrets. She loved her baby, but as a single mum at seventeen, not the daily struggles. She deserved this break and snuggled into her lover, anticipating days of Spanish sunshine.
Excitement quelled thoughts of her tiny son in a cot with four bottles of milk and rusks. And Bolt the Rottweiler, shut behind the flimsy bathroom door with water… and no food whatsoever…

#44
Wishes by Juliana Galloway - 52 Votes
In September the thistles grew feathers. Then came the cruel blade of the wind and sheared them all off. The bald thistles on their stilts of broken glass mourned, cried tears of grey-white down. ‘Wishes.’
As children, we’d catch ‘wishes,’ whisper our pleas into their little spokes, and send them wheeling up to the sky god, who sat on a cloud catching all the wishes in a butterfly-net, to make them come true.
One day, the sky god asked the weeping thistles as they shed their feathery tears, “what do you wish for?”
The thistles simply wished for more wishes.

#45
Midnight Tunes by Savior Eyo - 379 Votes
“Her last song was without words,” said Benjamin, holding a portrait.
Mmah was all creases and dewlaps with a smile carved on her face, a cachectic appearance housing two small eyes.
The ashen beam of the night-sun offered her the purest bliss: she sat with her little grandsons, Benjamin and Bernard, and hummed sonorous tunes under her nostrils, lolling her head from side to side while they clapped with jaunty harmony. “Ha-ha!” She exclaimed as they cheered her to a rapturous rendition.
That was the last the night heard of her.
“Her last words were without song, too,” said Bernard.

#46
Goodbye by Ella Mae Andersson  - 49 Votes
Standing on your street corner, I gently get embraced by a flood of rain drops, disguising my tears as they both fall down my face. I’d take a few more steps to your front door, but darling I’m petrified; scared for anything you could say. Maybe I’m scared you’d say you don’t want me like I want you- like your life with or without me would be the same. Maybe you’d say you love me, and I’d have to admit everything to you. Worst of all you could shut the door in my face and simply say a solitary “Goodbye”.


VOTING IS CLOSED FOR DRABBLE #2

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