Written for Mondays Finish The Story: April 27th 2015
“The only residents remaining in the small town of Miners Hill are spirits.” To be frank the only thing that could live there are spirits.
Inspired by Mondays Finish The Story: 25th May 2015
Image credit: © 2015, Barbara W. Beacham
Sometimes an outpouring of the Soul is needed without edit. Sometimes we just need to read the right words.
Writing from a beautiful blogger.
Sometimes, it feels being sensitive is a curse. You feel things- deeply, a little too deeply. It hurts, you need your heart to bleed but it doesn’t, you need the tears to fall but they won’t. And you stare- blank- at a wall, at mother nature, the earth, the skies, crying inwardly.
Your chest- it rises and falls and rises and falls. You feel the steady beat of your heart, in a regular rhythm. You take one look around and wonder. Where did I go wrong. Where did we go wrong.
You want to help. You stand up- take a walk on short steps to nowhere. Pondering all the while. Needing to blame somebody, yourself. And you wonder… You just keep wondering. What if it was me? And you wish all the pain they going through could be brought to you so that they could be free.
And the tears…
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The crew of the Angel Flame received orders to head out.
Heading out into the raging monster on Glen Avenue. I watched as Gary the last to board the truck, waved goodbye while gingerly hanging over the side. His ever wide grin so distinct under his Yellow Fire-fighters Hat.
I’m chief but every time my boys head out I say a little prayer underneath my bold face.
On instinct I retreat into the building walking to my well lit corner office on the 2nd floor overlooking the busy street. Glancing at my first crew shots of so long ago, Bier, Smith, Lex, Cole, the entire crew and I the newbie of Angel Flame 1986.
All gone but I and a handful. My sarcastic laugh echoes emptily as I imagined what our 15 strong crew has been reduced to, old men and lots in the town cemetery.
Inspired by a prompt on Mondays Finish The Story.
She would stare at the horizon all day
Amber rays and cool sprays the high of her day
When the tsunami came
She surfed that wave like no other
Our Golden retriever
With a golden soul
Her shadow has its place on our porch
One and only Lissy
Thank you for all the beach fun
…….’ My pen scrawls lines as she tilts my swing with her weight
A little crash later, I’m on the floor.
Hot dusty roly skies, with winds coming of the range scaldingly dry.
In my fantasy was a meadow of the bluest flowers, my county of Valwall stretching to the wooded horizon courtyards encircle my tower, being the princess meant i got everything i could want. My view still couldn’t stay my shivers, i meet my betrothed tonight.
What is he like.
My wandering thoughts shatter on hearing the chatter of powerful hooves. The horsed figure stops beneath my tower the blackest of cloaks conceal his features. All my thoughts disappear when eyes of the greenest sea collide with mine.
Friday Fictioneers challenge: 15 MAY 2015
Word Count: 99.
Continue reading “Half Dressed Grit”