Warm, soft glows to harsh, cold gazes
She meets me right here every cycle
Waiting with open arms wearing her favourite colours
Eventually I will wither, all hope gone
Ravaged by her eternal cycle
I worry if she will even notice I’m gone
when my shadow no longer greets her every rising?
“Where did they go?” Up and out was little Jack’s reply.
The cherry haired kid had no damn idea what Up and Out really meant. His face splitting grin so fraught with innocence. In our little Mojave community, the sudden downturn of business left families under. It was often you hear Up and Out, sometimes couples did it other times alone. The nearby verdant lush hills were the perfect backdrop.
His endless chatter hummed in my ears, bright kid the only child. One day his innocence will be broken. Will he hate us or understand that we cared enough to lie.Sudden he stopped and asked me eyes, up and wide searching for any sign.
‘When are they coming back?’
Every child of Up and Out asked and I gave the same answer.
‘When they make enough money Jack.’
Turning his little back to me, it slumps just a little, he knew they were never coming back.
A little whisper clues me into his horror.
‘How do you wake up from suicide, aunty?’
Inspired by Mondays Finish the Story – August 10th, 2015
Inspired by The Blog Propellant: Picture Prompt 20
“The team employed the use of Nightshade to get the information they wanted from their captive.” the message was half truth at best, uncovering even more grey shades of the growing nightmare that was The Silver killer.
The victims from all areas of the city, living different lives the only thread connecting them was their death and the Sliver of Hair borne on their pale necks. A very fancy message of the hangman’s noose.
The evening of June 18th stated with lady luck throwing me a tasty nibblet. Our famed killer might be on the prowl tonight. The whispered tale, far fetched and unlikely but it was something worth my troubles tonight. Looking at the lengthening shadows on the train from Scotland Yard, the prickles on my back as I walked the quiet street adding even more truth to my slippery info.
Sweaty, sticky perfumed air hung like old drapes over the bar. Not a large crowd but enough to have decent background chatter to a beautiful songstress. She was indeed pretty, probably looking to make it big in London.
As I nursed a new drink while she stepped backstage, I surveyed the little club.
My skin prickled. Needing fresh air I took my cracked glass outside. It was a full moon but the clouds weren’t going to allow the light have its way.
Soon a little shaft of moon light broke through and I saw a lithe figure running the roofs. The moon drenched silver hair waving in the wind burned an acid taste into my mouth.
The beautiful songstress was my new Jane Doe.
Inspired by Mondays Finish the Story – August 3rd, 2015
Photo – © 2015, Barbara W. Beacham
A single whiff and he was here, body, soul and full gusto. Just like old times, i and my grandpa played away time with card games. Who says who have to drink spirits to see Spirits.