The old clock spoke loudly from the corner. Midnight called. I looked up to the shadows beyond the desk. “No rest for me” I said.
lei fraser
imagine. create. become
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evening
by
Sitting with the fresh spring night
doves signal their return
to each other on the branch
we settle together
to wait for the first starsQuiet breeze rises to remind me again
of the delicate new leaves
who rustle and dance
in dim light around me
their song like a kiss
To my earsbut it is my soul
that holds closely
the hearts who have lost
and to whom the night air
brings no comfortFor them, only the faint touch
of hope and stillness
do I wish could be felt tonight
under the first silvered light
here with me
~la tyson
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sun drenched fields rolling
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sun-drenched fields rolling
along silent paths we rest
against low fencesShare this:
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simple threads of beads
by
simple thread of beads
clatter from the tabletop
empty cup waiting~ ql
quiet laughter in between
sounds of feelings yet unseen
~ joybringerthe neck now exposed
a rumour of a smile grows
playing across lips~ql
when the heart’s room is empty
the true soul friend’s will appear
~happinessShare this:
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frosted morning field
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frosted morning field
as sunrise paints sky orange
seven deer stop to watch
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not me, it’s not me
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not me, it’s not me
climbing inside the darkness
searching inner sky
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twiction 30
by
‘Do you know what you are doing?” he asked. She kept her head down. ‘Yes. Now do it!” and he flipped the switch. Her screams echoed.
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not me – climbing inside
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Not Me – Climbing Inside.
20 minutes free fall‘It’s dark in here’ Christine said. Her voice was small and plaintive. Christine reached blindly for the door, but couldn’t figure out which way she was facing. Sound did nothing in the small closet. Her voice did not carry very far. It was like talking into a pillow. No echo, only dead air.
‘Shut up.” Christine’s mother said through the heavy wooden door. She was standing on the other side, holding the old iron key between her fingers. Christine’s mother waved it slightly back and forth in front of her face. Christine couldn’t see her. It was a good thing. Her mother’s face was contorted with sick delight as she planned what came next. Christine tried to turn herself around in the closet. It was packed with old boxes and a broom that was never used because it was too big for Christine to hold on to. Christine knew the end of the broom though. The sharp straw still poked into her arms and snagging her sweater.
“It’s hard to breathe. Momma, I want to come out.” Christine tried to be brave. She was crying but didn’t want Momma to know. Christine was starting to get hot. Sweat trickled down her back and from underneath her straight bangs down the side of her face. She struggled to take off her sweater. Her head got stuck as she pulled it over, then Christine realized her left arm was also stuck. Her heart pounded in her ears as she pulled again and again but nothing would come loose. She bumped against the walls. Plaster dust rained down on her, making her cough. Christine pulled hard one more time and finally the sweater came off. Christine took a deep breath and coughed again. She was relieved all the same.
“Don’t whine you little brat. You know what you did. This is your punishment. If you keep asking to come out I am going to leave you there all night.” She snapped. Christine’s mother turned and looked at the clock. She sucked on her teeth and clicked them with her tongue. She slammed the key down on the kitchen table and shouted at the closet door.
“You see, you little shit. You made me miss the beginning of my show. You sit there in the dark and think about what a bad girl you are. Think about how you much you deserve to be in there with the bugs and spiders. You’re only coming out when I say so.” Christine’s mother stomped into the living room and turned on the television. She turned the volume up loud so that she couldn’t hear Christine calling from the closet. She stepped around the coffee table and flopped down onto the threadbare sofa and stuffed a worn under stuffed pillow under her cubby head. Christine’s mother took out a cigarette and lit it. She inhaled deeply and with a sigh of relief let the smoke flow out her nostrils like a sick old dragon.
Christine hugged her knees tightly in the closet. She knew that her mother would not let her out for at least an hour, until her show was done. Maybe longer if she fell asleep on the sofa again. She had no choice but to wait. Christine closed her eyes. She could still picture her mother lying on the sofa, smoking. The ashes would crumble off the end of the cigarette and land on the old beige carpet. There were little black holes where the hot ashes had fallen and smouldered until her mother got up and smothered them with the heel of her yellow slippers.
The carpet had been a dusty rose colour at one time. Christine had discovered this while trying to hide from her mother behind the book case in the corner of the living room. Christine never remembered seeing the entire carpet looking like that. Like soft tongue of a kitten. It made her sad to realize it. She didn’t have time to think about it much longer that day. Seconds later, her mother found her and hauled her out from behind the bookcase by the arm. She dragged Christine to the kitchen and hit her back with the flat of her fat hand until Christine could no longer stand. Christine couldn’t remember what she had done that day to deserve it. Just like she couldn’t remember why her mother had shoved her in the closet today, but probably it was because she hadn’t folded the towels the right way, or she had played outside too long and didn’t get the coffee maker started in time for when Momma woke up. Christine didn’t know. She knew better though than to ask.
Christine sighed and listened to the muffled sounds from the television through the thin walls. She couldn’t tell the difference between the commercials and the story. The sounds blended together into a weird barely heard song. Christine closed her eyes and rested her head on her knees. Her eyes snapped open. Christine panicked at first because she didn’t know where she was. She was confused because it was still pitch black dark. Then it came back to her where she was. Her nostrils stung. They were filled with smoke. Christine scrambled to her knees, scraping them against the edge of something, a cardboard box probably. Christine didn’t understand what was going on. There was a crackling sound that was getting louder, fighting with Momma’s screams. Christine didn’t move. Smoke, sirens and her mother’s shrieking filled the darkness.
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twiction 30
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‘Do you know what you are doing?” he asked. She kept her head down. ‘Yes. Now do it!” and he flipped the switch. Her screams echoed.
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lilac soaks the skin
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lilac soaks the skin
spring stumbles through the doorway
drunk on heavy scent~
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A Night Fear – beginning
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20 min
new assignment – prompt “A night fear”
~The candles sputtered as he walked by. It had been a normal day. He spent nine hours in the office, listening to the others create more work for him. Henry said nothing. Just smiled as they talked themselves into believing they were actually solving problems, rather than creating new ones. It didn’t matter to him. He was getting paid by the hour. The more problems there were, the better it was for him – even if they were the stupidest problems possible. Henry hated smart people but they were the reason he still had a job so he learned early on to keep his mouth shut.
The storm came up suddenly after he had finished his supper. Henry sat at the small melamine table with aluminum strips edging the table top, fork halfway up to his mouth and the lights went out.
“Shit.” He said to the darkness. Henry thought about where he had put the emergency candles. The junk drawer in the kitchen. He stood and pushed the chair back with his calves. There was a sudden flash of lightning that lit up the room. Henry saw he had a clear path to the kitchen. He fumbled with the drawers, cutting his hand in the first one he opened. He had forgotten about the knives in the first one. Henry sucked at the blood oozing from his index finger. He opened another, towels. Another, things he couldn’t identify. String, papers, elastics. He decided it had to be the junk drawer. He dug his other hand in deeper until the tips of his fingers touched cool wax.
Bingo, he thought. He grabbed a handful and went back to the dining room. A few minutes later, the candlelight leaped across the empty walls. His microwave dinner was cold. Henry shoved it aside. He would wait until the power came back on to heat it up again, even though it tasted like cardboard. The doorbell rang suddenly. The shrill buzzer cut through the night like a sharp blade. Henry jumped and felt his skin prickle. He was not expecting anyone. Henry went to the door and leaned in to look through the peep hole.
“Hello?” he asked. He couldn’t see anyone in front of the door. Henry could see that the storm was getting worse. The rain fell in distorted sheets as he peered through the warped glass. He didn’t want to open the door. Who ever it was must have left. He went into the living room and slumped into his easy chair. He fingered the remote control. The tv was dead. It sat gaping at him black mouthed and empty. Henry rubbed his face with one hand. He could have sworn that it was smirking at him. He leaned back and sighed. Henry was too tired. The doorbell rang again. Henry didn’t jump this time. He didn’t move. The doorbell rang again. Henry still did not move. The bell fell silent. Henry closed his eyes.
The storm moved outside. He vaguely heard the trees groaning in protest, but they were drowned out by the roar of the wind. In spite of the racket Henry fell asleep. As the minutes ticked methodically by, his head lolled back against the top of the easy chair. The odd angle of his neck caused Henry to start snoring. He sounded like he was drowning in his own salvia.
Wax from the candles started to drip over the edge of the side table and spilled onto the linoleum below. It bubbled outward with each drop. There was a loud knock on the back door. Henry did not stir. He did not hear the rapping on the glass either. Nor did he see the ghostly white face of the young boy eyes wide and terrified looking in. Henry kept on sleeping.
Thunder boomed and lightning flashed repeatedly outside the window. When the tree crashed through the roof of the house, crushing Henry’s front porch, Henry woke up. Branches and debris narrowly missed him. Henry leapt to his feet, swearing a blue streak. He tried the phone but the line was dead. He stumbled through the kitchen and out the backdoor. Cold rain assaulted him. Henry hurried into the bleak darkness towards the alley that ran behind his house. He did not see the red lights flashing until he made it passed the high wooden fence.
“Hey Buddy? You ok?” someone asked Henry. The white light from their flashlight blinded him. He lifted his arm to shield himself from the intense light. The unknown man pulled his arm and Henry had no choice but to follow. He didn’t know what else to do. The rain stung his eyes, making it impossible to see. Henry could only hear his voice cutting in and out with the wind.
“Ralph, check this guy out.” The voice said. Another voice shouted in between claps of thunder. Unseen hands gently pushed Henry into sitting again.
“You hurt?” the new voice asked. Henry shook his head. He realized that whatever happened, he was ok. He struggled to find his voice.
“Nah, I’m fine.” He croaked. Henry thought his voice sounded like someone else’s.
“You’re lucky man, that big old tree crushed most of your house! Lucky to be alive.” He said. Henry nodded, not knowing what else to say.
It wasn’t until morning, when the sun rose, red and ominous over the wreckage that the rescuers found the boy’s mangled body under the bench on what used to be his front porch. That was the beginning of Henry’s night fear.
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twiction 29
by
Click. click. click. Terry snapped the pen between his fingers. Click. He wondered who would be the first to flip out, He smiled.
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