Writer Wed for Sept 21

New theme for Writer WED.  Write a small piece of flash fiction(500-1000 words) This can be a dream of your own, a character's dream or even the dream of a tree. As long as it is a dream. Also don't forget to send them to theEAC1@yahoo.com with the words Writer WED and the date in the subject line.


The posts will be up next week for this week. Theme is DREAM.

The Theme for OCT 6th is What is in the round box?


Also if you have a novel coming out and this is from that novel make sure to tell me.

The following is a list of people whose work was read today.

Elizabeth Kolodziej
E. A. Irwin
Missy Davis
Blaze Mc Rob
Joann H. Buchanan

I'm looking forward to seeing what's coming next!!

Literally

By Elizabeth J Kolodziej

Looking below I wondered if I should go face down or face up. With the later I could look up into the angry storm clouds above. They seemed ready to burst; ready to let the rain fall, but to my discontent the only thing wet was the air. Though, the thunder continued to be menacing while the lightning stayed enticing.

Tapping my finger to my chin I continued the discussion in my head.

If I went face down I would only get to see the emptiness of a dimly lit street below me. It had to be past three in the morning by now. I had come up here at two and due to my indecisiveness I couldn’t settle on whether I should just let myself fall. Or how. Both were decisions that really needed to be thought through before committing to.  

Always known for getting back up, landing on feet, going forward, never letting anything keep me down and all those other clichés. What people never seem to understand is that I am tired of having to get back up. I’m tired of always, eventually…falling.

And I’m not talking about a hiccup in the road or stumbling a little over a stupid pebble. No. I’m talking about falling so deep down in that hole that your fingers bleed while you pull yourself back up. Because when I fall I make sure I fall profoundly.

And so, I have fallen yet again, into that philosophical, reflective, empty, endless pool of a hole. Yes, I could go get help, a friend or a psychologist to talk to…but. But something in me is tired of talking. Even when I have something to say I don’t speak out loud anymore. Maybe because speaking is what gets you to fall? You say the wrong thing to a friend’s new girlfriend, or cuss in front of your boss, tell the truth to a family member. And that whole saying…er, not saying…what was it?

When all is said and done.

Yes. That’s exactly how I feel. I have said and done everything I want to. Want to.

Shuffling my feet a little on the ledge I saw the irony of the whole situation. Well, if you look at it from my twisted view that is. I felt like I was falling. Yet! I was standing on top of a five-story building. The falling, thus far, only being figurative. The height, at the moment, being reality.

Well, not that I wasn’t, in a way, at the bottom of a dark hole.

Still falling.

But that even though I was, me literally falling wasn’t reality. Not thus far.

All-though, if something is metaphoric then someone could just step away from it since it isn’t real. Is that why people always commented on how resilient I am? Because I stepped out of a metaphorical hole I was falling down? But in reality I was able to actually stand up tall above others like I am doing now. Or is it all just figurative?

Or could I make them both reality and fall. Face up of course. I finally decided at least that. I didn’t want to miss the sight of all that lightning on this crisp autumn night of morning.

I didn’t want to miss that… So many things I could miss if I let myself fall. Literally. 

  

I See The Aroma Of Love

Blaze McRob

I see the aroma of love, intense, so satisfying, hearing her lips touch mine as the sweet taste of the inferno blazing deep within her envelops us both. Our arms encircle each other, and we hear the passion inside us, knowing our bodies can not long resist the visions our souls already see within the tastes of our bondage to one another.

We draw in to each other, our clothing confining the wondrous sounds of enveloping smells hidden within, screaming out for release,  demanding a proper airing of feelings for tastes to see.

I take her down onto the bed so I can smell  her precious, angelic body next to mine, catching her every sigh on my tongue, to roll around with delight born of supreme pleasure. She responds to me, hearing my throbbing body react to the feelings of my vision.

The very air is charged with the taste of electricity fathomed from within the consciousness of desires heard within our souls. We see the feelings of ecstasy approaching, waiting to smell the rapturous delights awaiting the de-flowering of the innocence of pure love.

She knows the time is now, tasting the rapid sound of my beating heart, smelling my body respond to the sight of her warmth. We part slightly, only enough to remove the confining constraints keeping us from the fulfillment of touching the sounds of bliss we will see upon tasting Nirvana.

I feel the miraculous taste of the Nectar of the Gods, urging us to embark on a voyage to see the aromas of ecstasy displayed in all the senses we possess, telling us to blur the lines between them and to embrace them as one. We listen to the voices, forming a union of love, coupling sight and sound, taste and smell, creating a feeling of euphoria unable to be felt in any other way.

We freely taste the sights of orgasmic aromas heard through the feelings of our heightened arousal and explode together in a dizzying elevation of before un-known  spiritual and physical euphoria.

I hold her close. We fall:  fall deeply into the magic of our senses.

I see the aroma of love.

Frozen

by E. A. Irwin

Wind rocked my car,

buffeting with the ferocity

of an angry Tempestarii

flying through the air,

grabbing elements for

his use as he began his

assault on the earth.

His voice howled through my head,

making his foul mood known,

splintering my thoughts

until I was left dazed and distraught

from the encroaching demon.

I’d watched the flakes fall,

their luminescence appeared

ghostly and bleached against

the world of quickening black,

as if the sky shook goose feathers

upon the ground, where they lay

in silent sheeted sureness.

Desperation clung like

ugly second skin,

its frozen blanket numbing

my body and existence alike.

Thoughts turned to icy fog,

giving the frigid wasteland

of my brain atmosphere to enjoy

while the onslaught of winter’s

torment beat the land.

What would they say as another

hundred years closed its doors?

Was this the worst season of brutal

weather nature could serve?

Panic seared through my veins,

heating the fragile remainder

of what I was, until it too

succumbed to the knowledge

of relinquished life to the

Tempestarii’s enveloping revenge.

Yes, this was the worst winter had to offer.

And, as the layers of frozen wonder

drifted higher, my vision grew hazy,

tempted by the villain of sleep.

My numbed finger dragged

against icy glass one last time

before finding its rest.

Closing my eyes, I dreamed of summer,

remembering my last words

written into eternity.

I was here.

©E. A. Irwin

The Fall

By Melissa Davis

The leaves were turning auburn when she got the news in the fall. She had held her breath and crossed her fingers before she dared dream this moment would come, but it had. The moment she found out about the little one growing inside her, her dreams spread wings and flew higher than she ever imagined. She almost had given up on this lifetime. She knew that her past lives were filled with desperation as she had never had the joy of a child in any of them. She was not going to let this one go. She would do whatever she could to make sure this one survived.

She did everything she was supposed to and then some. She cut out all the caffeine, even though she had guzzled it down since she had entered college. She avoided the lunchmeat, the pineapples, even the peanut butter. She took all her vitamins each day just as she should. She did it all with a grace and love that came so easy to her. She wanted more than anything to hold a child of her own.

Her life before was traumatic. There was no other way to describe it. When she had the chance to leave it all behind she left and never came back to where it started. She met a truly wonderful man that loved her more than she ever thought she deserved. They had come together so easily and their differences made them closer. He was everything she needed and sometimes more than she ever thought she would ever have. They even had the fairytale wedding that she never let herself imagine. When she was finally safe, she had done so much healing so that someday she would be a better mother. She wanted her child to never feel afraid, to be safe in her own skin and know that she was more than good enough, she was everything.

The day her water broke she entered the hospital excited to be there, happy to greet the nurses, and anxious to get the show on the road. She stayed calm, as calm as still water on a morning lake. A few hours of pitocin, the repeated placement of the epidurals, none of these things ruined her calm. She would have a child, she would not let her past lives predict her future. When she was finally ready to push, she pushed with every breath in her body, but it was not enough. Her child was not going to come out naturally. The doctor was called and she was prepped for her first major surgery of her life.

She held her breath when her child was pulled out of her. She tensed up waiting for the most important sound in the world. She almost cried when she heard it. The first audible wail from her tiny little girl. She was so beautiful, tiny and wrinkled. It was never so easy to fall in love, but this little miracle was lifetimes of dreams and she was worth every one. Dreams do come true. They mold and shape and turn into things you never imagined and sent you down paths you were afraid to walk. She would never let her past define her future again.

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Fallen

I sleep alone every night
I live alone with you
The shells beneath
My feet are cracking
Soon I will fall through.

Not a word of tenderness
Do you give
And
Yet
I wait

For what

Tis not wasted time I seek
But something

Real.

Oh so tired

Dear God please
Just give me peace.

Let not more days
My penitence take.

Have I paid enough
For my accidental
Existance?

I am alone. Please no more.
I have fallen.
Help
I have fallen. 

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The Mask

A mask is an article normally worn on the face, typically for protection, disguise, performance or entertainment. Masks have been used since antiquity for both ceremonial and practical purposes. They are usually worn on the face. 

Jenni with an “I” had to laugh a little when her teacher read the definition in class. They are invisible, she said aloud.

“I’m sorry, Jenni, did you have something to add?” her teacher Mrs. Wheatcroft asked. Her bright colored moo moo danced across her body when she waddled towards Jenni.

Jenni looked up from her paper. “I said they are invisible,” she replied in almost a whisper.

“Why would you say that?” Mrs Wheatcroft asked.

“My mama wears one all the time. You folks never see it, but I do,” she said.

“Why would you say such a horrible thing about your mom? She has been a wonderful help in this class room,” Mrs. Wheatcroft said.

“Of course, that’s the mask,” Jenni replied.

“You can go to the principal’s office until you decide to apologize about the statements made about your mother and stop interrupting this class,” Mrs. Wheatcroft said in a huff.

The fat woman pointed towards the door. Jenni smiled, “I didn’t want to have your fat ass as a teacher anyways,” Jenni responded on her way out the door.

She heard Mrs.Wheatcroft tell the class to finish copying the definitions from the book.

She made her way down the hall, not really sure why she spoke up in class. She just knew what she said was true. Just the other day, Jenni was given a simple chore to do, take the trash out. The job itself, simple. Take the bag out of the trash can, walk it out to the dumpster in the alley and toss the bag in, replace the removed bag in the trashcan.

Simple enough, even a toddler could do it. Jenni lost her way though. On her way to the dumpster she ran into Suzy from down the street. Jenni loved playing with Suzy. Suzy had a shiny pink new bike and her mom always had snacks ready for her when she got home. Jenni didn’t remember a single time she heard Suzy’s mom yell or scream. Suzy had pretty blond hair that her mother curled and oh man was it ever pretty, as Jenni would say.

“Wanna ride bikes?” Suzy asked.

“Mine is broke,” Jenni said.

“That’s ok, I’ll ride the scooter and you can ride my bike,” Suzy said.

Jenni’s eyes brightened and her heart raced a little with anticipation. “Really? Your mom won’t mind?”

“Why would she, it’s my bike,” Suzy stated.

“Sure, “ she shut the lid to the trashcan and raced off with Suzy.

Just the thought of riding a shiny new bike, one that wasn’t some hand me down or picked up from the dump was too much temptation to walk away from. To have something new, even if just for a moment oh the sweet joy of it caused her heart to flutter and her mind to wander. The final part of her chore, putting a new bag in the trash can, skipped like a rock skipping across the pond.

They arrived at Suzy’s house. There was a small wicker table and chair set sitting on the porch a few feet away from the front door. On the table was a small plate of cheese and crackers and two glasses of milk.

“Thanks mom, “Suzy yelled in the screen door.

“Stay around this block,” Suzy’s mom said through the screen.

“Will do,” Suzy replied. “Here have one, “ she handed Jenni a cracker with cheese in the middle along with a glass of milk.

Jenni smiled, “Thank you. Is your mom always like this?”

“Yes, isn’t yours?”

“No,”

“What is she like?”

“You don’t want to know. Come on let’s go riding,” Jenni said, avoiding the question.

Suzy climbed on the scooter and just like she said, Jenni was able to get on the shiny new bike. The pink bike had glittering tassels flowing out from the handle bars. They danced in the wind and brushed against Jenni’s arm. The pedals glided with ease. Up. . . Down. . . Up… Down.  The wind passed through her hair and for the first time in Jenni’s life, she felt a freedom she had never known.

“I could use this to leave everyone behind,” she thought. “That would be stealing though,”

The sun began to settle beyond the horizon creating an orange hue across the sky. “We better get back home, “Suzy said.

Jenni’s heart dropped. “Yeah, I know. Thanks for letting me ride your pretty new bike,” she said.

“You’re welcome,” Suzy answered.

“Oh no! I forgot the bag!” Jenni yelled out.

She raced Suzy’s bike back to her house. “I have to get home,” she told Suzy.

“What bag?” Suzy asked.

“The trash bag,” Jenni responded. She felt the blood rush out of her face. If her mom already knew-

Jenny raced off without explanation. She ran in through the side door of the house, the one closest to the kitchen an reached into the drawer for the box of trash bags.

“Looking for these?” Jenni jumped at the voice.

The box of trash bags slammed down on her head. The first try met with such a force, it was like a brick had stuck her.

Some slammed into her side causing Jenni’s mind to blacken in pain. Terror masked the pain and adrenaline of surviving kicked in. Jenni backed away from the crazed woman with the box, fashioned as a weapon of discipline. The door bell rang.  Her mom stopped the box from slamming down on her in mid air.

“I’ll be back to finish this in a minute. Don’t even think of moving,” her mom said.

Jenni watched her mom brush her hair in place with both hands. She heard her mom open the door, wearing the mask she always wore when people were around.

“Can I help you?”

“My mom said Jenni could come over for smore’s we’re doing them in the back yard. Can she come?”

Jenni recognized Suzy’s voice and wanted to scream out for her to run. She didn’t though. She stayed silent, on the floor against the cabinets. She did as she was told.

A tingling sensation trickled down her face. Jenni reached up to touch it and brought into her eyesight  Blood soaked finger tips.  Her head ached from the slight touch. Her head had been gouged just above the hair line. Her arms had scratches from the heavy box.

A few moments later her mom came back. “I bet you never forget to put a trash bag in the trash can again,” she said. “Go clean yourself up and get to bed. I don’t want to see you again.”

Jenni rushed up the stairs and into the bathroom. She turned the shower, took her clothes off and stepped inside. The running water muffled her silent sobs. The water blood mixed at the bottom of the shower. Her body racked with bruises, scratches and her head pounded.

There were so many times she wanted to say please, it isn’t safe. Can I come home with you?

She thought about it on the way to the principal’s office. She knew though, no one would believe her. The invisible mask her mom wore in the world was made of sweet invisible honey that was sour to the taste and painful to the touch.

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