The Arboretum

Copyright-John Nixon

I hear the susurration of wind in the leaves as they begin to shake and rustle upon my approach.  I watch the trees in the arboretum with branches bent as in graceful mudras of dance.

She demonstrated them to me on a rainy day when we were still together.  The alapadma mudra originating from the story of young Krishna stealing milk and butter with the palms facing upwards, the fingers stretched, separated and extended as if asking “why”. 

The boughs ask those questions of me now.  Why couldn’t my jealous heart share her? Why does my lamentable crime remain underground?

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Written for Friday Fictioneers. Word Count : 100

The Second Helping

Copyright -Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

“They say that old man on the top floor eats children.”

“Bah! That’s to scare us from going to the top.  I bet we can get inside his house if we knock.”

“You can go I am staying out here.”

When he didn’t come back I had go and fetch him.  That seemed to be my duty in life.  Waiting for that lift to descend, opening the rusted doors, gagging in the stench and the whirring sound of the lift slowly cranking it’s way upwards.

“I am looking for my friend.”

“Ah yes, do come in. It’s time for seconds.”

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Written for Friday Fictioneers. Word Count : 100

Burning Bridges

Copyright – Adam Ickes

There were clouds on the horizon when my sister-in-law called to say that she was leaving.  My brother came back a hero, but found a different world from the one he had left behind.   He had served combat tours surrounded by deaths, witnessed injuries to multiple internal organs, bone fractures, burns and then some more.

Her?  She wept on a soldier's death or suicide; mourned at funerals and memorials.  Then he came back, still adoring her but hitting and screaming intensified. 

“We stand on the opposite sides”, she said, “with no other option than to burn the bridge and run.”

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Written for Friday Fictioneers. Word Count : 100

Chasing Volcanos

Copyright – Danny Bowman

You stand in silent reverence while rumblings deep inside the Earth find expression in explosive eruptions. 

Ol Doinyo Lengai, the Mountain of God, where lava fountains harden in mid-air then shatter like glass.  My Maasai guides tell me that the creator of the world, Ngai, has resided there since time immemorial. 

The red Ngai Na-nyokie burns with anger and must be placated.   A benevolent aftermath is the black Ngai Narok. 

Like my mother, I think, with her outbursts of anger, loud denouncements and accusations.  The loving making up which followed each explosion. Is this why I am a volcano chaser?

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Written for Friday Fictioneers. Word Count : 100

Made for Each Other

Copyright -Sandra Crook

She cast a jaded eye outside as the silver Mercedes came to a stop in the tiny hamlet.  A farmer’s tractor laden with freshly scythed hay was slowly making its way along the local road.   He was smiling and laughing with his passengers – a young woman and a child.

He was still the same, those powerful shoulders, the strong jawline and that aquiline look.  He adored her but she had still left him.  Now beside her sat her lying and philandering husband.  Buying a French chateau to make up for last year peccadillos. 

A bastard but we deserve each other. 

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Written for Friday Fictioneers. Word Count : 100