In Our Hearts Forever

Copyright – David Stewart

It’s the fragrance of the flowers that reminds you of him.  The masses of pink, red and orange swaying in the afternoon breeze against the backdrop of the blue sky framed by the mountains he loved. 

‘I am planting them now, so that they will be blooming when you visit’, he said.

Drawn by the red blooms next to the bell that hangs in the complex you move in for a closer inspection.  It is the red corn poppy - the flower of remembrance –a symbol of eternal sleep.  It’s bursting with life while he remains in our hearts forever.

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Written for Friday Fictioneers. Word Count : 100

I struggled to write this week as we grappled with what life had to offer.  In the end this was written in memory of my wife's brother Rahul who passed away this week on Thursday, an hour after he had talked about the flowers he had planted for our impending visit in December.

A Toast To Remember

Copyright: janet-webb

Here’s to us sweetheart a toast to remember those years.  All I have left are the memories, the digital photos and the portrait that he made of you.  An act of intimacy that made you forsake our staid life together.

The suspicious Inspector visited again yesterday.  I offered him the Sangria I had made.  My version has red wine, fruit juices, soda water, fruit and sometimes brandy.  I leave it to chill overnight letting the flavours blend into the drink. Stored in a large pitcher and served over ice.  A discerning man he commented on its rich full-bodied taste.

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Written for Friday Fictioneers. Word Count : 99

You Light Up My Life

Copyright – Dawn M. Miller

I hear them whispering behind my back, slyly casting innuendos while I breathe in the maliced air.

“That Alice, she is a strange one”, they say, “No time for people but babbles to her collection of lamps instead”.

The art of conversation is dead these days.  No one talks anymore, they just send inane texts. So I make these lamps myself.  Jane over there, she is pink and curvaceous.  A veritable Marilyn Monroe of lamps.

Aaron is smooth, muscular and radiating power.

Betty struggled when I threw her in the kiln yesterday. Look at her now, all soft and feminine. 

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Written for Friday Fictioneers. Word Count : 100

Burn Baby Burn

Copyright -Claire Fuller

It’s the craving that hits you in the middle of work.  Making you nauseous, dizzy and shaky.  It’s hard to concentrate and irritation sets in.  Carpet making be damned! Who made this rule of no smoking at work?  I don’t care if your pile is produced by techniques similar to those used in making velvet or chenille.  Least interested in your Renaissance architectural and floral patterns. 

I KNOW HOW TO SMOKE WITHOUT MAKING A MESS.

I burn with rage and turn to an empty workshop.  I must leave again.  They won’t ever believe my explanation of a spontaneous exothermic reaction.

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Written for Friday Fictioneers. Word Count : 100

Castle of Dreams

Copyright – Björn Rudberg

"Let's run away," she whispered.

"Where shall we go?" I moved in closer.

"To an island far away," her eyes sparkled, "With coastal cliffs, cascading waterfalls and lush green plantations."

"And our house?" I asked.

"Will be set in a vineyard with terraced fields of emerald hue."

"Our own Castillo de los Sueños."

"A castle of dreams" she smiled "with a shed to store the wine."

"I want one with a sloping tin roof," I held her hand.

"I grant you your wish," smilingly she closed her eyes.

The Hospital log recorded the time of death at 11:45 PM

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Written for Friday Fictioneers. Word Count : 99

The Awakening

copyright-erin-leary

The white sun casts a light over the swamp.  The creatures are disturbed.  I creep into their dreams at night and the voices tell them what to do.  Leaving behind smells of rotting flesh, vomit, urine, and faeces.  Flavouring their flesh with fear.

How long have I waited for this moment?  Only two hundred years but it seems like an eternity.  Time enough for the fear to subside and the stories to pass into legend.  No more do the parents keep their children away from the river's edge.

The white sun restores me.  The harvest will be good this year.

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Written for Friday Fictioneers. Word Count : 100

 

In the Footsteps of Giants

Copyright-Dawn Q. Landau

They say Giants once walked on this earth before their race died out leaving traces behind. Only he remained with his songs of lament by the shore.  A pod of wandering whales went by and spread them across the seas.  Until one day he stood rooted on the spot as his life ebbed away with the tide.  The salty breeze and passage of time eroded what remained.  You can see the outline of his foot where they made a pink tower.  It collapsed after the earth moved.  When the wind whistles through the ruins you can hear him singing again.

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Witten for Friday Fictioneers. Word Count : 100