Another Failed Attempt

This is for the weekly picture prompt from Ermilia’s Blog

Picture promt

How many times can one fail at this? The rain bit into my clothes, but I barely felt it past the pain. A man sat hunched over me, but I tried to ignore him.

“Hey! Why did you jump in front of my truck? Can you hear me?”

His hands were warm on the sides of my face. I hope he didn’t mind my tears. I looked to the left where his truck had slid off the road. I guessed he was going to care more about that in a second.

Someone came to a stop. I had to go. I had to disappear before anyone came.

I tried to roll over, but he pinned my shoulders to the ground.

“You’re not going anywhere,” he said.

“Get your damn hands off me.” My heart rate accelerated. Well it was good to know I still had one.

“Oh my God, I know you, you’re the–”

“Shut up. Did you call the cops?”

“No-I-I—“

“I’ll pay you a grand if you get me outta here.”

“You need to go to the hospital.”

“Take me to another town, and I will double the amount.”

He looked me over. I could tell from his attire and his truck he needed the money.
“Do you feel any pain in your neck or back,” he asked.

“No, just my left arm—“

“Hey do you guys need help, Should I call the police,” asked a woman who from the car. She had yelled from the lowered window of a shiny Bentley.

“No, we already did,” he said.

“Oh okay, have a good night,” said the woman. What an idiot. Well in my favor thank God she was an Idiot.

“I’m going to pick you up.”

I gritted my teeth and nodded my head.

“Don’t think you can just buy me off,” he said as he gently raised me, “After the hospital you’re going to explain everything.”
We’ll see about that…

Word of the Day: #4-Destruction

Destruction

My hips start to sway in rhythm to the angry tempo of my stomping boots. I tread a trail of anger and frustration. The beat of hate is when the sound of broken dishes or the scene of thrown eggs almost seems satisfying. This is the path of a scorned women. This is what comes before the tears. You feel like screaming at the top of your lungs, but instead lift a glass of destruction to your lips.

Who doesn’t feel destructive sometimes? The important part is to find reason before acting! I find writing and drawing very helpful when I feel this way. What about you? If you have anything to share feel free to comment?

The Petals of Life

My weekly response to Ermilia’s weekly Picture it and write prompt.

Red In Common

The Photo is from Tumblr

A petal falls, from the tuxedo pocket of a high school boy

A petal falls, from the wrist of a high school girl

Petals have fallen and petals still fall,

Two years of falling petals

A petal falls, from the bouquet of a late fiancé

a petal falls, from the bouquet of a smiling bride

Petals have fallen and petals still fall,

Twenty-two years of falling petals

A petal falls, from the plant in the waiting room

a petal falls, from the plant in the cancer specialist’s office

Petals have fallen and petals still fall

Two months of falling petals

A petal falls, from the bouquet on a hospital bedside tray

A petal falls, from a gripped fist onto the waiting dirt

Petals have fallen and petals still fall,

Tomorrow they will fall again

 

Haiku PLUS story about the Ocean, man-made structures, & S’mores

AnthropogenicA city awaits

the force of a rising tide.  

Our design won’t last.

I took this picture while visiting my mom on the Oregon Coast. My younger brother and I had walked away from the fire to find roasting sticks for s’mores when he shoved me and took off running. I was laughing and chasing him down when all of a sudden he jerked to a  stop and said, Look at this!” It was dark, but the light from the moon showed the outline of a massive city made out of stones. It was amazing! There was a wall between the taller stacked buildings and the shabbier ones located on the outskirts. My Photo doesn’t do the city justice, but you can get the idea. It took me four hours to build seven rock towers and maybe that’s because I was matching colors, but I know this took a lot of time and effort. My second thought was this is going to be gone when the tide comes in.

The Haiku is based around the idea of oceans rising and consuming land, therefor also wiping out man-made structures. The bigger idea is based on our design not lasting. Why would you spend so much time working on something that isn’t going to last even till tomorrow? The person who spent the time to build this could have been doing it for many reasons, boredom, stress relief, or to bring joy and excitement to others. Which spurs the idea of selflessness. So many thoughts because of someone’s simple act is a great thing.

Do you have anything to add or share? Feel free to do so in the comment area 🙂

Who Cleans the books at night?

This is for picture it and write from Ermilia’s blog.

MINOLTA DIGITAL CAMERA

Only three more books, and then I would be done with all the last names starting with the letter S. That was my given schedule for however long it took me. Every night, I managed 15 books and they were old and weathered, but cherished all the same. It took a lot of effort to pull the heavy books off the shelves, for I was a smallish library sprite. Most sprites stand at one and half feet tall, but I’m a shy millimeter from being a foot tall.

I was pushing in the last book when I saw Hunter through the shelf cracks. He should have been done long ago since he was a tall sprite. The books seemed effortless in his hands and I was usually the last one to go back into my assigned book. He turned around and caught me looking. I quickly ducked down, but saw his smirk. Dang, he has often caught me looking. I try not to, but It’s his bright green eyes with the dark lashes that catch my gaze and that smirky face.

“Lilly, I know you’re there.”
“No, I’m not,” I said and mentally slapped myself on the forehead.
“Are you spying on me?”
“No, I’m just wrapping up and going home.”

He came around the isle with a book in his hand.

“What are you doing with that.”
“I’m going somewhere different,” He said and started to flip the book open.
“That’s illegal, big no no, you know what they do to sprites who jump stories!”
He looked at me, raised his eyebrows, and said, “Yes, they give us more books to clean.”

He traced his hand across the page and looked up at me.
“What book are you stuck in?”

I actually would give anything to have a different story. Mine is filled with sadness and anger, and an ending I haven’t made it to yet. One day I will know my whole story, but you only get to the end when you’re very old. I try to always aim for the best parts, but sometimes I have to relive the evil ones.

“Yep, you’re in a sad book too,” he said. “Lets go to the ocean for one day.”

My heart flickered with lightness. I would love to go to the ocean. I had heard Emma, my spunky friend, talking about it before. She had said her book had a giant white whale in it, whatever that was, which lived in an ocean.

He placed the book on the shelf.
I gasped.
“Hunter you are dangerous. First you’re talking about jumping stories and now you’re shelving books in wrong spots.”
“Pish Posh, I see Frank do it all the time.”
“That’s great, so if Frank rips a page out of a book will you too?”
He looked hurt. “I would never rip a page out of a book,” he said.

And then he smiled at me and jumped into the book. I just stared at the empty space he left behind. I walked back and forth twice and then he jumped out of the book causing me to fall over backwards with a small yelp.

He started to laugh and so did I, until I heard the familiar sound of a tapping cane. Oh no, it was the library guard sprite. He was always in a bad way.
Hunter stopped laughing and held out his hand. I looked at his hand and then up to his still laughing eyes. He smirked and we jumped into the waiting book.