Somewhere in the rolling foothills of the Appalachian Mountains, Bobbi Sue and Young Tom Hill lay upon the drought-browned grass, watching the sun, low on the horizon, paint the hills in tangerine yellow while the sky looked like an artist’s palette had exploded across the clouds.
“Hey Tommy, you think the Millers are gone close down the poultry plant?” Bobbi Sue worried aloud.
“I’on’ really know Bobbi Sue. I’on’ think they cain. Mayor Brown’s too invested. Ain’t worried none m’self. It’ll all be a’ight. Trus’.”
Bobbi Sue rolled on her side, “Yeah, but my paw was sayin’ thet them new ‘bots they’s got cost more than they’s worth. ‘n’ the Millers are strugglin’ hard-like.”
“Yor paw needs to be mindin’ his own bidness. If the Mayor says that we’ll be a’right, we’ll be a’right. M’kay?” Tom dismissed her as he stood.
Not another word was said as Young Tom Hill turned on his heel and headed toward the road.
Bobbi Sue threw herself back on her back and just glowered up at the sky.
—fin opening scene—
untitled
Writing Prompt #9: “A nurse arrives to inform me that I will be required to dine with the rest of the patients tonight.”
CW: institutional violence, also may be trigger for persons with food-related sensitivities.
Prompt courtesy of Emelie Autumn’s newsletter, this #9 of 50.
rough draft
((rough draft))
While I ponder weak and weary,
Words to write all bleak and dreary;
There came a sound of someone tapping,
Keeping rhythm, gently rapping.
The def MC: Edgar Allan Poe
Conjuring a world filled with woe.
Inspiration! It does bestow.
To add my words upon his flow.
He won’t catch me nearly napping,
‘Round the track, I’ll be lapping.
On this grey day, the mist is eerie,
So warm yourself by the fire, dearie
“Life is Short”
The past is behind us,
Photos guide memories of what used to be.
The future stretches out before us:
Unpredictable, uncounted, and unknown.
The only thing we truly have is right now.
the present is a gift.
For a Friend
No, you can’t save time in a bottle,
So I’ll crack the cap and drink this one down.
Remembering you makes me happy,
Although, at times, with a frown.
The evenings we spent laughing,
The days that we shared were too few.
And though the memories bring joy,
Remembering ignites the pain anew.
“Pour one out for the homies,”
To all the memories we shared.
But Sam, my dear,
You were the only one that cared.
Forgive and forget is easy to say,
But so much, much harder to do.
For you, there is nothing to forgive.
And I could never forget you.
And so I will drink it up to drown away the pain
While I write and the keyboard my tears do stain.
Shakespeare in High School
Once upon a Greening bright
When morning dew cast early light
To paint the day all rainbow hued,
Caught was I, my britches askew,
While from the mists of swirling grey
Did coalesce my fair and bonny bae.
Long that Summer we did spar
In the back of my parent’s car
With fencing tongues in Midday’s heat
My Heart in hand (or hand on teat!)
Through many long days and too short nights
We did consume Earthly Delights
‘Twas fun, until the Autumn fell
Over lattes, I heard the knell
Of the deathbell, something’s not right
She slipped away in dead of night.
Be this Trick or be this a Treat?
The candy is but mine to eat…
Then came Winter, through the long dark
Binging Netflix, “yay, Tony Stark.”
Nothing but doldrums. Woe is me.
Perhaps I’ll write some poetry.
A tale of love forlorn and lost,
My brain is but a tempest tossed.
“Once upon a Greening bright
When morning dew cast early light
To paint the day all rainbow hued,
Caught was I, my britches askew,
While from the mists of swirling grey
Did coalesce my fair and bonny bae.”
Misspent Youth: A Child’s View of the World
Absracted Art.
An empathetic view of the world through the emotions of childhood.
We were all children once. But these stories are not necessarily my own. Like an actor uses their own lived experience to capture someone else’s story, so too have I done here in digital paint.
Yes, each image has a story. But the story you see does not need to match, mirror, or even approximate the one I was telling. I told a story while painting these. You are invited to tell a story when you view them. As such, I freely release these into the Public Domain.
Silky’s Epilogue
Silky’s Epilogue
Somewhere, over the Rainbow Bridge, in the fields of Folkvangr, where the Summer never fades, a new Warrior Queen, as black as Caves of Nidavellir, arrives to lounge in the summer sun. She claims her place by Freyja’s throne, swatting at Bygul and Trjegul, reminding them that in Freyja’s Court, she outranks them. She mingles with two regal brindle tortoiseshell cats, but only because they shared time with her Human too. They were before her time; they did not attempt to replace her place with her Human. If anything, she replaced them.
Silky, Missy, and Little Miss Mischief learn to cooperate and hunt together, becoming the fiercest felines in all of Folkvangr. They know that when their Human’s time comes, Fae will arrive at Odin’s hall, Walhol, and they will meet Fae there, to stride into the final Battles of Ragnarok together.
“Dear Mr. Frost”
Hey, Mister Frost, sir,
The night’s sure cold, brrr.
Can we just stop, sir?
Listen to the whir
of the trees and breeze?
To rest and sleep, please?
We’ve been walking hours
and my mind devours
everything you said
pouring through my head.
Sir, are we there yet?
Can I let go yet?
Still miles to go
True, this, I do know.
The wind in my face,
So still we keep pace.
This I know is true:
No sleep, for me or you.
The Elder’s Warning
Listen well Childer, for I shall not repeat myself.
When we wake upon the morrow, we all must face a choice.
Do we cling to that threadbare veil, the tattered façade we call Humanity?
Or do we succumb to our Hunger, to the Beast?
Every night we awaken from our torpid slumber, we face that very choice.
I tell you this, if we allow our Hunger, our Beast, to slip through the cracks, “they” will find us.
Now, WHO is “they“?
The Camarilla? The Sabbat? The Second Inquisition?
Who knows? Who cares! It doesn’t matter.
They will give you your Final Death.
So cling, cling tightly to those bare-threaded fabrics, the veil that keeps our precious Humanity.
Cling to the Tattered Façade.