Mind webs.

I am not plagued by what plagues my peers.

I am not plagued by what plagued my ancestors.

I am plagued by what plagues ME.

Like Charon’s’ fingers ripping through curtains of darkness, its shallow whispers seek to stifle my voice.

I rise at dawn racing to escape the dark recesses of my mind.

I wish them away… they start to fade, a sense of peace assails my mind.

Like a dot of light, a patch of clarity on a foggy morning, so are the words crooning through my ear piece.

Looking at the computer, I find myself sinking again.


Written for two challenges:

Friday fictioneers hosted by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields. Click on this link to join in the fun and on this one to read other stories.

and Flash fiction for aspiring writers hosted by Priceless Joy. Click on the link to join in the fun and on this one to read other stories.

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The view

1999: A home with a view that’s all I wanted, was that too much to ask for? 

2005: my life changed, my view was altered; I was thankful to be alive.

I hope to never witness another dialogue between the concrete jungles of a neighbourhood and the weapons of mans struggle to subjugate another, I hope my view stays the same.

three line tales week 136: camping
Picture by Tyler Nix via unsplash

Written for three line tales challenge hosted by Sonya. Click on this link to join in.

Aurora;my light.

“Dinachi! wake-up.”

“Stop joor. I can hear you and I wasn’t sleeping.”

Chuckling “You were not sleeping, just shielding your eyes from the piercing darkness abi?”

“I have had a hectic night shift, I don’t think my brain has the capacity for these your riddles yet.”

“You’re the one with all the riddles oh, lying there screaming at grandma in your sleep. It was really creep.”

“I wasn’t dreaming, just admit you woke me up for a cuddle.” with a grin he stretched to make room on the couch.

With the flick of a switch, she retreated to his heart.

 

 

 


Written for Friday fictioneers are writing group/challenge hosted by the lovely Rochelle Wisoff-Fields. It has been a while I have written a story and I loved writing this one hope you love it too. Please click on this link to read other stories and on this one to join the fun. (Have a go!)

Five portions of my love

They say absence makes the heart grow fonder,

but what you don’t see you tend to forget.

Neither worked for me,

I remembered them regardless of their absence,

Hatred grew even though they hide in unknown shadows.

They say keep it simple,

So I formed a mnemonic, tattooed it on my wrist.

I stare at it conjuring up images 

They took what mattered 

The law said it was complicated

I said simplify it, they didn’t.

I had only one wish,

to bequeath a special gift this valentine.

My mind insisted on it,

The gift of a red bleeding conscience.

It’s midnight ……

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♠♠♠♠♠

Love by it’s very nature lends itself to the conjuring of twisted vines, secret rendezvous and get away rides to a land of heroes and divinity. Love by the nature we conferred on it thrives on complicated storylines rather than simple tales. Alas love relies on the mnemonics numbers and seasons to keep it’s memories aflame.

♠♠♠♠♠

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It’s not just the thought …..

There are fresh flowers sitting on the table, not really my favourite kinds but they will have to do for now.

Will I ever get them picked from the garden again?

The boxes are stacked to the roofs, I really don’t know where to start. I can’t find the strength to go forward right now. Everything just feels surreal.

The mantle is bare just like my arms.

Should I put the pictures up?

Are ghosts ever a good part of the present?

The flowers are actually lovely, they smell divine but I miss tiny hands handing them to me.


Written for Friday fictioneers a writing challenge hosted by Rochelle. The picture was provided by the lovely Dale Rogerson, the task is to write a 100 words story inspired by it. Thanks Rochelle for hosting the challenge. Thank you for stopping by… do click on the link to read other stories.

 

 

 

 

 

 

(RIP) Here lies …. a bundle of reactions.

As the last child it’s often impossible to escape the shadows cast by your siblings. Your name becomes obscure as many refer to you as XYZ’s little sister. The chances of people remembering your name are not very high, this is not necessarily because they don’t know it or forget it, rather they have fallen into the habit of seeing your elder ones before they see you, thus their names (your elder ones) come to mind first. I found the spoken and sometimes unspoken expectation to have me mirror the ideals, behaviours and traits of my siblings the most frustrating aspect of this shadowing effect.

I really wanted to escape the canopy effect my siblings had on my life and the opportunity to do so came in the form of university choices. I chose a school many miles from home and although my elder brother had attended the same school he had graduated long enough to dispel all shadowing effects on my life. Physically distancing myself from this phenomenon refereed to as shadowing, to a certain extent did me a world of good. It helped me find myself, to test the strength and bases of my belief, but it also highlighted how intrinsic the values and personality traits I had tried to escape were a part of me.

Perhaps one of the many lessons of growing older is the gradual realization that we are a large picture comprising of different puzzle pieces. Puzzle pieces shaped by our varied life experiences, human and cosmic encounters. The best part of the puzzle lies in the fact that different pieces can be moved around to fit the edges of our life or form the core of who we are. Secondly we can afford through due diligence to eliminate and replace certain pieces as we please, however unlike a cardboard puzzle there will always be an imprint of that  piece in our memory. 

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Memory, emotions, the mind … I suppose that’s what makes us different from the people who have shaped our lives. This ideology is supported by Karl Rogers and Erickson’s ideologies on human growth and development. Yes we are a sum of everything that happens to and around us, this might be considered by some as our true self’s. However, perhaps our true self’s doesn’t stop at this level but goes further to how we interpret those events and what we do with that interpretation.

If the saying that “we have only 10 percent control over  what happens to us and 90 percent control over how we react” is true, would  it be  safe to assume that people who live in self denial haven’t embraced their true selves? How about those who live life trying to anticipate the moves of others, basing every action or thought on the anticipated moves of another? Are they cautious, manipulative or untrue to self? 

When we anticipate people’s moves and act accordingly aren’t we short changing ourselves from learning who they really are? More importantly aren’t we short changing ourselves, as only life experiences can truly expose the foundations our true ourselves. I am by no means advocating a careless lifestyle or a rude personality. I just find myself wondering if such a cautious life isn’t a limiting and unrealistic one. I question the validity and dependability of principles lived by being a bundle of reaction to for everyone around you.

Isn’t that what we become when everything we do is foreshadowed by our anticipated or pre- planned outcomes. We consistently respond not in the way we really want to but in the way that ensures we have absolute control of the 10 percent which really belongs to others. Sadly I think in doing that we give over control of the 90 percent without knowing.  We hedge ourselves into a corner which never spreads out into a large square, rather like a column we wrap ourselves round in people’s reaction until we become invisible. Often times when that environment becomes stifling we burst open like a house hit by a tornado.

Don’t know about you but I wouldn’t want to be everything to all men, as each man desires sometime different from everyone each time. I rather be something to some people and accept that I might never be anything to some others. Would it be better to die a bundle of reactions or a bundle of actions?

Full cycle

A season in my life has passed.

The leaves on the tree fall down to the earth, a rusty red, yellow and brown mulch carpet enriching the earth, keeping it safe. Just like Agnes, Edna and my George lying six feet beneath the earth, watching over me.

Memories of three little girls who won’t let a little boy into their secret lair within the wooden shed flood my mind. George never gave up, though, he pestered us day and night, interrupting every meeting. Soon he became our captain and we were his loyal musketeers. A friendship that blossomed well into our teenage years, until he went to college. And when He visited it was like he never left, slowly a special cord was strung between the two of us. The rest they say is history.

Agnes always teased that I was never the first to try out anything new, thus it wasn’t a surprise that they all went before me. Relaxing my back against the wooden shed, I close my eyes, I feel safer crossing over now.

Copyright Phylor

In response to the writing challenge flash fiction for aspiring writers hosted by Priceless Joy click on the link to visit the blog. The photograph is from the lovely Phylor (interesting photo can’t wait to see all the stories it inspires) and the challenge is to write a 100 – 150 words (+/- 25 words) story inspired by it. Do click on the link for other stories.