Life has grabbed me and almost sufficated me. However, I believe I have come out of it and dying to write here again. I took a full time job and it too my writing away from me. I missed it way too much so I recently quit and starting working part time shipping items across the country on U Ship. My hopes are that I can get back to writing again. Writing truely brought me peace and some happiness. I missed that dearly.
I am blogging my adventures on the road here:
I hope to resume writing when I return from south Florida at the end of the month. My mind is clear and words are racing towards my fingertip.
Wish me luck.
Till we meet again. Good day
Mind of Shoo
Eventually Avery understood why he never invited to play at the home of his friend Johnny. It was a simple reason that has been a part out the deep south since men first settled there. For Avery, not allowing his best friend to know that he knew the reason was the color of his skin was tougher on him than the reality of not being allowed there in the first place.
This fiction was written for Trifextra: Week Seventy-one.
On to the prompt. This weekend we’re revisiting an early Trifextra, our second ever. The challenge is to write a complete story in only three sentences.
If my words could soar
to the millions before me.
Words written for you.
Listen my dear city.
I have a voice.
For you to read.
From my heart.
This fiction was written for Trifextra: Week Seventy.
For this weekend’s prompt we’re asking for exactly 33 words inspired by the above picture.
I kind of omitted couple. My eyes just couldn’t escape the view before them. And if only they could hear my words and just one was moved. If I could only sit there…I am sure the words would just pour onto the paper.
The mother and young daughter reached the alley behind the restaurant. The girl stretched her arms toward the sun for warmth and noticed the beautiful dress hanging from the balcony.
“Mama, you tink we ever be able to buy me a dress like dat?” she said pointing upward.
“Naw! Don’t be silly child. You know we aint gonna be able to afford anything like dat. Dats for rich folks. Be happy for what you got. Now turn a’round and take dis from mama, ya hear me,” she said holding bread still in its plastic wrapper.
Molly turned away from the bright-colored dress with tears in her eyes. “Yes ma’am,” she said.
I went over the word limit. Just couldn’t cut anymore and make this work. Hopefully it does.
This fiction was written for Friday Fictioneers.
Visit and read the rules and join in the fun!
Till we meet again. Good day.
Mind of Shoo
The poison is running through my soul.
An evil, albeit minor in comparison
pumped through my body
by a magnificent instrument placed by God.
It moves freely throughout me
with the rhythm of its beat.
A symbolic black strand of liquid holding no form,
floating helpless within my veins.
I am unable to control it
and sadly unable to release it.
It is a shapeless strand of life form
often hibernating for longs stretches of time.
giving me some pleasurable relief.
Even if only fleeting.
Then reborn as it re-enters the heart
giving me the spectrum of emotions which ultimately define me.
Ultimately it was gain form and block the passage
of the liquid where it now survives.
Then my heart will cease
and the evil will die.
This was written for The Mag #170
The moment is vivid in my mind. Still painful in my heart. Yes I did it! Out of anger. Spite. And I’ll carry that burden with me forever and beyond. Forgive me Dad.
This fiction was written for Trifextra: Week Sixty-nine.
This weekend we are asking for a thirty-three word confession. You’re free to write non-fiction or fiction or to blur the lines in between. We just encourage you to get creative and give us your best.
Peter lived a lonely life. A young soul conceived not through love but through lust. A one night stand caused by alcohol. High schoolers whose life would become all hard work with minimal reward. A life of constant unhappiness and loneliness. Add the stress of raising an unwanted child in a catholic dominated town that shuns out-of-wedlock conception. Peter never had a chance.
He understood his lot in life. He was a loner. A pimpled faced teen with very few friends in a small town that lauds macho high school players and prom queens and cast out those who are different. He grew into a man all alone.
Peter longed for the voice of Freddie or Stevie. The ability to capture an audience and give them a feeling of escape if only for three minutes. The talent to use his fingers on a guitar or piano and sooth the pain of those who look to music to escape the brutal reality of their own life. He longed for the talent to write words that inspire readers searching for healing. Words that he could express for those who understood yet never are able to write themselves.
An unloved soul searching for acceptance in life. He searched the end of the rainbow only to discover a deep, empty cauldron. His only reward was the brief view of the optical phenomenon of droplets reflecting their light. An illusion which parallels his life.
His smile hides the tracks on his skin. His escape from the brutal truth. One conceived without love can’t be loved. His pedantic life is followed by a single set of footprints on a sandy beach. Only to be swept away by the tide into the vastness of the ocean. Never to be seen again.
Yet Peter was a great actor. He walked the streets of his southern town with a beautiful smile. Content to those who knew him. A superficial expression of happiness to those who didn’t. His life a slow and painful death.
This fiction was written for Trifecta: Week Seventy-eight.
1 : of, relating to, or being a pedant(see pedant)
2 : narrowly, stodgily, and often ostentatiously learned
- Your response must be between 33 and 333 words.
- You must use the 3rd definition of the given word in your post.
- The word itself needs to be included in your response.
- You may not use a variation of the word; it needs to be exactly as stated above.
- Only one entry per writer.