Flash Fiction for the Aspiring Writer: A Force of Life #flashfiction #amwriting #nature


Thanks to Priceless Joy for hosting FFftAW.

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Credit: Tim Livingston of TheForesterArtist

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It’s the lushest rainforest I’ve ever seen. If one could say Mother Nature had a life force it would be here, hidden within this vibrant foliage. For me green is the color of life and I think of the exotic creatures found here and I understand why environmentalists are vehemently protecting a forest full of wild animals and their habitats.

To imagine this brilliant life force gone would be painful. There is an ache in my heart picturing the dustlands of a destroyed forest, where nothing can regrow because of how horibly the soil has eroded, stripped of trees. Seeing this century old car buried randomly makes me curious of how the car ended up here; I imagine it’s a fabulous tale. But there’s no one here to tell that story, only me, and miles of greenery. Here in the womb of Mother Nature, one could disappear.

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©Mandibelle16. (2017) All Rights Reserved.

Photo Challenge: Poem – Blitz – “Returning” #amwriting #poetry 


Thanks to MindLoveMisery’s Menagerie for hosting this week’s photo challenge. 

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Credit: Mario Gervals

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Aurora-borealis paints the sky

Hues of light to charm

Charm the cold from old man winter’s grasp

Charm the sky hovering, colours delightful still

Still as the snow when it stops

Still as the young man in the living room

Room in a home where he’s troubled 

Room of the television — loud sports

Sports of the freezing weather

Sports loved best

Best loved is hockey

Best loved he watches, engrained 

Engrained in the screen

Engrained in the game 

Game on and he misses his wife as she drives away

Game of his wife searching for time

Time ended when she him left 

Time is new for her; he doesn’t care now

Now she moves on 

Now she is but thrilled

Thrilled, yet in a storm she drives

Thrilled to have escaped without another fight 

Fights always happen

Fights which got worse, never stopped

Stopped when she rethought her life

Stopped when she said, “I’m gone” 

Gone while the new sliver of a TV loudly plays

Gone, he knows it it, feels depressed

Depressed at the mess of his life

Depressed, slight lines etched into his face

Face with red eyes

Face with mouth stifling sobs

Sobs because she’s gone for good

Sobs because she gazed at him appalled

Appalled because he always yelled

Appalled because he’s why ‘they’re finished

Finished forever, she’s free

Finished, but she’s not safe in such a blizzarding storm

Storm outside flinging snow in his face

Storm outside, her car didn’t make it far

Far off and tired the look in her eyes

Far off but tears streaming ’cause she’s stuck 

Stuck in the bank of snow 

Stuck in her life, no escape

Escape life here, without him?

Escape yet, she’s glad, for her, he came 

Came, so she takes him back; he understands now

Came, so they return to times where they showed

Showed love, affection where no distance divides 

Now acts of love, little things, change the future

—–

©Mandibelle16. (2017) All Rights Reserved. 

Tale Weaver: Poem – Synchronocity – “A Deadly Night” #amwriting #poetry #fiction #taleweavers


Here is last week’s  Tale Weaver prompt, held by MindLoveMisery’s Menagerie. The prompt is a story about being caught in a deep freeze. 

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Credit: Winter Wolly

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Stuck fast in this ice, no relief, 

Car pushed off he highway it’s —

Dark, cold

——-

We’re lucky we’re uninjured that, 

We’ve signals on our smart phones; night

Descends. 

——-

There’s no gas left in the tank from, 

Starting, then turning off the heat

Stars bleed

——

Giant glimmering balls, twinkle, 

Outside our windows; but we’re still —

Stuck here. 

——-

We called the AMA, come find —

Us because we’re frozen; minus 

Forty

——-

Nighttime is bitter, freezing we’re, 

Huddled beneath silver blankets, 

Wondering. 

——-

Then he starts shaking, lips so blue

Then he’s still; hypothermia

Induced. 

*****

But the sun is rising now; we’ve —

Made it through the dark; my friend he —

Yet sleeps. 

——

Hearing voices outside our car, 

Come to save us now, opening —

Our doors. 

——

Light leaks in, such needed warmth; I —

feel my hands, shaking you awake, 

You blink

——-

©Mandibelle16. (2017) All Rights Reserved. 

Flash Fiction for The Purposeful Practitioner: The Open Road


Thanks to Roger Shipp for hosting FFftPP.


road
Credit: Roger Shipp

The open road can take you anywhere. There are many places to go, its so difficult to decide precisely which road you will take. On one hand, you have opportunity and potential before you. You’re bursting with aspirations and a chance to discover a new or familiar place and make it your own. You’ve a desire to create lasting and meaningful memories.

But on the other hand, there’s the downside of open roads. Roads aren’t always safe. You believe the road ahead is empty, but you never see a speeding car whipping out, when you both crash. You aren’t paying attention when you see a moose in the middle of the road, directly in your path. You may have the SUV but he’s huge and more likely to kill you.

Journeys aren’t what we think they’ll be. Some of them lead to misery and pain.Some of them lead to mistakes and learning the hard way. But it’s the price of travelling the open road. As you’ve little idea if you’re playing the correct card in a Black Jack, you have little idea where that open road will lead, or end.


©Mandibelle16. (2017) All Rights Reserved.

Friday Fictioneer: A Step Towards Home #flashfiction #amwriting #fiction


Thank you to Rochelle Wiseoff-Fields for hosting FF.

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Credit: Shaktiki Sharma

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Maryanne frequently found herself on the Greyhound bus travelling here, there, and everywhere. She didn’t understand what triggered the travelling gypsy in her, but she felt when she found what she was searching for, she would finally have a place of her own. She would find a decent job, have a car to drive, and most of all, have people to love in her life. 

As if on que, a stray dog yipped and walked out of the alleyway nearby. While she waited an-hour-and-a-half for the bus to Raleigh, Maryanne decided the dog was indeed homeless and picked her up gently. She brought the startled mut on the bus pulling into the station and named her Betsy. 

She was Maryanne’s first step towards finding a home

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“I Wonder” – Kelly Pickler

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©Mandibelle16. (2016) All Rights Reserved. 

The Complexities of Red #thoughts #amwriting #nonfiction


Credit: Giovanni Licea – YouTube

I considered the colour red. How I’m equally attracted and repelled by it. How I pass by a red v-neck sweater in the right shade, but mix my acrylic colours, blend them until my instincts say stop; stop sign red. No wait . . . a bright cool startling red appears on my canvas. I think this is passion and passion is the boldest red. I think of how I not only crave to paint in vivid red, but in many vivid colours and textures. How I trace the feeling of layered paints with my fingers, and hunger for other colours with my eyes – blue, green, and purple. Though I adore all these colours, my favourite paintings are all in red.
 As with my love for sexy heels, which I adore in red too. If red is passion, what more can I say about women and sensuality then red shoes. They’re expression and fierceness. Like Kelly Picklers song “Red High Heels” — “I’m about to show you just how missing me feels, in my red high heels . . .” Red for revenge, red for moving on, red for love. But I hate red for love, it’s memory is sickening. He looked good in that colour – almost the best. 

Credit: Sam Roloff – “The Big Red One”
Yet red is so many things more. It’s anger, hate, rage, hurt, demons dreaming — the beast inside who does not die. Red is sinful, delicious, and deadly. It’s sex and power; a primilness. It’s royalty and blood, red blood spilled for in the body it’s blue (hence bluebloods). I love how classic red is — nothing more classic then a cat eye and red Bridget Bardot lips. Nothing as classic as red Mustang. 

I don’t wear red, the colour outshines me and doesn’t fit with such pale skin and blond hair. Please no red dress – I’d rather blend in and be a classic black or navy dress cut perfectly. But I seek out bits of red and cling to them, not wanting red to blind me. Only some sparkle and razzle dazzle to hold in my hand. Red nail polish is beautiful, with a bit of bling  Red as some of the lights in Las Vegas and red fireworks; red stoplights. 

Red is perplexing because it’s complex, not simple at all. Red is nationalism and red is internationalism. It’s a proud Canadian colour and I don’t mind wearing it on our Nation’s Birthday. Or cheering on our Canadian hockey teams in the Olympics and junior hockey. 

As well, roses are so divine, so deadly pricking your finger. Red, passion and pain. Together swirled these colours of red, of love, and hate collide. There are many shades of grey, but even more shades of red. It’s more than a primary colour it calls as a siren, “Look see me.” No one hides in red. Red cars are often caught barely speeding and Red is a theme of many songs albums as in “Red” as T. swifts song and album and the Beatles album “Redone.” Red as “My love is like a red red rose.” Some choral song I cannot recall. 

Credit: Jeannette Mattson – “Red Rose” – Fine Art America

But I’m sitting here, music blaring trying to decide what to paint. I’ve that special shade of red and it’s mixing and melding with other colours. Shades and tones. I see, red on my canvas and it bleeds. Red blood, blood . . .life, the most prolific association. Red is blood. Blood is life. Red such as poppies, that we must always remember. Red for anger, red for hate, for war. Red to hurt, poor the droplets down a crystal glass. Red red wine. To drink away the blood and crippling thoughts. Red to forget. I like a Malbec with bite. A Zinfandel to make me chatty. A Merlot or Cav-Sav with some friends. Red sangria is delicious. Red strawberry margaritas because there’s real fire in tequila. Red is too many things, too symbolic, too self-contradictory. Red is life. 

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©Mandibelle16. (2016) All Rights Reserved. 

B&P’s Shadorma Challenge: “Winter is Here” #amwriting #poetry #shadorma


Thanks to MindLoveMisery’s Menagerie for hosting the Shadorma Challenge: 

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MindLoveMisery’s Menagerie

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There are many poems, 

Written of Fall, it’s glory. 

Enough wrote, 

It’s winter. 

Snow has come twice and it’s —

Looking to remain. 

——

Ah yes, yellow,orange . . .

I’ve heard it before, even of —

Maple leaves, 

Beautiful red. 

But all these colours, snow has —

Covered; the roads ice slick. 

——

Our Autumn is short, 

Mostly warm this year until, 

The snow came;

Griefs us with —

Scraping car windows early, 

Less sleep, horrid frost. 

—–

Another Fall poem, it’s —

In the past now, we’re snowed in;

Many months 

To Come now. 

It’s past mid-October, and —

Winter will not budge. 

—–

©Mandibelle16. (2016) All Rights Reserved. 

Moral Monday’s Flash Fiction: Tense Driving


Thank you to Nortina for hosting Moral Monday’s prompts. This week’s moral is: ” Finish What You Start.”


mother-daughter-arguing
http://www.goodenoughmother.com

 

“I hate driving with you.” Cassandra told her Mom.

Hope couldn’t help herself. “I’m sorry. You’re a new driver and you make me nervous. I’m nervous when I drive.”

“Well I’m coming up to a left turn, don’t say anything. I don’t need to end up getting hit because you’re distracting me.”

The arguing escalated. Cassandra half-parked the car in front of their house. Hope was upset, she immediately left the car as Cassandra shouted, ” I’m never driving with you again. You can finish parking the damn car too.” The shouting continued; the car started to roll down the street.


©Mandibelle16.(2016) All Rights Reserved.

Flash Fiction for the Aspiring Writer: Poem – Free Verse – “A Visible Living Melody” 


Thanks to Priceless Joy for hosting FFftAW.

Word Count: 170 words.

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Swritings

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Murals are magnificent, brightening up space, but so far —

Many people doesn’t understand why you’d paint a mural on your car?

It’s tacky, to some people an ‘eyesore,’ the car driven colourfully,

With images, impressions, photographs, painted cities, tattoos inked wondrously. 

You’d never hear a judgement from my candied purple lips, 

When it comes to art, I’m not a lady who needs to come to grips,

With the reality of modern art; it’s whatever way the artist feels.

He or she say may paint their ideal — their art, to them what’s real.

For art, though it appear tacky and weird in some people’s eyes, 

Has the ability to make people shine, make them laugh, and to surprise.

Especially to aid a person living beneath the shadow, depressed, and sad, 

In a moment, the car arrives, awash with colours and scenes glad.

So, if you see a painted mural driving down the highway a while, 

Remember art is a visible living melody, with its ways of helping those who need, smile.

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©Mandibelle16. (2016) All Rights Reserved.

Flash Fiction for the Purposeful Practitioner: Not Ready for Kids


” Look at the girl in that back seat signing to us,” Eve told Adam, pointing. ” How cute, she must be bored from the long car ride.” Adam scoffed.

” What is it with you and kids?” Adam asked Eve, ” You love my bratty nieces and nephews  and now you adore some little girl in a passing car’s window?”

” What’s wrong with liking kids? Your sister’s kids are well behaved and they like me as much as I like them.”

“Do you have to talk about kids? Can’t we be childless adults in our thirties? I feel as if you’re suggesting we should have kids.” Adam told Eve, appearing wan. 

Eve began to laugh boisterously.”It’s not funny,” Adam said trying not to smile.

“It’s hilarious Adam. You’re the only kid I can handle right now.” Eve said rubbing Adam’s arm.”Maybe, when you stop getting us kicked out of the bar, we can think about children.” 

“Eden, the bar we went to last night?” Adam asked,”I don’t remember drinking that much. . .Wait a minute! Who are you to talk Eve? You’re the one who kept buying me drinks last night, temptress.” 

Eve smiled. “Nope, I guess we’re not ready for kids.”

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Thanks to Roger Shipp for hosting FFftPP.

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©Mandibelle16.(2016) All Rights Reserved.