Finish Off Fridays/Saturday Mix FlashFiction, Memories/Childhood, MindLoveMisery's Menagerie, My Thoughts, Nonfiction, Poetry, Quadrille - 44 Words, Relationship, Religion/Morality, Writing, Writing Challenges

Saturday Mix: Poem – Quadrille – “Forever Gazes” #saturdaymix #amwriting #poetry 


Thanks to Teresa of MindLoveMisery’s Menagerie for hosting this prompt based on overhearing or spying on others. 

——

Credit: Eden Hills

——

Words spied, 

On your lips.

Cherished her, 

Sumptuous kiss.

Bouquet tossed,

Whirling — uncaught. 

Resides with, 

With what I spied, 

Imagined took place;

You said her name, 

She’s your wife. 

Matrimony for life? 

Remain —

On your side,

Of the revolving orb.

I’ll be —

Wrapped in letters, 

Jumbled words,

Creased pages;

Not lovers’

Forever gazes. 

——-

©Mandibelle16. (2017) All Rights Reserved. 

Fiction, Lauranelle - aba bcb cdc ded efe fbf ggA(1)A(2), MindLoveMisery's Menagerie, My Thoughts, Poetry, Relationship, Religion/Morality

Photo Challenge: Poem – Laurenelle – “Freeing the She-Wolf” #amwriting #poetry #fiction


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

Credit: Natalie Deprina

—–

I writhe, I wreathe for I’m neatly twisted, 

You’ll never unravel me, my heart unknown. 

You hold the tether on my talons tight fisted

I’m tenacious, a survivor bold, 

You can tie me in knots, try to keep me near;

I’ll escape, live without your blackness owned. 

I don’t quit; you shouldn’t trap me for fear, 

I’ll catch you first, she-wolf who swiftly bites. 

Your callous ropes hurt, but I’ll disappear

Love doesn’t choke, it’s not uninviting

Love is a freedom, not a smoke screen

But you’re in my den, I’m growling my spite

My name isn’t “Sweetheart,” don’t demean me;

Power struggle invoked, within your ropes —

I’ve held dear, but know I’m incharge here. 

Droplets of blood, I swear I won’t be broke

Such a darkness in you raptured by my light. 

Goodness will win; she-wolves don’t quit, they’ve hope. 

My love, no more traps, let my heart be free

Your wolf, let her breathe, she’ll return to thee

I writhe, I wreathe, for I’m neatly twisted. 

You hold the tether on my talons, tight fisted. 

—-

©Mandibelle16. (2016) All Rights Reserved.

Fiction, Flash Fiction, My Thoughts, Short Stories And Serial Stories, Writing

Sunday Photo Fiction: Part 6 – Nineteen-Years Later #amwriting #flashfiction #thriller


Thank you to Alistair Forbes for hosting SPF. 

Ah! My apologies this is so late! I’ve never written any continuous thrillers, it’s hard! 

——-

A Mixed Bag

——-
“Chad, off the medical table and on the floor!” Uncle Sam yelled as gunfire grew closer.

“I don’t know how he found us Sam.” Marrion said. 

“I need to know the truth about my tattoo,” Chad yelled frustrated. 

“Secrets are dangerous Chad. They can expose you, crush you like a flower.” Marrion said, gazing between Chad and Sam.”Chad might be safer if . . .”

Sam squeezed Marrion’s hand, “Please, tell Chad what you know.”

“Tom isn’t dead. He wasn’t undercover; he is and was the enemy, has been for nineteen-years.”

 “My Dad?”

 “Tom isn’t your Dad; Sam’s your Dad, Chad. Sam and Mona had a drunken night after they thought Tom died.” Marrion admitted.

She peered at Sam, “You should’ve told Chad you were his real Dad. Your name is hidden within Chad’s cartoon seal tattoo. You gave Chad the tattoo as a baby to keep track of him and keep him safe. Chad should  also know, you’ve been running from Tom recently, not Garig; Garig is Tom’s lackey.” 

Sam sighed, hands shaking. “I kept it secret because if Tom thinks Chad’s his son, he won’t kill him.” 

I was the reason Tom disappeared. My twin brother almost ended up in military prison, sentenced to death.”Sam said regretfully. “What choice did I have? Tom was a traitor and wasn’t the only one undercover; I was undercover to bring him down.” 

“There’s more Sam,” Marrion said.”Chad’s tattoo has two more codes. Tom added his own code to track Chad along with a trigger code. I had to be careful when I scanned Chad’s tattoo because of the trigger code.” 

“Why?” Sam said afraid.

“Chad is a walking weapon of mass destruction. If anything reads a special encrypted trigger code on his tattoo — Chad explodes. This boat explodes and the water for miles and miles in the ocean will be full of radiation, which will cycle into oceans around the world. There will be great casualties.” 

Chad was about to speak. He felt sick again. 

Then, a stray bullet bit him; he felt a sharp stinging pain.

 A familiar voice shouted loudly, in Russian, as Chad passed-out.

——

Read Part 5 here

——-

©Mandibelle16. (2016) All Rights Reserved.

Daily Prompt, Free Verse, My Thoughts, Nonfiction, Poetry, Short Stories And Serial Stories, Writing

Writing 101: Poem – Free Verse – “A Day is A Life Time.” #everydayinspiration


The prompt for Writing 101 today is to write about an event that takes place in a single day. Also, I will be including The Daily Post word prompts Phase, Dream, and Grain. I’m trying something with poetry and I hope the result isn’t tedious.

——

It started in the morning ending at —

Evening; children who were born with —

A scream on their lips, removed from —

The womb; swaddled in blankets.

——

Life is a day and each day we spend —

One single day, representing —

A lifetime; not knowing each day —

Could end in a moments glance. 

—–

Babe once born, phase into toddler, 

Sucking on bottles, weened off.

Already, personality —

Forming; individual who tantrums.

—–

Couldn’t get her way playing in her —

Pre-school; no hitting allowed there. 

Prepares her for kindergarten, 

Where she better know her typing.

——

To write her name proudly with her,

Markers scribbling future —

Artist; parent’s dream but she’s holding —

Building blocks; then she’s finished–

—-

Being a kid, now screaming to —

Her brother, ‘stay out of my bed —

Room;’ texting her friends, their all —

Nearly sixteen, appearing twenty-one.

—–

She’s been drinking since thirteen-years, 

Not weird to her; she’s been there before.

Degree in engineering of —

Structures; dreams building stream-lined.

——

Caught the eye of a man where she works, 

He’s ten-years her senior at his —

Prime; another engineer, they’ve —

Two kids, girl and a boy, on their —

——

Own journeys; and she’s divorced.

Only thirty-five, raising teenagers, 

Tiring of her career; her daughter–

Pregnant; along comes grandchildren.

—–

She’s only forty and remarries, 

Her true soul mate she says, kids hate —

Him; replacing father they never see, 

Grandma raising baby of her daughter.

——-

Mom is forty-five; son marries girl,

A beautiful blond, into fine art.

Mom doesn’t like her; girl’s a phase.

Son has three kids and stays married.

——

Daughter won’t talk; sends home one more —

Squalling infant for Grandma to —

Care for and work too; step-Opa glad, 

Never had kids, he loves his grandbabies.

——

The grandbabies grow and she’s pushing —

Sixty-five-years; grandkids moving —

Out; hoping they do better than her —

Sweet daughter; dead, needle marks proof.

——

She wants to travel, she’s been all —

Over the world but only for work.

So Oma and Opa see the —

World divine; slowing down in life.

——

She teaches, a class or two for —

Dumb first-year engineer students, 

Doesn’t know how they’ll fill her shoes, 

But they’ve all this technology.

—–

Eighty-six and she’s alone; her soul —

Mate, he passed away; time speeds through, 

She has a dog that keeps her happy, 

But she out-lives the dog as well.

—–

Grains of sand sifting, her time comes, 

In hospital they can’t believe she’s, 

One-hundred-and-one; she dies with —

Great-grandkids crying for their Oma.

—-

This, is a lifetime you say not —

One single day, but you don’t see,

How with such quickness, a lifetime —

Is reduced to one significant —

One magnimounous little, 

Day before God; finally, wandering home.

—–

©Mandibelle16. (2016) All Rights Reserved.

Fiction, Flash Fiction, May Day Prompts, My Thoughts, Short Stories And Serial Stories, Writing

Maydays: Fiction – Part 2 – After The Plane Crash #Maydays


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Thanks to K.L. Caley of new2writing for hosting #Mayday prompts. Today’s theme is a battle or fight of some kind. Also, Part 2 of a continuing series After The Plane Crash. Read Part 1 here. The battle I’m showing is the main characters fight through her fever and aches from being lost in the wild two weeks.

———

Please read Part 1 here.

——-

“Young lady are you awake.” A woman’s voice whispered to me quietly. “What’s your name?”

I make a noise, not wanting to leave the land of my dreams. It’s safe and peaceful here. Danny is with me and we’re drinking a beer together like old times. I know my friend is not real but I don’t want to admit to myself in my dreams; Danny is dead.

A gentle hand feels my forehead. “She has a high fever. I’m not surprised being out in the wilderness that long. She’s sweating. I think it was an excellent thing the doctor got here so fast and we were able to hook her up to an IV to get some fluid and nutrition into her body.”

 The woman’s voice was soft and sensible. She sounded like the voice of a lady who was a mother. She smoothed back my hair and I sighed in my state of half sleep. I was cold and sweating at the same time. Iceness overcame me and I shivered trying to pull plush blankets around me as I sweated.

“Aunt Tabitha, what can we do? If we keep giving her the IV as the doctor said, and introduce her to some soup and other food in a few days, do you think she’ll be alright?” 

The voice I heard speaking was the deep male voice I had heard before I passed out. The voice had a rich timber, it sounded young and attractive. 

A small smile shaped my lips, then I groaned as cold sweat overcame me. “Poor thing,” Aunt Tabitha said. “I’ll take care of her Eric. Don’t worry, your Auntie took care of you when you were ill as a child and I would do the same for this poor young woman.”

“I appreciate it Aunt Tabitha. I really do. I didn’t know who else to call. The workers wanted nothing to do with her.They thought she had some awful disease the way she appeared to them.”

Tabitha gave a harsh laugh. “Ha, those locals are full of stories and superstitions which have no basis in reality. This woman will be fine. When I clean her up a bit and later when she can wash her hair, I imagine she’s a beautiful girl, Eric. I hope the man who died in that plane crash wasn’t her boyfriend.”

“ I don’t know . . .” Eric said softly. “I’ll leave you too it.” I heard him walk away and a door shutting.

 I was awake but not fully. I faded in and out of feverish dreams, nightmares where I was trapped in a never ending forest. No animals in sight. Nothing edible and carrying no water. Only dead silence filling my ears.

I was dressed in a bra and panties and had nothing else on — not even shoes. Darkness descended and it began to snow and my body was wracked by cold as the wind picked up and the snow built up around me. I couldn’t move. I was so cold I was frozen stiff like an ice sculpture; I shrieked aloud.

——–

Eons pass where I am stuck inbetween what’s real and what’s in my dreams. I dream about my Mom and Dad, how worried they would be about me. I know it’s been past two-weeks now since the plane crash. My feaver hasn’t abated for days but Aunt Tabitha dutifully stays at my side. At night there is a hired nurse. A thin bird-like woman who doesn’t speak English but sees to my needs. 

Aunt Tabitha is with me whenever she can be. I’m aware of her reading on her tablet. Sometimes she reads to me, but I want to tell her she’s only giving my mind more material for nightmares. 

I know she has asked me my name several times but I have trouble finding a voice strong enough to answer her when I feel semi-lucid. Only when nightmares overwhelm me do I scream and plead for them to stop using my voice loudly.

Today my head feels much clearer. I look to see the IV attached to my arm and am thankful it’s giving me nutrients because I think food would repulse me right now. With heavy eyes I scan the room. Strangely, Aunt Tabitha isn’t here. 

I move my head and neck gently, testing my muscles which ache from being in bed too long and from hiking through the woods. I wiggle my toes and stretch my legs. I straighten my arms infront of me and put my arms above my head, stretching my whole body like a cat. I feel a jolt of pain in my side.

Pain throughout my body becomes apparent. Bruises and scrapes mostly. I look at my one wrist and see it’s wrapped in a bandage.I must have sprained it. I’m not sure why I didn’t notice when the sprain occurred.

I feel dirty and have the urge to scrub my body until my skin is pink. A bath would be heavenly. My hair is limp and greasy on my head, I can’t remember ever having hair this scungy. 

I lean up in bed regarding the room around me. It’s a large bedroom and the room,  a work of art and design. The room has a peaceful ambiance, painted in grey-blue.

The furniture including the head board behind me is bleached wood like drift wood from the ocean. I feel relaxed in this place, gazing towards a giant white window with a padded blue window seat full of pillows matching my bed’s dark ink blue duvet and silver and white striped sheets.

I haven’t seen the sun in days. The bright white light of the sun bathes me through the window, but is too bright for my eyes. I shade my face with my hand and gaze in awe at the lush greeness of the mansions front yard. They’re fountains and flowers in the distance.

“Wow,” I say and my voice feels gravelly. I start saying random words and sentences aloud to make my voice sound normal but I can’t seem to rid my voice of its weakness.

 I raise my body into a sitting position, crossing my legs under the bed covers. My body cooperates slowly and with aches, but I manage. 

I have decided to have a bath or showe.  I’m certain I can stand and walk. On careful feet as if I were a toddler, I slip out of the bed and start walking to the bathroom I spied at the end of the room. 

It feels so far away at first but my legs remember how to walk quickly and my steps are more assured as I go. Resting against the door frame, I peer into the bathroom.

There is a large tiled glass shower with a wooden bench inside; I am thankful for the bench.The bathroom is designed well with a heavy marble countertop, twin sinks, and dark blue cabinets underneath the counter. A vanity table near by, holds a few cosmetics, clearly for a woman. The toilet is inside a closet in the corner of the bathroom.

I drop my clothes on the wood floor, carefully removing them as my muscles are still sore. The loose grey sweat pants and large white T-shirt are far too roomy to be my clothing and I leave them on the floor.

 I open up the shower door and hobble over to the bench where I sit turning on the shower nozzle convienantly located near my head. The shower is hot, too hot at first. But the showerhead gives a cleansing rainfall shower. I sigh in pleasure as the water washes over me. Picking up a puff hanging on the wall, I squirt jasmine scented Dior body wash on it. I scrub my body free of natures dirt and fevers sweat. 

My body’s skin is as pink as I imagined, when I reach for Dior face wash and volumizing shampoo. I wash my hair four-times before I’m satisfied it’s clean and I condition it, letting the conditioner soak into my dry long brunette strands before washing it out. The sun has caused some of my brunette strands to bleach blond.

When I’m done washing, I relax and let the hot rainfall water run massaging my muscles which ache. I stay inside the shower longer then necessary but I haven’t felt this well in forever.

 “Are you ever coming out?” a deep voice asks outside the shower chuckling.

I gasp and quickly turn the shower off fumbling. I cover myself with my hands uselessly. Eric is outside the glass shower and I’m naked inside, no towel within reach.

——–

©Mandibelle16. (2016) All Rights Reserved.