Tag Archives: light

Memories Forgot

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Piled under blankets,
pigment greased thick
under fingernails – scrubbed once
or twice – her breath falls soft.

Fast as Nike, she slept.
Night crept darker still;
under what pretense
would light appear but dawn?

An hour forgotten, a day forgotten.
The memories fade and no witness
to bear this breath in or out.
Snow drifts. One hurricane
follows another, falls dark.

Beautiful (102)

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This image was provided by Madison Woods as inspiration for the Friday Fictioneers

I said it was beautiful, but she thought I meant she was beautiful. She was, of course. But when she kissed me I reeled, surprised that I might have elicited this; that she might have thought me worth the kiss.

I tangled fingers in her hair – women have long hair, I thought – and I wondered what it would mean to do this and mean it. But I was only looking at the sky, don’t you know? I was only considering a backlit branch when you instructed me in the contour of lips, when you taught me how it felt to be tall.

For more flashes prompted by this image, and to learn more about flash fiction, visit Madison Woods and explore the Friday Fictioneers.

Look (200)

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Looking Up (this image is provided by Madison Woods, the original fabulous Fictioneer of Fridays)

The boy understood what it meant to look up.

And down, too.

He was a person who worked hard – when he remembered – and had profound thoughts – when he was caught off guard.

On Sunday mornings, he disappeared and though we looked, it was never until late, when he chose to reappear, that he would be found. I don’t know why I decided to follow him. Maybe I was tired of the gaze that saw everything but me.

So I followed him out, over the still-wet grass, past the bunkhouse and the willow-lined irrigation ditch turned creek bed. He pulled a bike from between bales and rode over the hill on tracks made by pick-ups and tractors. Out there, those tracks and haystack are reminders that we marked this place, that it is not wild, really.

I followed discreetly, though he probably knew all along I was there. We passed the pond and dipped down along the other side of it, and he disappeared into another stand of trees – quaking aspen, I thought, cottonwood. I waited.

He called me, then. Jules, come see!

I went; found him on his back, eyes on the brightening sky.

Look through the leaves, he said.

Photo Number 2, double inspiration.

For more stories prompted by these images, visit Madison Woods and explore the rest of the Friday Fictioneers!