Buttered toast and honey oats
Fingers crossed with cuddled toes
Warming fires snuggling close
Lovely night with unburdened clothes
After been MIA for a few weeks, I am back this week for another Friday Fictioneer per Rochelle. This week’s image is also courtesy of her.
I came up with a short story that might be a tad vague or doesn’t say much…and yet somehow it does…please feel free to comment and offer constructive criticisms. As always join in the fun. THANK YOU ALWAYS AND HAVE A GREAT EASTER.
Image courtesy of Rochelle
The kitchen remained just as it had been that tragic night…frozen in time, December 27th 2008 to be precise. Everything else moved on with life’s unpredictable pace, everything but this room.
Dimly lit and seemingly innocent, Sarah- Jane and her sisters made sure the room was secluded, and undisturbed…it took threats, screams, yells, and protests but they got their wish…no one dared look in the room let alone enter it. It was under preservation they said; just as their mother had wished it to be in her will…just as she had wanted it to be after that night…
A deadly and untold secret perfectly masked behind the room’s flicking lamps…
It’s that time of the week again, Friday fictioneer par Rochelle, and this week’s photo is courtesy of Jennifer Pendergast. I came up with this fictional story that is not the best but is the best I could come up with. Comments and constructive criticisms are very much welcome, and feel very free to join in the fun and participate. THANK YOU FOR ALWAYS STOPPING BY. Blessings for a great weekend!
Image courtesy of Jennifer Pendergast.
Bunmi squinted… after only 3 hours of sleep she could barely keep her tired eyes open. It didn’t help that the snowstorm had caused power outage and her glasses were still missing.
Reaching over in the dark for her phone, she checked her email…there was a message from Rochelle. She tried to stare at the image but there was no use, it was hard to see…it looked like a giant candle to her, but after the doctor’s results on her eyes it really could be anything…
She rubbed her tired eyes again as a tiny voice called for her in the dark…the unknown image in the email bothered her…she wanted to know what it was…she wanted the lights back, and her vision right…
The music of desire plays softly tonight
Light rain fogging clear windows
And I would do a dance to nature's low music
Barry White accompanying with his baritone
But alas I am a skinny girl with two left feet
Perfectly stuck in my six inch heels
(Shame it is for I am the only African girl I know who can't dance)
So I release the strings of my pale red dress
Perfectly worn like a second skin and
Delicately held together by stitches of black lace
(For I need a plan B for tonight's seduction)
My petite frame swaying sensually to the beat
In perfect time for our tongues to meet as soft lips part to whisper...
It’s that time of the week again, Friday Fictioneers par Ms. Rochelle, and this week’s photo is courtesy of Janet Webb. I have two stories this week, please feel free to comment, and offer criticisms. As always you are welcome to join in the fun. THANK YOU FOR ALWAYS STOPPING BY…hugs and love.
STORY 1: MORE THAN ENOUGH
It didn’t matter that the building looked more like a shack than a house, let alone a home, for Sadie it was more than enough…she was free from her old life of homelessness, addictions, and abuse…she had found love, a house with a picket fence, shelter… something she had wanted all her life…
Mother always said white signaled hope…Sadie held onto that…she was moving into a house surrounded by hope, and considering where she had been, that was more than enough….
STORY 2: MEMORIES
This shack with its perfect fence of white. Such memories it holds…Mama and Papa dancing late at night, Jess and I watching from our bedroom….those were some great good memories. Mama, and Papa arguing at the break of dawn…Sarah Lee the church secretary always the theme of said quarrels.Such memories we have of this shack…many of them built from our peeping games, including Papa hitting mama dead in the face….the sound of his 1987 Volkswagen driving off that warm night…Papa was never seen again…
Traces of you & our mid-afternoon antics flush color to my pale cheeks
Blushing red in contained excitement I smile wide and loud
As I remember us and those things we did
Friday fictioneers courtesy of Ms. Rochelle is on, and I am a tad early. This week’s image is courtesy of Roger Cohen. Comments, and constructive criticisms are very much appreciated, and please feel free to participate…there are amazing and uniquely different interpretations to the pictures each week. THANKS ALWAYS FOR STOPPING BY!!!
Image courtesy of Roger Cohen
The Duke of Elgin liked music and invested in all manner of instruments…so it was no surprise when his once betrothed and now darling wife of 3 years left him for the Italian Cello player Antonio, who visited their countryside manor daily, to teach his highness how to play…Rumor around town is that the Duke was not much of a lover in the bedroom where all his musical treasures including 2 prized heirloom cellos stood…
His wife, Eleanor’s first carnal encounter with Antonio was right there in that bedroom when his highness was on Diplomatic assignment in Milan…his beloved Cellos watched as silent witnesses…
Happy New year!!! Friday fictioneers par Ms. Rochelle is on again, and this week’s picture is courtesy of Lora Mitchell. We have been told to specify what genre we write, but I am clueless in that regard, however if anyone has an idea what the genre is, please feel free to point it out.
This week I am offering a short fictional story, and a poem…comments, and constructive criticisms are sincerely appreciated. Please feel free to join in and participate. Thank you always, have a great year!!!
Image courtesy of Lora Mitchell
MY COUSIN’S WEDDING
My cousin’s wedding was an extravagant carnival. The only child of her wealthy parents, books of check were autographed to celebrate her union to her fiancé of 6 weeks.
The reception was filled with foods from all over the world; champagne flowed free like the River Nile. The plutocrats and silk stockings were in attendance. It was an event to behold…and after much eating and drinking, we were entertained by fire breathers and dancers who rolled and twisted to the music of Africa’s greatest voices…The long night ended with amazing fireworks…
Interestingly so did the marriage…
POEM- SPARKS FLY HIGH
Brilliant sparks fly high
In a brief moment of passion and intensity
Blue and pink hues of desire dancing across dark city skies
Love soundly reflected in two bright eyes wildly burning free
god- like beings colliding as night falls
Your morning breath like sugarcane creamed coffee
Warms up my lax neck sweet tension slowing rising
Your eyes brown and soft like jelly buttered toast
Fills me leisurely up, cliché words morning rituals and such
Your strawberry tongue finding its lonely path
Down my happy throat
Gingerly cooling my new dawn
A delight this Sunday evening
Bubbling my insides like fireworks
And sweet golden champagne sparks
I find lazy rest in the able arms of desire
Lust and its juicy leavings on our toothy grins