Some Days

Our opening sentence this week is from "Emma Donoghue’s “Room“ 

The first sentence is:   Today I’m five.

Today I am five.

I am five today because I want to sleep beyond four am.

I want to get up late and play with my toys.

I want to play with my toys and my friends and their toys.

I want to watch cartoons and laugh hysterically for no reason.

I want to stomp my foot when I don’t get my way.

I want to stomp both feet when no one listens to me.

I want to say what I want without a filter.

I want…I want to throw a tantrum.

So, today, I will be five!

Solitude

 Trifextra Week Fifty One:   choose one of the pictures below and give us a 33-word response to it.



far above the roil and boil
hue and cry
in quiet repose
imagine the world an ordered place
of sootless air
and whispered breeze
and uncluttered horizons
with room to spread one's wings



this is the picture I chose


Photo credit: ZeroOne / Foter.com / CC BY-SA

Job Security

The word this week is:

IDLE
1: lacking worth or basis : vain <idle chatter> <idle pleasure>
2: not occupied or employed: as
    a : having no employment : inactive <idle workers>
    b : not turned to normal or appropriate use <idle farmland>
    c : not scheduled to compete <the team will be idle tomorrow>
3: a : shiftless, lazy

    b : having no evident lawful means of support

Please remember:

• 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. 

Sweat beading their brows, Murray and Thompson worked the hoes in the hard packed field.  It seemed the weeds grew faster and taller in the poor soil than the crop they were tending.

"Exactly what's the point of this anyway?"  Murray asked.

Thompson shook his head, "don't know, don't care.  I just do what I'm told."

Murray glanced at his companion, "I just don't get it. Nothin' has ever growed here.  But every year we're out here breakin' our backs.  For what?"

Murray stood and stretched before he answered, "I suppose, it's to give the guards somethin' to do, that's our job, keep 'em from being idle."

Under Gifted

Week Three: For this week, your inspiration comes from two words (you are not required to use these words, though you may):

Gossamer: noun; a fine, filmy substance consisting of cobwebs spun by small spiders, which is seen esp. in autumn.

Affinity: noun; ( pl. affinities ) (often affinity between/for/with) a spontaneous or natural liking or sympathy for someone or something: he has an affinity for the music of Berlioz.

Willa stood on the sidewalk gazing at the old duplex. The yard needed mowing, and the flower beds wanted weeding. Still, she saw dignity and grace in the abandoned building. The wide porch beckoned a welcome to either entry door. She’d always been drawn to the old homes. That was why she finally went into real estate, to listen to the voices of the homes, and find the proper residents for them.

It was her gift.

She planted her “For Sale” sign in the yard, then stepped onto the porch while fishing the keys from her pocket. For no particular reason, she opened the right hand door first.

As she stepped over the threshold, the house sighed with the pleasure. Memories drifted from the walls, reaching for her. Caressing her with silken threads of full lives and loves everlasting. Warm hearts and laughing family times.

She welcomed the peaceful embrace. Heard yearning in the whispers of empty spaces longing to filled again.

She knew the perfect family for this home. People of life and love and laughter.

Willa smiled contentedly to herself as she finished her walk-through and began to search for the other key.

As she reached the door, the voices of the home became more insistent, “Don't go. Don't go.” They pleaded.

“I’ll be back, and with a family for you.” She whispered. “I promise.”

Willa left the gentle memories behind. She crossed the shared porch and stepped over the threshold of the left hand door.

Her gift hadn’t prepared her for the mirror twin of the other side.

No. Regrets.

The water is bearably hot, to offset the inevitable chill.  Fingers swirl the water.  Making pretty pink designs upon the surface.

Disjointed thoughts drift upward on the rising steam as a contented smile plays on slackening lips.  Chances missed, opportunities ignored, mistakes made, apologies unspoken.

No regrets.

Leaning into the warmed porcelain embrace.  Snuggling deeper into the warmth.  Twin rivers of red flowing not so slowly into the relaxing bath.

A random thought skitters by.  Which will win the cosmic coin toss?  The emptying of the shell?  Or the waters waiting for a slip beneath the surface?

Whatever....

No regrets.



My 100 words for Debonair.   (And just for the record, I'm not suicidal, I just go where the muse takes me.) 

Shall We

Trifextra: Week  Fifty    This weekend we're asking for 33 words about a new beginning.




worn path to the sink

tired arms carry dirty dishes

divergent from

worn path to the armchair

to watch tired shows

rustle of light fabric

scent of unfamiliar perfume

"Let's start something new."

Every Other Year

Week 2, hot air balloons and Nirvana...





Keb eyed his wife warily as they stood on the ridge watching the balloons begin their journey across the canyon. 

Keb and Fen had shared a heartfelt hug, but Jaya had just nervously patted the six year old boy's head as she loaded him and his belongings into the basket.

"You be good for your next mamma and pappa, Fen.  Just as you were for us."  Polite words.  

The boy smiled and waved, too excited about the balloon ride to notice Jaya's apathy. Fen turned to face his destination.  This third trek across the rift was just the next step of his growing up.

"Maybe, this time, Golda will come back to us."  Jaya strained to see the balloons that were floating their direction, children waving as they passed each other mid way.

"Jaya, you know it's unlikely, the..."

"But it could happen! It has before."  Jaya looked at him with desperate hope.

Keb kept his thoughts within. Their self-born daughter had left after her second birthday, just as she was meant to.  Jaya had grieved herself into depression, barely attending to the toddler boy they'd received later that day.

He'd prayed for a girl child two years later, in hopes that Jaya would come around. Four year old Fen had turned out to be a perfect fit for him. Jaya played her role, barely.

"Look! The balloons have landed, Keb!"  Jaya shook with anxiety. "Go see, Keb, see if it's her."

Keb followed the chart at the landing area.  With a smile and hug he collected his next cycle child. A six year old girl.

They returned together to Jaya's post. Keb's joy turned to despair at Jaya's crestfallen face.  She recovered enough to run one caramel colored hand through the girls curls.

"What pretty blond hair you have."