Good Monday morning! Or at least, I hope it will turn into one if it hasn’t yet.
My dreams were sweet and intoxicating, and kept me in bed longer than I’d like. But here I am with my very short stories.
Here you go!
The tree lay on its side, but relatively intact. Winds from last night’s storm #uprooted its proud base, leaving it exposed to the elements. She wandered over to it in sun’s brilliant rays and mourned its fate to shrivel and decay.
But the tree didn’t give up.
#Smoke tumbles off the burning logs, crawling slowly towards the heavens. The fire’s scent hangs in the air and spreads its warmth and fond memories. Leaves rustle underfoot and form a carpet on soon to sleep grass. The taste of Autumn is in the air, beckoning.
Rain gathered behind the dam’s walls. Its angered waters licked and spilled over its confinement, taunting those in its way. Shouts were scarcely heard over the storm, ordering evacuation.
The police rushed to remove those in the city below, to beat the #floodwaters.
The teachers blamed the #lunar eclipse but the students only wanted freedom. From rules and regulations. From homework and grades. From the rigors suffocating creativity. They longed to spread their wings and read from forbidden works.
Really, they wanted stimulation.
I remember doing #somersaults on the ground. The grass wet or dry, but soft against my clumsiness. I remember it turned into flips in the air that ended badly, too. I remember the child in me who made the attempt despite the outcome.
Where did she go?
His eyes were #amber and sweet like honey. They raked over her naked body, sending shivers across her skin. Tension rose between them in the still silence. The pure sexual energy demanded release.
If she were a lock, his kiss was the key to unleash both their passion.
Her fingers fluttered like hummingbirds across the keys of the piano. It was the only thing betraying her #euphoric mood. With eyes shut and lips a thin line, no one thought she was anything but serious. The notes that rose and fell were uplifting, demanding. Like her.
Why I keep writing
It gives purpose.
It builds a home.
It joins lives.
It allows for calm, peace.
It fills a void.
It answers a call.
It sparks life.
It sedates anger, fear.
It adds to the light.
It takes from the dark.
It mediates experiences.
It awakens love, hope.
It is medicine.
It comforts the breaking.
It builds the broken.
It breaths help, justice.
It takes time.
It ages and dies.
It is born again and again.
It thinks on life, death.