Very Short Stories, Week 23

Another weekend has come and gone and I already long for the next one. I find them relaxing in such a new way in the fall. Here’s hoping Autumn will help me blossom.

Anyways, I tried to not to be too repetitive with this week’s set of prompts and I think I pulled it off. Not gonna lie, I feel I have lost the sensory aspect of my writing and I’m trying to tap into it again. Working on my description that way as it were. So here’s hoping that’s noticeable in the future!

 

September 17th

The wolves prowled the ground, tracking the scent until they came across their prey. Low to the ground, they crawled forward in the dense grass. In the quiet evening sun, their paws dashed forward in thunderous waves. Their #carnivorous fangs sank into the fat of the calf.

 

September 18th

His warmth welcomes her, leaves her #infatuated with his presence. His words soothe her, teaching her to love who he is inside.

But their souls?

Those meet in the dark nights, wrapped in need and want for each other. Connecting their broken pieces for one whole being.

 

September 19th

The path into the dark is never lined with light. It’s a #cavernous descent into the bowels of one’s own soul. Eyes adjust slowly to constant night and it’s left to one’s imagination how the trail begun. But it is home now. Its warmth and smell of brimstone there always.

 

September 20th

In the heat of the moment, passion #devours the mind. Thoughts of laundry and chores vanish. And they’re at the edge, the peak, the tiptop of release. They disintegrate into a husk rocked by wave after wave of climax. The body controls the wheel and only lets go after orgasm.

 

September 21st

In the depths of her bones, in its very #marrow, were the answers to her abilities. And she couldn’t let him harvest it. Struggling against the restraints, they frayed and snapped, freeing her. She grabbed the thin shaft of the scalpel and lashed out at the doctors.

 

September 22nd

My #garden lies barren. Its soil hard and unyielding. There are no weeds to pull, no flowers to tend. Instead it weakens further, unnurtured. The sun dries it and the wind kicks at its dust. When the rain comes, I fear it will be too late. Another patch of death.

 

September 23rd

The #Equinox seemed to approach faster this year, leaving her frazzled. She ran her hand through her hair and collected the stones she owned. The polished black of the hematite called to her and she held its rounded edges in her palm. This will do, she thought and began.

Fire’s Future

All flames burn down to ashes,
Left unattended, abandoned.
Much like gardens left to weeds,
And sparse rain falls.
 
Looking at my fire,
It weakens, only to grow again.
 
The wood I carry,
My dreams, my hopes, my desires,
But I carry my failures,
And my shortcomings, too.
If I burn only for a future,
What point was the past?
 
Learn from the letdowns,
And burn brighter for it.
 
The phoenix I hold inside,
Might die with the cruel waves of time.
It has come close before,
But still, I stroke it’s soft feathers,
And step forward into the night.
I will make my own sunshine,
My own fair weather days.
 
Until then, I prod the wood on fire,
And add fuel to its crimson flames.