The Earworm’s Tune

She could feel it burrowing inside her; the earworm was nothing if not persistent, and it had lodged itself firmly within her brain before cranking up the volume to eleven. Pretty soon, the bright and brassy sound of a new age jazz tune was the only thing she could hear; its rhythm pulsed through her, and she couldn’t stop her toes from tapping along in time. Though she tried – oh, how she tried – to stifle the urge, the day finally came when she could no longer keep from singing; she threw herself up onto the stage and belted out the earworm’s tune, and the thunderous applause made the months of torture worth every minute.

(c) 2017. All rights reserved.

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Bones

She crouched over his body on the floor. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. It was supposed to be happily ever after. He’d sold her a fairy tale, a life she’d barely been able to imagine.
And now he was dead.

They had had only a month together, hardly enough time in which to give her the moon and the stars like he’d promised. He’d sold her a fairy tale, a dream he could not make true.

And now he was dead.

The wind carried her anguish to the hills, swirled her bitter tears out to sea. The trees bent beneath her wails, snapping and cracking like his bones, creaking and groaning like the bones of her house.

When the freak storm finally passed, her neighbors found her frozen in the rubble, still crouched over his body, and thought how sweet it was that they had perished together.

(c) 2017. All rights reserved.

The Moon In Her Eyes

The night was dark and the moon was high as the brave young man strode calmly by and promised to pluck the moon from the sky for the girl he loved to wear in her eyes. He aimed with his arrow, and shot true and high, encircling the moon with a great length of twine, but it wasn’t enough to capture the prize. For the moon it continued to climb through the sky, and as it did it pulled on the twine, and ever so slowly did the brave young man rise till he found himself alone in the sky with the moon and his arrow and a great length of twine, and no way to get back to the girl that he loved with the moon in her eyes. For ever and always he’ll continue to try to capture the moon to hang in the eyes of the girl that he loved on that cold, dark night, and he’ll never forget the way that she cried when he disappeared into the great black sky to fetch her the moon to wear in her eyes. He’ll never forget the way that she died with the moon shining brightly in her dark brown eyes.

(c) 2017. All rights reserved.

Lake of Fog

It was rainy and dreary here on Monday, then foggy as anything yesterday morning. Nothing inspires me quite the way fog and rain do, especially at this time of year. Add to that “Gretchen am Spinnrade,” which has been getting a lot of play on my iPod, and I quickly found myself in Inspiration City. This piece has been brewing for a couple of days, and I hope you like it. 🙂

The steady beat of the rain on the glass echoed the steady beat of her tears on the floor. The fog on the lake mirrored the fog in her soul, and she wore it the way she’d have worn a comfy old coat. If she could just find him, she could make him see. If she could just find him, then she’d be free.

But the fog hid more than her drooping frame, and the rain did wash freedom’s sun away. She searched through the windows, tore open the door, but the fog hid her love forevermore. She climbed up the mountain, looked high and low, but the fog hid everything in the valley below.

Then a flash caught her eye and without hesitation, she stepped into the sky. She dove toward the lake where he’d rested his head on a pillow of stone, with sand for a bed. But a trick of the light was all it had been, and the freezing cold water welcomed her in. The bitter blue waves stole every breath; with tears in her eyes, she at last greeted Death.

The steady beat of the rain on the glass echoed the steady beat of her tears on the floor. The fog on the lake mirrored the fog in her soul; she wore it the way she’d have worn a comfy old coat. If she could just find him, she could make him see. But she never could find him; she’ll never be free.

(c) 2017. All rights reserved.

Photo Friday

I meant to post this yesterday as a Throwback Thursday post…but I forgot.

Oops.

Oh, well! My forgetfulness worked out this time, because now I’m not scrambling for ideas on what to post today! And Photo Friday can make a brief return!

See? It’s all good! 😀

Wow, that’s phrase I haven’t used since the ’90s…

Speaking of that glorious decade of my misspent youth, today’s photo gallery features a collaborative story a friend and I wrote for Spanish class once upon a time. She did the drawing, I did the writing, and we both had a ton of fun in the process. I was actually thinking about this story (and a couple of others) a couple weeks ago as I sat at school conferences. Miss Tadpole now has my high school Spanish teacher, who told her that I used to write stories in Spanish.

Ah, the good ol’ days, when I was slightly more confident in my language skills… 😀

I ran across this the other night as I was digging through a scrapbook and praying I could find my original ACT scores. They never turned up, but this gem did, along with some other hilarious reminders of my high school days (YM covers and Tiger Beat centerfolds and “Got milk?” ads, oh my!).

My photo skills were somewhat lacking with these, so I captioned each lovely character sketch with the story.

Happy Friday, folks!

(c) 2016. All rights reserved.

Silver Waves

foggyroadThe mist rolled in from the fields in great silvery waves, swallowing everything in its path. Sea, sky, land – nothing was spared. I sat upstairs, watching from my window as the fog consumed the world, and wondered why, if the curse was broken, everything continued to fade away.

(c) 2016. All rights reserved.

The Oaks

IMG_20141028_132905And now, a story in four little sentences:

A ring of gnarled oaks encircled an ancient house on a lonely hillside. Their tangled arms clawed the sky in supplication to the night, begging her to stay, to keep them hidden from the blinding brightness of the day. But when at last Dawn broke over the horizon, their leafy robes burst into flames, and they rained droplets of fire as the morning star watched from on high.

Afterward, when the sun had adjourned its heavenly travels and night fell once more, the trees wept in their lover’s cold embrace and wondered why, when the air turned crisp, she always let them burn.

(c) 2016. All rights reserved.

Forgotten

And now, a snippet of something that’s been eating away at my brain for the last month:

Fog hangs low in the valley, hugging the hills and kissing the trees, while the corn whispers in the fields beyond. Birds perch warily on the power lines, watching, waiting, and even the crickets have ceased their singing. The air is thick with anticipation, as if every living thing is holding its breath.

Such mornings are not uncommon as summer gives way to fall, but something is different this morning. This is an uncommon morning.

The words of an old song drift through my head as I slice through the fog with my high beams. La nuit m’a oubliée…Pourtant…je suis toujours là…Je suis toujours là…

The night may have forgotten, but I certainly haven’t, I think as I pass his house. I keep my eyes on the road, trying to forget the way he used to hug me, the kisses that used to linger on my skin long into the night after he’d gone. But it’s no use.

I can’t forget, though I would dearly like to.

Thanks to Jane Dougherty for the words of inspiration!

(c) 2016. All rights reserved.

Throwback Thursday

I’m doing something new today and participating in a Throwback Thursday event. I’ve been working on an old short story the last couple days, and while I’ve wanted to blog about it, I…haven’t. Not yet.

This seemed like the perfect opportunity to share the story again. 🙂

Ideally, I could finish this story in the next month (or maybe two). But since I ended in the middle of a scene and have no idea where I was going with it, I suspect it may take longer than that to finish. Thank goodness I made lots of notes when I started out, or I’d be totally up a creek right now.

I have my work cut out for me as it is.

If you’d like to check out some of the other things people are sharing, head on over to Part-Time Monster, Adventures of a Jayhawk Mommy, and The Qwiet Muse. I can’t wait to check out everything else later on tonight! 🙂

(c) 2016. All rights reserved.