Written for The Unicorn Challenge where we are
asked to get creative in 250 words or less using
the photo below as inspiration. This is my story.
Tag: Failings
The Water’s Edge
Written for dVerse Poets By The Beautiful Sea.
This is one of my reworked pieces from 2022.
How I long to walk to the water’s edge,
to dip my toes and cool my burning feet.
There are times I think if I could just reach the water
all my pain would wash away.
Where are the days when I skipped along the shore
collecting shells and rocks and starfish?
My body would bake in the brilliant sun as I danced
like a gazelle from one end of the beach to the other.
I’d look back in amazement wondering how I walked that far.
Sometimes I would catch my reflection in the water
and see that young woman, vibrant and alive.
Hair of burnished gold, skin smooth and lustrous,
deeply tanned, and eyes as green as the ocean itself.
I smile at her but she does not smile back.
Perhaps she knows the hurt that lies ahead
and is already grieving.
I desperately want to be free from these chains of pain
but the key has long been buried in the sand.
I reach for it and again it eludes me.
Where is that young, desirable woman? Where did she go?
If you see her walking by the water’s edge, please send her home.
I have much to tell her. My heart is strong and my lust for life
and love has not diminished. Only my muscles fail me.
How I long to walk to the water’s edge, but my tired
and failing limbs will not support me. Oh, how they mock me!
Will someone carry me to the water’s edge?
How I long to walk there once again.
NAR©2022
From Concert for George, this is Sam Brown et al with “Horse To The Water” by George Harrison
All text, graphics and videos are copyright for The Sicilian Storyteller, The Elephant’s Trunk and The Rhythm Section and are not to be used without permission. NAR©2017-present.
Supper’s Ready
An oldie from 2017, revamped to
include several word prompts from
FOWC with Fandango,
Moonwashed Weekly Prompt and
Weekly Prompts Weekend Challenge.
Hard boiled egg whites, cottage cheese, skim milk. Day 1. Brian sighed.
Boiled rice, a mozzarella slice, lactose-free milk. Day 2. Brian cried.
Yogurt, tofu, almond milk. Day 3. Brian died …. just a little.
What a drag.
After receiving the diagnosis “ULCER”, Brian’s wife Ali had been lovingly, carefully packing his lunches. He checked the contents of his bento box: plain broiled cod, boiled cauliflower and coconut milk. “This must be her White Period”, he thought, wistfully.
Sensitive and embarrassed coworkers averted their eyes as they passed Brian’s cubicle on their way to lunch. Gone were the cheerful calls “C’mon, Brian! We’re going to Smokin’ Joe’s Hot Wings for lunch!” or “Salsa and nachos in the hospitality room, guys!” Oh, the humanity!
Brian’s computer pinged. It was an email from Ali: “Hi, hon. Hope you’re having a great day. Did you find the Maalox I put in your backpack? We’re having something special for dinner tonight …. poached chicken, brown rice and garbanzo beans …. hope you’re hungry! Love ya, babe! xo”
“Ah, Ali’s Beige Period.” Brian stared blankly at the computer screen. “I wonder how many beige foods there are …. oatmeal, boiled potatoes, matzoh….”
How long could he continue at this rate?
Depressed, fatigued and hungry, Brian put his head in his hands; a solitary tear fell through his fingers onto his khakis. Slowly the wet spot morphed into the shape of a slice of pizza. “What the …. ?!” Incredulous, Brian blinked and wiped his eyes. “What’s happening to me?!” Images of devilish, cramp-inducing, bowel-seizing delicacies danced ‘round his head …. jalapeño poppers, tacos, barbecued ribs.
The dreaded hunger hallucinations! Sweating, Brian texted Ali. “Babe. Last minute meeting with the deputy mayor. Sorry, I’m gonna miss dinner. Love ya!”
Brian lied.
Grabbing the bottle of Maalox and a Smokin‘ Joe’s menu from his desk drawer, Brian bolted from his cubicle, giddy as a school girl at her first dance.
“Outta my way, boys, outta my way!!”
Brian knew he was taking a big chance but he just didn’t care. He was starving, dammit! And out he ran, laughing and joyfully shouting, “Jalapeño-effing-poppers, baby!!”
NAR © 2024
Doing a great parody of Michael Jackson’s “Beat It”, this is “Weird Al” Yankovic with “Eat It”
This portfolio (including text, graphics and videos) is copyright for The Sicilian Storyteller, The Elephant’s Trunk and The Rhythm Section and is not for use by anyone without permission. NAR © 2017-present.
WHY BOTHER?
Rochelle @ Friday Fictioneers
has offered up another photo prompt;
this is my 100-word response.
My mother was coming for a visit – just a couple of hours but enough time to give my house the once-over.
I gave up long ago trying to please Mom or meet her unreasonable expectations; nothing I did made her happy or proud so why even bother? Now that I was a mom, spending time with my kids was more important than keeping an immaculate house.
To my surprise, the afternoon with Mom was delightful. As she was leaving, she walked by the pile of shoes in my mudroom and announced with a huff, “Nancy, you are such a disappointment.”
NAR © 2023
100 Words
This is “Motherless Child” by Eric Clapton
WHITE COLLAR JOB
Monastic Gregorian chant serenely filled the empty church. Candles flickered, casting long shadows across the walls. A sliver of the moon was barely perceptible through the rose-colored window above the crucifix. It was very late but the church was never locked as troubled souls sought comfort and refuge regardless of the hour.
A solitary man sat huddled in the corner of a pew, thinking, praying, contemplating his next move. Occasionally his eyes would glance at the little round light above the confessional door indicating that a priest was available to listen, to advise, to absolve.
Rubbing his chafed neck, the man stared at his Roman collar now resting on the pew next to him. How many years had it been since his ordination? How many baptisms had he performed, weddings had he celebrated, funerals had he officiated? More than he could count.
He was a good priest; some might even say excellent. Not perfect by any stretch, but the rights certainly outweighed the wrongs. All except THIS wrong.
He was no thief, no murderer. No one knew his secret so who was he hurting? He asked himself that question endless times, always able to justify his actions. Even Jesus said that the sins of the flesh were the easiest to forgive.
It was so natural, so easy. He was happiest when he was with her and yet it was killing him. This wrong which felt so right was eating him alive.
They were friends and saw each other every day at Holy Rosary Hospital. She was not only an outstanding nurse; she possessed an amazing ability to calm the fears of the dying and console the grief-stricken. They told themselves they were drawn together by their mutual empathy for the suffering, which was true at first. Now the unthinkable had happened. They were lovers, adulterers…..for he was married to the church and she was married to his best friend.
He knew the two choices before him…..confess his sins, beg forgiveness and give her up or go on living a lie and continue their affair. Whatever his decision, the toll would be unbearable.
Making the sign of the cross, he rose and slowly walked toward the confessional. Steeling himself, he reached out for the handle of the confessional booth. At that exact moment, the light switched off.
Head hanging, tears falling, he turned and disappeared into the night.
NAR © 2017
The Elephant's Trunk 