Written for the dVerse Prosery Prompt by Amy Woolard: âWhat does it matter that the stars we see are already deadâ
âWhat does it matter that the stars we see are already dead? What does that even mean, Margie?â
âOh, Nell. If I have to explain it to you, it loses its gravitas, its pathos, doesnât it?â
âGravitas? Pathos? Iâm sorry .⊠when were you named chief cook, bottlewasher and poet laureate?â
Margie gave her friend a dismissive eye roll before turning her back, busying herself with little scraps of paper on her desk.
There was a time the two were like sisters, cherishing a bond they never found with anyone else. Now they barely recognized each other; their conversations were stilted to the point of being painful.
And it all came down to Nicole, a newcomer in their exclusive inner circle …. a renaissance woman and Margie thought she hung the moon.
âI miss us, Margieâ
Intense silence. Spoken words were never as wounding.
Denise at GirlieOnTheEdge has once again challenged us to write a Six Sentence Story using the prompt word “nail”. This is my story.
When I first saw him I thought I was hallucinating (was this a real person or a fear-induced illusion?) and I knew I had to remain perfectly still and quiet â my very life depended on it.
I had no idea how long Iâd been there â certainly long enough for my skin to have turned red, my mouth parched, my lips cracked and I remember being stung and bitten by insects and digging my nailsinto the palms of my hands to keep from crying out, but I recall now ⊠we were picking flowers and berries in a sun-filled field ⊠we had been following a stream and unknowingly wandered far from home when I caught sight of a bush hidden deep in a shady area; the plant was heavy with ripe blackberries and I couldnât resist running to the bush, happily filling my bucket with the deep purple fruit.
I was busy plucking berries when I heard screams â not the usual giddy, playful squeals of young girls but awful shrieks of terror and I started to run back only to see my three sisters encircled by a group of Indians, hulking and menacing men, blocking the girlâs attempts to flee; they wore breechcloths across their midsection, moccasins and no shirts, their faces painted and their heads shaved except for a center strip of upright long hair and I knew immediately they were the dreaded Mohawk.
They tugged the girlâs long blonde hair, poked them with sticks and tore at their starched white dresses.
I wanted to shout out but was too afraid and I hid while my sweet little sisters were raped and raped and raped.
At 15, I was the eldest and I was supposed to protect them; how could I be such a coward?
It’s time for The Unicorn Challenge! Jenne has provided the photo below and asks that we respond with a story not to exceed 250 words. Here is my 250-word response.
Russell was tired of my excuses, my insecurities, my hang-ups and what he called âThat Sicilian thing thatâs 2000 years oldâ, which would have had more gravitas if I didnât know it came straight from “Godfather 2″. He was breaking up with me and I was laughing in his face.
He was right, of course. I was a lousy girlfriend and I certainly wouldnât make him a good wife. I didnât like sex with him; some of the things he tried to do went on forever and brought me no satisfaction. I was disgusted by what he wanted me to do.
Russell stormed out. Good riddance. Thatâs when I decided to follow my dream and move to Sicily. Travel arrangements went smoothly and, having spoken previously with the people where Iâd be staying, I knew getting accommodations would not be a problem.
My plans came together quickly. I packed a carry-on; more than that I wouldnât need. In the morning I called for a taxi. Four hours later I was flying across the Atlantic on my way to the town of Erice. The place where I was staying was ancient, located on the top of Mount Erice, far from the useless worries of life. No cares, no distractions.
The bus dropped me off at Sorelle Povere*. My knock on the door was answered by a smiling older woman.
Oh, good morning! Sorry, I didnât see you there till just now. Do you know who I am? I come into your homes multiple times each week. Youâve just never seen me look quite like this before.
Iâm heading out to share coffee with my friend. Why not keep me company along the way?
You know, itâs funny how things happen. If you’re lucky, you go through life happy and content, grateful for the many blessings you have. Life may not be a whirlwind of excitement but it’s still life and I’m glad to be living it, especially since I have a dear friend to share things with. Sure, we may be creeping up on OBS (Old Bat Status) but we don’t care; life truly is what you make it!
It all began months ago when we crossed paths in this very location and the more we got to know one another, the more we liked each other. We discovered we have a lot in common. As time went by and we started peeling back more layers, we realized the similarities between us were uncanny. We jokingly say itâs like being âseparated at birthâ.
My friend and I each have a wonderful hubby, two terrific sons and four grandchildren weâre crazy about. We have a handful of good friends and weâre lucky to be doing the things we really enjoy: writing {poetry for her and stories for me}, cooking, gardening, walking, listening to music and watching a little TV. We love the show, Granchester and like Will but wish Sydney would come back, you know?
Letâs see; we both wear glasses (although I seem to have misplaced mine today). We enjoy feeding the birds in our yards. We complain about doctors and think Seinfeld is the funniest show ever. We wonât wear clothes without pockets and prefer scrambled eggs cooked the French way. We love fresh burrata, watching sports, Bobby Darin and anchovies.
We relish the silence but our minds are constantly in the groove to the soundtrack of life; we are, as we like to say, “cautious worriers“. She’s also a wiz at that computer imaging thingy she does. What she can do with people is amazing; sometimes it just makes us laugh and laugh!
We’re comfy as two old peas in a pod. Being friends is as relaxed as sharing a warm slice of freshly baked sourdough bread, laughing at something funny one of us said.
Why, we even call each other “sis”; now, ain’t that a kick in the head!
We do have our differences, though: I love liver and she can’t stand it and she loves spicy mustard while I prefer mild. We enjoy working on puzzles â crossword for me, jigsaw for her. And she’s got a couple of inches on me.
Oh, look! Here she comes now! I wonder, can you recognize her from where you are? Who’s my friend?
Morning, sis! I was just chatting with a couple hundred of our WordPress friends. Right you are â it is a small world. Care for a cuppa? Here ya go, luv, just the way we like it. Cheers!
The Elephant's Trunk 