Whilst Underwater

This piece is written in 50-word increments. The literary quote I have chosen for this week is: “To the well-organized mind, death is but the next great adventure.” – Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone by J.K. Rowling. If you are inspired by this line- and would like to use it in your own creation, please do and link back to this post.

Image Conjured by Me and Copilot

“To the well-organized mind, death is but the next great adventure,” Professor Halpern orated, while thwacking his telescopic pointer against the dry erase board for emphasis- these words may have been lost on the majority of the Monday morning 8am Literature class attendees- but for Dana they landed especially hard.

He made death sound like something to be anticipated- with guidebooks, postcards, and hand-scribbled itineraries- but all Dana could see was her mother- pale, bird-boned, breathing in shallow sips- being shipped off to points as of yet undisclosed- lugging a suitcase she was no longer even strong enough to  carry.

Dana clenched her pen, her knuckles whitening- how could he speak of death like it was an intellectual puzzle to be admired from a safe distance, instead of something with a pulse and a heartbeat and a face- her face- her mother’s face- the blatant insensitivity of his words stung.

Death was not a metaphor- her mother wasn’t literary fodder- she was a woman with laugh lines etched from decades of smiling, with a stubborn streak that carried them both through years of meager paychecks, a voice that used to fill every room and now- barely reached across a pillow.

The lecture hall dissolved around her, its rows of seats and fluorescent lights flattening into a distant blur as Dana’s thoughts drifted to the inevitable ring of her phone- the somber yet nondescript voice of a hospice nurse informing her- that it was time to make her last trip home.

She rubbed her thumb across the spiral wire of her notebook, grounding herself with the cool metal against her skin- around her, the scrape of chairs and shuffle of backpacks signaled the end of class, students chattered- their voices swirling, muffled and distant, like she was hearing them, whilst underwater.

This is my contribution to this week’s Six Sentence Story, where the prompt for the week was: Ring.

Between the Scars

Image courtesy of Slava Jamm on Unsplash

it is in the striations*
in the wounds left behind

it is in the hard-pressed soil
beneath the trampled grass

it is in the scent of wood smoke
trapped in neatly plaited hair

it is in the pillow’s indentation
long after the nights recline

it is in the single torn thread
caught fast on life’s barbed wire

beauty is wrought
not inculcated**

it is the softness
that rises up
between the scars

*Parallel grooves or lines

**Instilled by persistent instruction

This is my response to the phot prompt offered this week on Sadje’s WDYS #315

Carnival Carnage: Redux

Photo Courtesy of Ago Resta Blog

Willet had just queued up for the Ferris Wheel, when the gods saw fit to unleash the most torrential rain of good luck he had ever been witness to….

With a wailing creak, followed by the scream of metal being twisted beyond all imagination, the wheel wrenched free, and did what wheels do best- rolled…

A distraction of eminent proportion ensued almost immediately….

As the wheel rolled clear of the midway and headed for the packed grandstand, Willet, with the nimble wit of a professional, took heed of fates call- and leapt into the mire of human fodder, a pick pocket’s delight.

This post originally aired in March of 2019- however I thought it was a perfect fit for Jim’s Thursday Inspirations this week where the call was: Respond to this challenge by either using the prompt word wheel, or going with the above picture, or by means of the song ‘Alabama’, or by going with another song by the Neil Young, or a song that mentions a state in the USA, or another song that mentions racial discrimination, or anything else you think fits.  

Interwoven Paths: Redux

Photo Courtesy of Crispina Kemp

We will never know whether the inexperienced young motorcyclist realized, for even a split second, he would fail to negotiate the notoriously tight curve, that crisp spring afternoon. Or what he was thinking when he felt himself losing control as he fishtailed into the turn….

What we do know, is that upon impact, his helmeted head was embedded in the shattered front end of a 1998 Chevy Astro Van, being driven by a man, an ordinary man, traveling at a safe rate of speed, down the same sector of road, demarcated as it was, by two solid yellow lines, assuring his right of passage around the same tight curve…

And that life’s nemesis- death- visited, and carried away with it, not only the broken remains of the motorcyclist that lost his precious young life, but also the innocence of a man that now only vaguely remembers what it ever felt like to be- ordinary….

I was crushed for time last week, so I decided to repost this piece originally posted in January 2019 as my response to both Esther’s Weekly Writing Prompt where the word this week was: Fish and Crimson’s Creative Challenge #060 which supplied the photo prompt.