Tag Archives: story

Chop Chop!

The date at 6.  The clock at 5.  Everyone waiting for me to arrive like festivities barred behind brittle little braces and I’m the Straw that breaks its back.  I want to be there.  I want more time with you all.  But painful is the prodding that produces this person to patiently mosey around from my private cove.  The lines on the clock face tick lines on my face, and all I hear is –

 

Chop Chop!

 

My private cove where my actions are my own and not the production of string pulls on my marionette.  My door like scissors that cut me loose into my own sanctuary.  I drop my masquerade in a jar by the door and may work on my dreams in peace.  And pieces they become for two eyes of my own for I share them with no one; not for my sake, I just wear a particular prescription.  My farsighted lenses I paint over with roses save me from the Grims that speak with no filter.  So I stay here with myself.  I lie in bed and let my aspirations float up into the ceiling fan – and pieces they become.

 

Chop Chop!

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Love Letter

You’re the gravity,

That gives these words weight.

Without you, it’s just a blank slate.

 

You’re the word I can’t stop repeating,

Until it loses all meaning,

But I can’t stop from singing.

 

You’re the body I hold under the sheet,

Because when our brains turn off,

Our hearts still beat.

 

You’re the gravity,

That gives these words weight.

Without you, it’s just a blank slate.

 

You’re the one after the “To”,

Who I’m sending this love letter,

To try and make our love better.

 

Mommy Under the Bed

Copied from my post on nosleep.  


Another night of overtime.  This paycheck better be worth it.  It better be worth not seeing my wife, my kid, my home… my TV.

I got home late again.  I try to turn the key and knob so it doesn’t make any noise.  I can feel the deadbolt clunk back, I tiptoe inside, and lock the door behind me.  I quietly slip my shoes off and slink up the stairs.  It was only after I got into the bedroom and undressed that I realized my entire body had been tense since I got to the porch.  Something about being quiet tenses you up.  I slide into bed next to my wife, kiss her on the back of the head, and go to sleep.

“Daddy.”

I squeeze one eye shut and crack the other to see my son is standing next to my bed in his pajamas.  It’s still late, but he had turned the hallway light on.

“Yeah?”

“Mommy is under my bed,” he said.

“There’s a monster under your bed?” I asked, trying to wake my body up enough to be coherent.  Usually I could force some motivation, but I guess these long nights had gotten to me.

“No, Mommy,” he says.

“Mommy’s right here next to me.  Go turn the hallway light off.”

“Bu-“

“Now,” I demanded.  He scampered back out of the room and turned the light off.  As soon as it was dark again, my wife shifted comfortably back into bed.  Now that she was awake, I knew I had to get up to check on him.  I picked myself up on my elbow and sat up.  I felt incredibly weak, but I bent back over and told my wife I’d be right back.  I couldn’t see the bedroom in the dark, so I felt around until I grabbed my robe and walked to the hallway door.  My son was standing there waiting on me.

“Alright buddy, let’s go check it out.”  My eyes adjusted quickly to the darkness of the hallway, and I finally managed some energy.  I guess it was nice to see my son for the first time in a while.

We walked to his bedroom together.  I grabbed his hand, opened the door, and flipped on the lights.  I closed the door behind me to drown out some of the noise for my wife.

“Alright, buddy.  Let’s check this out.”  I knelt on the floor and bent down.  I collapsed.  My wife’s mutilated body laid twisted under the bed, her head snapped towards me and her eyes wide open.  I couldn’t breathe.  I couldn’t move.  But….

“Buddy, don’t look under here!”  I said, my voice rising and shaking.  I reached for her, every part of her body tense and strict.  Her skin looked dark blue.

“Daddy?!” he whimpered.  Hearing my son made me release some tension, enough for me to hear footsteps coming down the hall.

“Run and lock the door!” I told him.  He ran over and locked it, then we both scooted to the back wall and watched the doorknob jerk.

Mondays Finish the Story – Miners Hill

Check out the others here.

© 2015, Barbara W. Beacham
© 2015, Barbara W. Beacham

“The only residents remaining in the small town of Miners Hill are spirits.”

The mine collapse killed several bodies, and the living ones left with their broken families from the broken economy.  Without the mine, they didn’t have money to rescue the workers, and Miners Hill became a ghost town.

The ghosts of the miners still work the mine.  They work without any rest in hopes things will go back to normal.  They work every second of every day so their families have a reason to come back.  The hopeless ones are the hopeful ones, and the ones that gave up are gone.  To live in the shadow of a murderous hill was too dark for the people outside, but the men who are trapped in eternal darkness stay to work: work to get their families back, or work to get back to their families.  They’ve almost dug back up to the surface, out of their collective grave.

Sunday Photo Fiction – Anchors Aweigh

Joining another community with familiar faces.  Hope I’m not being intrusive at this point!  Check out others here!


106-05-may-24th-2015

Another sleepless night after seeing so many fall asleep for eternity.  Not enough Trazodone, melatonin, and alcohol in the world can turn my waking mind off.  The door is locked, the curtains closed, the fan on, and my bed is cozy, but I have to keep my candle lit to fight off bad dreams.  I think it might be keeping me awake.

I can see the flicker of light and shadow on my bedroom wall dance around in harmony from being lit.  Sometimes I can see the bright and dark form into shapes, into figures, into people I know-knew.  The ghosts are making hand-puppets on my walls.  I can see the outline of the mother that raised me, and the father that brought her down.  I want to fix them; I want to join them.  I can feel the weight of my skin and bones clinging me to this bed like an anchor as I see my parents waltz in the flicker of candlelight and moonlight.  A few more pills, a couple more shots, and then I can join them in sleep.

Anchors aweigh.

Mondays Finish the Story – Angel Flame

Link to Mondays Finish the Story.  Check out the others- it’s a great community of talented writers.

© 2015, Barbara W. Beacham
© 2015, Barbara W. Beacham

“The crew of the Angel Flame received orders to head out.”

Five men, two pilots, two divers, and the captain, pack into the DSRV (Deep Submergence Rescue Vehicle) in search for valuable wreckage, bodies, and, God-willing, survivors.  The cruise liner rested at the bottom of the ocean, one half upside-down, the other awkwardly on its side.

The pilots and captain waited as the divers surveyed the wreckage.  The light from the submarine hardly did anything to light up the dark abyss, and the divers struggled to search efficiently.  They returned empty-handed.

As they returned to the surface, the crew of the Angel Flame swore they saw wisps of light hovering around and past their sub.  The souls of the drowned followed their angels’ flame back to the top.

The support ship on the surface above didn’t see any abnormal lights from their view.  However, just seconds after the submarine surfaced, a hundred dead bodies emerged on the surface of the water surrounding the Angel Flame.

Friday Fictioneers – Howlers

© Marie Gail Stratford
© Marie Gail Stratford

Now the Wilsons lived out ‘n the middle of nowhere- ain’t no neighbor for a good 20 miles!  They owned a good chunk of farmland and the rest, well I guess the state never thought they needed it.

John was tellin’ me that they had a field blocked with a barbed fence at the edge of their property, an’ Mrs. Wilson told him never to go over there.  They never said why.  He told me he often heard howls from that field.  Probably coyotes, I thought.  But he said no- women howling.

Well I wonder if they were blocking something out rather than blocking him in.