Tag Archives: world

Sunday Photo Fiction – Behind Closed Doors

stonecat

Walking down 3rd Street, passing across Washington, we phase through ethereal fog. We can taste the smog, the ‘city-water’ sitting water splashing under endless tires, me and my daughter. The aftertaste of old pennies and nickels permeates my palate. I can almost taste the tableau of top brass, Thomas Jefferson, under the steel skyscrapers. The contour of the skyline sharply engraves itself on the curvature of the night sky’s full-moon like the flavor of the etching of the executives on the change in the pocket of my mouth. The rigidity of the urban iron and the awful aroma of alloy is obnoxiously noxious, but despite my derision, I stay stone-faced in disdain.

Cars cruise past the far lane as I try to keep sane through all this pain. I look down at my daughter for some respite and she’s already looking back at me with a crooked smile in delight in the light of the city at night and I can’t help but wonder when we forget that everything will be alright. Her face scrunches in playful disgust as she sticks her tongue out: sensing the same sense I’m sensing. I just can’t help but wonder at what age do we hide our true feelings behind closed doors behind closed doors behind closed doors behind closed….


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Friday Fictioneers – Lies Forevermore

© C.E.Ayr
© C.E.Ayr

Am I to believe all these circumstances?  Have I been bred to be so naïve?

Sometimes it feels like platforms are falling into the path of my steps, and I get to where I’m supposed to be.  This calculated fate designed for destiny; premeditated not by me.  Do they think that I don’t see just because I’ve always been here- that my sheltering would leave me transfixed?

To hear all my life the beauty of the painted skies, but when I finally reached out for them, my knuckles resounded a knock!

I beseech you the truth.  Lies forevermore, nevermore.


Friday Fictioneers – Hand Shake

© Jean L. Hays
© Jean L. Hays

A hand outstretched, in hopes of partnership to rebuild the lost: from a dissed utopia to a dystopia.  Annexation of their civilization was just conservation.  No one can make it alone anymore.  Not him.  Not them.  But together, their survivability increased exponentially.

But his hand shook.

He was nervous.  No, he was thirsty.  He was hungry.  They had run out of food that wasn’t radiated, outdated, or emaciated.  They needed to be satiated.

Dirt rested in the creases of his palm.  A thin layer of sweat coated his hand.  Blisters were at the base of each finger.

And his hand shook.