Meet Your Top 2 Picks
The challenge was to write a 199-word story, not including the title, using the five (5) following words. All must be included in the order of your choice: Soar, Whisper, Meadow, Lantern, and Vibrant.
And I must say the writers outdid themselves. Talent flows through the veins of all who accept; amazing!
Based on our reader picks, meet the two poems by Rex Carey Arrasmith and noodleBubble. Enjoy these two fun writes.
Confession of a Somnambulist
by Rex Carey Arrasmith
Today I woke exhausted, per usual, feet bloody, nightclothes filthy. I usually wake plagued by vague but vibrant memories of battles won, fights lost, and sometimes lovers vanquished. This morning, I remember a meadow and a surprised raccoon. Gingerly I tip-toe to the shower paying special attention to the fingernail grime I can’t identify. I scrub the gore, maybe blood and gristle, or could be chocolate and cookie crumbs. I will find out soon enough. Dressed for work, I open my door and find a dead raccoon, answering the question of my raggedy chipped nails and the unidentified scratches on my arms, now covered with a tattersall button down. So, it’s blood and gristle for the win. This can’t go on. It’s early, so I light a lantern to clean up my porch, then go to work with the usual baggage under bloodshot eyes. I avoid the judgey whispers until my noon session. Grateful I don’t have to explain my weary, battle-worn appearance to my lunch-hour therapist. A raised eyebrow greets my arrival. She ushers me toward a chair,
“What happened to you this time, a failure to soar then a fall and a brawl with something feral?”
When it Began
by noodleBubble
The storm came in with a whisper to start. Its breath nudged a greeting against the leaves of the old oak. A calm that brought with it a welcome chill after the searing heat we’d been used to. We’d arranged to meet in the meadow beneath the tree. I lay, head on its gnarled root, watching the sky change as I waited. Pale puffed clouds scudded across the blue before smears of greys and charcoal took over.
We’d chosen a secluded corner spot for this, our first stolen day. Beside me, bramble blossom promised treats at summer’s end, and bindweed flowers, light among the green, were strung like little white lanterns. Tiny orange butterflies kissed their petals, offering a shock of vibrant colour.
She climbed over the gate, and a breathless hammer in my heart stopped my words. She smiled at me as a bolt of thunder split the sky. A warning, some might say, but one that I’d foolishly ignore. Rain plopped on our bare arms; a cooling shock on warm skin.
We looked skyward. The swallows, oblivious to all, continued to soar. Then as thunder rumbled around us, we moved together, and we shared a hesitant embrace.
