55 - All You Need Is...

Outside the Greek restaurant one Saturday afternoon, feeling a little lonely, she looked around and this is what she saw:

 They say you should take love where you find it. They also say all you need is love. With perhaps a side of olives and hummus.

She went inside the restaurant and placed an order.

About Friday Flash 55: The challenge is to write a complete story in fifty-five words. If you've written a 55-flash, let The G-Man know! 

Unsafe at Any Speed

No, you cannot drive my car

all over the city,

crazy,

naughty,

every which–way,

with me in the back seat

pale,

sweating,

barely holding on

while you run up over curbs,

speed wrong-way past warning signs,

then stop

where you should go.

Instead

I would stay safely parked,

douse the engine’s fire with milk

and sip sweet cream

while keys jingle 

in my pocket.

Safe.

No, you cannot drive my brain today.

I’m basking in the car park

eating strawberries,

too busy for your ride.

Don’t even offer directions.

This is a Three Word Wednesday post.

Figments

I would know my data,

know my limits,

know this moment

where a fragile detente holds;

holds me close,

holds me harmless,

holds all the little pieces in

together,

all for one,

all for you,

no heroic effort needed,

just a little discipline,

and patience.

The time is past for tears;

soul-stealing remnants

of a uselessly tender heart

that would fly away to safety

(safe from harm)

(safe from you)

at the sight of any signal

that the past is yet to come.

For though I cast

my yarrow sticks

upon this muddy ground,

I still can't parse the meaning

of what prophets won't foretell.

Gazing into crystal balls

yields no sublime new clues,

and so now comes the tricky bit:

trust in you

trust in me

trust in things I cannot see.

There is no ground

beneath our feet,

and maybe that's okay,

for what we thought was solid

was never there at all.

This is a Sunday Whirl post. Write your own and join the fun!

55 - Cut-Rate

The sign promised nicotine and carbohydrate bliss, all at discount rates. His wife could nag him about nutrition and his doctor could lecture him about the evils of smoking, but what were a few extra pounds and the threat of future cancer, compared to this?

If only they sold cheap beer, it would be perfect.

About Friday Flash 55: The challenge is to write a complete story in fifty-five words. If you've written a 55-flash, let The G-Man know!

False Front

I wish I had a name

for what lurks beneath the surface,

the only thing that’s valid,

true blue,

true to you,

raising my hackles,

filling me with fury,

and compelling me

to poke,

heave stones,

and beat at you

with whatever comes to hand.

I long to see the not-you

shatter at my feet,

broken into dark sharp shards

of phony magnanimity,

false reason

and overwrought compassion.

What would be left then? 

Some fragile, gentle thing 

that I would cherish to my heart,

or a monster?

These are the things I ponder late at night

in my room,

in the dark,

in the narrow spaces of my mind,

and in the tattered remnants

of my soul.

This is a Three Word Wednesday post.

Season Pass

Price of admission.

Price of love.

A ticket costs

a mere two bits,

or maybe just a promise.

Take it on faith;

faith in you.

Take a risk.

Risk it all.
Not responsible
for injuries
or harm.

Admit one.

Admit nothing.

Admittance costs,
for when we admit our fears,

we confess our sins:

sins of omission

sins of commission

mortal

venial

banal

More sinned against

than sinning,

but still my fault, 

my fault,

my most grievous fault.

So here's your ticket

(heart-shaped)

crumpled,

torn in two.

It will get you nothing now

except a question.

Toss it in the fairground muck

with the lollypops
and fairy dust;

debris of useless dreams.

No one will be admitted.

The turnstiles are all locked,

and that was the final ticket,

now trampled underfoot.

This is a Sunday Scribblings post.

55 - Hotel Guest

The hotel said no pets allowed, and with a sigh of regret, the animal-lover complied. Four days and three nights without her friends seemed daunting, but then one day between conference sessions, she found someone waiting in her room. He was wearing her sunglasses, no less!

A certain housekeeper got a great tip that day!

About Friday Flash 55: The challenge is to write a complete story in fifty-five words. If you've written a 55-flash, let The G-Man know!

Scorched Earth

Play to win.
Winner takes all.

Tear down what was built,
brick by cumbersome brick.
To the victor go the spoils,
so leave it spoiled.

Withhold.
Deny.
If I can’t have it, neither can you.
Sow the fields with salt;
take grim pleasure in morbid harvest.

Today we’ll light this spark,
and rampage through the night.
The ensuing conflagration
will leave a legacy of ash,
and the land will be barren
forevermore.

This is a Three Word Wednesday post.

Let There Be Light

You keep me in the dark

where wild things live:

beasts of fear,

howling brutes of lust,

and zombies of my past

that refuse to die.

I wish I knew the answers

to the questions

that bruise my heart,

bend my mind,

and whisper taunting words.

But illumination

will not come

from you, my friend.

You create mirages,

not oases.

Instead of refuge,

you offer only dust.

I will leave you to your magic tricks
and seek my salvation.

This is a Sunday Scribblings post.

55 - Party On!

It was a private play space with confetti inside; a party about to happen. What fun! She leaped inside, ready to get down and carry on with the best of them.

Sadly, she didn't realize until she had arrived that the party had already ended.

Late again! Next time she would read the invitation more carefully.

About Friday Flash 55: The challenge is to write a complete story in fifty-five words. If you've written a 55-flash, let The G-Man know!

Inoculation

What jagged little pill

will make me proof

against your charms?

I wish and wonder,

plot this out:

• Spreadsheet
• Chi square
• Straight line regression

reviewed and checked,

again and again,

until it all goes bust.

My figures don't add up.

Can potions immunize me

from the sweet intoxication

of misspent lust,

unguarded dreams,

and wishes that should be horses?

I would go far away

(as far as winds will take me)

to prove my lack of interest.

Instead I harden my heart,

wear a mask of steel,

put feathers in my hair

and hope for the best.

And after all the fuss and fury,

the miserable moments

concealed by painted lips

and laughter,

no inoculation

(icewater in my veins)

will save me from my longing

to immolate myself

one last time

in the all-consuming fever

of your fire.

This was written for The Sunday Whirl and Sunday Scribblings.