Dear Rochelle and fellow Friday Fictioneers, This is my second stab at writing for this week’s prompt. I guess I must be out of practice: instead of fictioneering I ranted for a hundred words, posted then banished from inlinkz when I realized a piece of fiction it was not.Back to the photo promptand finding my muse again. :>)
Genre: Fiction; Word count: 100
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Rochelle asks that we use the photo prompt and limit our words to 100 or less.
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Andrea gripped her husband’s hand tightly as Grace ripped open the letter. It was from her birth mother. The fifteen-year-old had made them promise to give it to Grace when she too reached fifteen.
You were loved every moment I carried you. Just wanted you to know that. There won’t be a moment when I don’t love you.
Sighing, Grace looked up from the blunt, childish scrawl, a smile on her face.
“I believe her. She could have thrown me away like a piece of garbage. Speaking of which, Dad, can we get back to fixing up my motorcycle?”
Pastor Peter was all a’flutter. There was the baby. There were the parents. There was the baptismal font. And there was Mick Mooney, to whom he had given bottled water for the font, boasting a malicious grin. The unopened bottle stood, tragically, on the chancel rail. Peter prayed, opened the font. It was filled to the brim. Afterwards, he confessed his surprise to the happy couple. “Oh, that was me,” the new mother said. “I just wanted to say a prayer over the font before the service began when I saw it was empty. I didn’t do wrong, did I?”
When I left her yesterday the black was in her hair the gold was in her eyes and she spoke of fathers and unmourned sons but now she freezes the air like a stray from bygone forests and primordial paths looking at me like a traveler she’d warned before of hazardous roads and one in particular where red foxes appear to startle the unwary from perilous paths and slipping slopes of memory but for the shibboleth: Mother? You’re safe.
I somehow missed posting on this prompt from Sarah of dVerse who chose quotes from a book for us to use as poem titles.
"She said if a red fox had crossed somewhere, that area was safe" was the one I chose.
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Image credit: https://www.pexels.com/photo/mother-and-daughter-on-grass-1683975/
Word count: 100
written for Rochelle's Friday Fictioneers
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Letter to No Lycidas
No Lycidas are you, my son, no watery bier nor desert grave holds you. But in the crisp of autumn air, your countenance lights a distant town, another’s home a place where you from me remain. Yet I wonder, pray one day I’ll see you striding back to see me here; that one day that old mailbox will find you on a daily chore or whether the woods beyond will gape to hear your lusty songs of praise to the God of miracles and a Son who freeing the soul from evil design heals faultless the sutures of the mind.
(An ode of sheer gratitude to a wondrous blank space that invites our creative attention)
Memories and refrigerator doors
Blank spaces covered with magnetic miasma
Of memories old, up and coming, and new,
Now I want to remember you, each one,
Refrigerator doors of bygone days
And the door I opened just today.