Daily Journey Journal #118: dreams almost forgotten

His deep voice filled the room, leaking into the hallway and under doors. It swelled, hitting a high note before falling, down, down, down in an elegance only he could hear. His students, they looked on with dismayed faces. How could this man be their teacher, they wondered.

He looked at their faces then down at the book, his voice drifting to silence. Those looks, they were why he was running an English school. If good for nothing else, at least his voice could keep them awake, he reassured his dying dream.

At least he could keep them awake.

Advertisements

Daily Journey Journal #107: familiar strangers

“Excuse me. Sorry to intrude, but your name wouldn’t happen to be Priscella, would it?”

Ela set down her book and smiled up at the elderly man standing next to her table.

“I sure am,” she said.

The man’s face shed its mask of apprehension, the well-worn wrinkles lifting his cheeks into a smile.

“You are exactly how they described you to me,” he said, his words beginning to bump into one another in his happiness.

Ela laughed. “You aren’t a thing like they described you to me,” she said. “But I kind of like that.”

The man tipped back his head, his deep laughter filling the small nook where the table sat in the window.

“I like you already,” he said. “May I sit?”

“I don’t see why not,” Ela said, shifting her purse from the chair to her lap.

The man sat down and they smiled at one another for a moment. His eyes were bright, filled with wonder at the sight of her face.

“Shall I place our order?” Ela asked, sensing that he would be content to stare at her all afternoon.

He blinked. “You haven’t even asked what I like yet.”

“I know your type.” Ela winked. “Straight up black coffee. No cream. No sugar.”

His laughter surrounded them again and he nodded his agreement.

Discreetly, Ela pulled her phone from her bag as she got up.

“Back in a jiffy,” she said.

She waited until she was out of sight from the table then placed the call.

“He’s here,” she said. “He found me.”

“Oh, thank heavens.”

“Everything is fine,” Ela said. “Relax now or you’ll give yourself a heart attack.”

“Can’t do that. Worrying, always worrying. Thank God he recognizes your face still. Don’t know what we’d do otherwise.”

“Gram,” Ela said gently. “It’s not my face he recognizes. It’s your face he sees.”

The line grew silent except from the soft, deep breathing that comes with quiet tears.

“You aren’t lost to him yet, Gram,” Ela said. “I’ll bring him back to you, don’t worry.”

 

Daily Journey Journal #92: whispers on the wind

Come with me now.

The call comes as whispers on the wind. I look out the window at the moonlit night.

Walk with me now.

I pull on my shoes and take the path to the woods, the breeze whispering in my ears, caressing my face, pulling me away.

Pine needles crunch beneath my worn shoes. An owl hoots overhead, looking for its dinner in the tall grass rustling next to me. Most nights the woods send shivers up my spine and through my body. Most nights I do not dare come here at dark, but I know tonight that I am safe. I will not stumble and fall.  It is not really the wind that calls to me and that is what carries me from home. Those whispers are the call I have been waiting for all these years.

Come with me now.

I follow the trees until they fall away at the lake. The moon is reflected on its surface, a perfect silvery circle.  Carefully, I step on the stones out to the boulder just off shore. It is from here that I scattered the ashes, many years ago now.

Too many years ago.

I am here, I whisper.

And I wait. The wind weaves in through the knit in my sweater, chilling my skin ever so slightly. It closes my eyes, whispering words I do not understand until I know that the time has come. I open my eyes.

There he is, waiting for me, as he promised. From the ashes he has come at last, my husband, to take me to our new home.

 

 

 

Daily Journey Journal #79: death comes at dawn

Death comes around calling for me. Sharp raps on the wooden door. He is no stranger, frequenting me, begging a quick word. And always I know, he lies, waiting to snatch me. So away from the door I have turned.

Death came knocking on my door this morning. Sharp raps on the wood door. This time I do not turn away. I hesitate for only a moment, then open my door to his waiting grasp. And into it I willingly go.

The door shuts behind me.

A gun shot at dawn.

 

Let us remember today all those who have left this world too soon, so that they will never be forgotten, so that their struggles will never be forgotten. Perhaps from their stuggles we can learn how better to help each other through the rough patches in the road and save one another from such lonely places.

RIP Robin Williams

Daily Journey Journal #36: short short

Several months ago I wrote a post for a Daily Post weekly challenge about writing a 50 word story. This week’s Daily Post challenge is similar and made me want to write another short, short story. Tonight’s rain was the perfect inspiration for my second try at a 50 word tale.

 

Lovers’ Speak

Rain boots, umbrellas left by the door; drip, drop on the tile floor.

In the bedroom they built up the walls. The dresser one side, closet doors another. Blankets over the top and in they crawled.

Golden lamp light. Stories told in whispers.

Lovers’ words only rainy nights can know.

Weekly Writing Challenge: Fifty

What a fun challenge! This is the shortest story I have ever written at only  fifty words. Thanks for the great challenge!

Long Distance

Two pillows, two toothbrushes. Razor and shaving cream by the sink. Two towels. I burry my face in the smell of the soap we shared and his distinct scent. Tears soak into the fluffy blue. Each goodbye is harder than the last. I wonder, how many more until the end?

Daily Prompt: Lingering in the Leaving

I like to play with different kinds of writing. Lately I’ve been experimenting with flash fiction. This is a flash in response to two daily prompts: If you leave and linger.

♣♣♣

The alarm sounds, a tinkling fairy song, coming from her cell phone on the floor. Sleep keeps her still, though her brain registers that a reaction is required. He rolls over and pushes against her, urging her to silence the fairies. Eyes still closed, her hand finds the phone and silences it. The phone drops back to the floor and sleep drags them under again, quieting the awakening flood of words, emotions lodged in their brains from the night before.

She turns onto her side and he wraps his body around her. It is a natural, unconscious movement developed over countless hours slumbering side by side. Their bodies press together. Warmth surrounds them, heavy and comforting.

Alarm two breaks through the surface of the sleeping sea half an hour later. Her eyes flutter, open, close, struggling to escape the dreaming world and emerge into the morning.

Open. The empty dresser drawers. Close.

Open. The suitcases by the bedroom door. Close.

Open. Sunlight fractures against the frosted glass of the porch door. It fills the room with a yellow glow and brings a smile to her lips that wakes the muscles in her face.

She rolls onto her back and stares up at the yellow patch shining on the ceiling. He shifts, nestling his head into her chest. She cradles him, stroking the roughness of the day-old beard on his cheeks and the coarseness of his curly hair. In the tranquility of sunny mornings they are right.

It is the moments of silence, with the sunlight brightening the room, that she will miss the most. Those quiet, stolen moments of shared solitude.

She lingers a few moments more then gently kisses his head and slips from his embrace before their words can shatter their cocoon of perfection.