100 Words

[Du Lac]

That was the last conversation they had without the company of lawyers. The divorce had been unusually nasty, because Paul had wanted an annulment rather than a divorce, based on her claim of not wanting to bear his children. This ridiculous action had prolonged the separation for years as he wrote to his Bishop and every other higher up official of the Church to back his reasons for the dissolution of his 8-year marriage. Carol called that segment of her life “The Whipple Years.” She did not know where she got the word but it reminded her to look back at that time with some form of amusement.

( a wee bit over)

 

[christabelll]

Pollen painted the cars a strange chartreuse as grey clouds reflected in the windshields. It was sticky and hard to remove with simple wiper fluid. Hauling out a bucket every morning with Dawn and a scrubbing sponge was simply too much work. Instead she trailed designs over the length of the pale gold turned green car. She mixed arcane and alchemical symbols with flowers and hearts, even a smiley face on the rear window. Her mood was anything but smiling but at least she could try to make someone else smile. Just thinking it put her in a better mood even though she faced an hour of bumper to bumper in mere minutes.

 

[christabelll]

nothing to believe

What is it about lack of trust the disintegrates belief? What is it about lack of belief that disintegrates trust?
It’s about control you see.
The less control you have the less you trust, the less you trust the less you believe, the less you believe the less you trust, the less control you have. It’s a vicious circle. No one except a child of heart and mind is that innocent anymore. Try to believe without trust. See how far that gets you. Try to control something and watch it slip away.
Try to trust without belief and you’ll drive yourself up the wall. You won’t need my help. You’ll already be there.

 

[hmmnmm]

Pollen painted the cars a strange chartreuse as grey clouds reflected in the windshields. It was sticky and hard to remove with simple wiper fluid. Hauling out a bucket every morning with Dawn and a scrubbing sponge was simply too much work. Instead she trailed designs over the length of the pale gold turned green car. She mixed arcane and alchemical symbols with flowers and hearts, even a smiley face on the rear window. Her mood was anything but smiling but at least she could try to make someone else smile. Just thinking it put her in a better mood even though she faced an hour of bumper to bumper in mere minutes.

Yeah...

 

[christabelll]

The world turns

The world turns as words I have longed to hear are uttered in fractured sentences.
Your tears surprise me as I hold your clinging needs to my chest. Why is it that I feel nothing? Did I turn it off so successfully that the words I have wanted for months can no longer reach my heart? Or did I fall out of love when you bought me. Surely I am not that fickle. Fickle no. Guarded and cautious yes. How will you use what has been purchased? Will you casually break me and throw me away?

 

[Angeline]

I’m going to make it. After almost ten years of asking, reasoning, arguing, threatening, pleading, screaming. Wasted motions. Wasted emotions. Wasted words. Wasted time. Three years a motherless child. Three years a childless mother. And through it all, you, cold enough to freeze a new Antarctica, cold enough to begin the next ice age, warm only in your puddle of self-pity, blaming me every miserable step of the way. I’m almost there. Just a few more months and my life and name are my own. See if you can find that chapter in the book that should have saved everything.

 

[RhymeFairy]

I’m going to make it. After almost ten years of asking, reasoning, arguing, threatening, pleading, screaming. Wasted motions. Wasted emotions. Wasted words. Wasted time. Three years a motherless child. Three years a childless mother. And through it all, you, cold enough to freeze a new Antarctica, cold enough to begin the next ice age, warm only in your puddle of self-pity, blaming me every miserable step of the way. I’m almost there. Just a few more months and my life and name are my own. See if you can find that chapter in the book that should have saved everything.

I made it, you can too.

days - nights, fear targeted this
good ship lollipop. taking all,
giving nothing, but
selfless pity, for him.
I can and have sprouted new wings
to fly away, only leaving misery and
pain. for what could have been, if only
he stood at the plate, practiced
to be a real man. who cared
more for others than himself.
pity, pity
pity the fool who cares not for children
and mothers, only me me me.
take a number, stand in line
the pity you bus, is waiting.


~~ hope this helps, felt damn good, lol

 

[christabelll]

The angels came
To sweep away
my moaning and lament
Too long I've cried
To me their shoulders bent
I leaned in close
To feel the beat
Of wings full proud and strong
To lift me up
To the place I once belonged
How sweet the sound
Of wind and light
In gentle strength
In intimate might
They whisper of peace
Of beguiling love
Easing a weary soul
I somehow begin again
My angels soar high
To bring me nigh
Of the path I chose to walk
And there they rest
In seeming test
Of my resolve
To walk once more with them
To my very core
I have wanted to soar
To remember who I am
So they await me
Softly drawing me in
In my heart and mind
Their essence grows
To see their wings of light
a web once seen
Never more ignored
I know who I am once more.

 

[RhymeFairy]

That was the last conversation they had without the company of lawyers. The divorce had been unusually nasty, because Paul had wanted an annulment rather than a divorce, based on her claim of not wanting to bear his children. This ridiculous action had prolonged the separation for years as he wrote to his Bishop and every other higher up official of the Church to back his reasons for the dissolution of his 8-year marriage. Carol called that segment of her life “The Whipple Years.” She did not know where she got the word but it reminded her to look back at that time with some form of amusement.

( a wee bit over)

I feel there is so much more here. Great visuals that pull the reader in, wanting to know more. it !! Just love it when I get that from a write ... Thanks for sharing Du ...

 

[darkerdreamer]

I’ve noticed something.

In scary movies, a short while before something bad happens, main characters sometimes finds themselves creeping through places particularly dark and terrifying. With the mounting tension punctuated by the soundtrack (stringed instruments are especially effective in this situation), they hear a crash. They creep up to inspect, and just at the crescendo, a cat jumps out of the shadows.

I have never known any cat to jump out of anywhere, just to run when startled. So, perhaps it’s just more Hollywood fantasy, a symbolic gesture of bad things to come.

If that’s the case, this is me jumping out of the shadows.

-----

(105 even after grooming, meh.)

 

[hmmnmm]

Now here's a possibility, he muttered to himself, looking over the beautiful snippets, the gems, the cats, the lawyers, the shadows. I may call them vignettes, though others may correct such a licenseless bandying of a precious word. But yes, little scenes, illuminations - though he knew he overused that word, illuminations. It dark in places, where he felt his way, smiling, frowning, apologizing, coughing, reaching again. Yes, the 100 words corner. Cozy. Quick. Highly stimulative.

 

[unapologetic]

Streams of Conciousness

For my first attempt at one of these, I just let the words come. It doesn't quite make sense, but it sounds interesting (in my humble opinion) when read aloud.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Thoughts that tumble through my mind, meandering, making me mad, mean that though this turn triumphs, tomorrow is a different story. The serendipity of senses and perspective, so sweetly incorporating into wisdom with age, make meaningful conversation almost irrelevant. Trying too hard to harness the hardest of muses amuses, and yet still confuses me. Wherever she’s going, there’s no way of knowing what paths we’ll peruse. She stumbles, I bruise. Streaming consciousness bits and bytes through wires, where once water inspired, feels odd but comforting. Returning to shore, I towel the similes and metaphors off my back, as reality awaits.

 

[TMV]

Falls of intrique

If I am to understand my motivations, then I will consider shattering any and the myriad of misty legends that I create for my solitary visage. I can’t implement my hero, if he is nailed upon the cross of my doubts and fears. I can’t cuddle my sensitively, if I defend my heart against the veritable pain of misrepresentation. Who will hear my words, when I bow my eyes to their dreamy illusions, their fiery diatribes? By what soul do I stand, before I call to the mundane medium of alacrity and institution? I am my own talent of dichotomy!

 

[Sara Crewe]

“Why do you always do that?”
“I dunno.”
“Do you really not know or are you uncomfortable reaching your hand into your mind-sleeve and turning it inside out?”
“What?”
“Are you unsure of your heroic seams?”
“Have you been drinking?”
“Yeah. Martinis expand my vocabulary. You know it doesn’t matter right?”
“What doesn’t matter?”
“Which side shows. Humanity is translucent and skin and bones never hide the stains.”
“How long have you known?”
“That playing on either side of a dichotomy without looking in the middle is like crossing a freeway blind or that you’re sleeping with her?”
“Fuck.”
“Exactly.”

 

[RhymeFairy]

For my first attempt at one of these, I just let the words come. It doesn't quite make sense, but it sounds interesting (in my humble opinion) when read aloud.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Thoughts that tumble through my mind, meandering, making me mad, mean that though this turn triumphs, tomorrow is a different story. The serendipity of senses and perspective, so sweetly incorporating into wisdom with age, make meaningful conversation almost irrelevant. Trying too hard to harness the hardest of muses amuses, and yet still confuses me. Wherever she’s going, there’s no way of knowing what paths we’ll peruse. She stumbles, I bruise. Streaming consciousness bits and bytes through wires, where once water inspired, feels odd but comforting. Returning to shore, I towel the similes and metaphors off my back, as reality awaits.

I oft do this when my mind is ajumble ...

 

[Sara Crewe]

When I lost control and cried against your chest I saw the tangle of my life. The strings wrapped around me like a corset that grows tighter with age. Stays pull until I no longer notice that I only breathe with half my lungs and fuck with half my heart. My fingers follow the criss-crossed lines in a search for reason. I assume it lies hidden somewhere with my purpose but the tragedy of existence is that no matter how knotted life is all strings lead back to our own fingers and only a blinking idiot looks for reason in sadness.

 

[Tzara]

Quarters

Cokes are $1.75, so we both have a quarter. You're flipping yours and looking at me while you sip your drink.

"Want to match quarters?" I ask.

"Sure," you say, cautiously, "What rules?"

"You call," I say, "Heads or tails. We flip. We match your call, you win. We match my call, I win." I flip my coin, demonstrating. "What d'you think?"

You flip your coin again, catch it. "You want me to say heads or tails?" You flash that smile and turn your ass to me. "I think you win either way."

"You just won my quarter," I say.

 

[Sara Crewe]

Metal scrapes quiet until the quarter disappears beneath my palm. “I’m only worth a quarter? Kinda’ cheap dontcha’ think?”

“It’s a down payment.” The quarter molds a circle into my skin until it’s rescued by my other hand. I see your eyes admit both addiction and acceptance. We know it’s an act, a trick, but still you watch my fingers play with your money and wait for the prestige.

“A down payment implies you expect a return on your investment.”

“Of course.” The coin slides down cleavage. Silence. It did not hit the floor.

“Better take your money back then.”

 

[hmmnmm]

Coconut cream peeled down her clothes, she was wet when she went back home. A long day, a strange day, opening strains and stretches to the yawning slumbered face.


and that's all I got so far... been stuck for days.

 

[christabelll]

Fingers danced deep, searching for silver slivers of delight. Rolling between the layers of flesh that melts and bends around bones made soft with heat.
"You are worth this and more"
Delve deeper, touching things that ache with need. A need that money may buy. A "Quarter huh?" "Gimme, and get the hell away from me. Go stand over there. Maybe from there you can sniff it. You sure as hell can't afford to touch it."
Bitter remorse lies like copper pennies under the tongue. I can't even afford me.

 

[darkerdreamer]

She sent me a text message this morning.

A "Wake up, Neo."

I know, a bad joke a few years too late, but it seemed to fit for more reasons than 9am.

It felt like a genuine wake up call. Not a two-star hotel "It's 10 o'clock, get down to the desk and pay up before I come up there." An actual wake up call. A "What the fuck am I still doing here, sleeping through my waking days and nights."

All I know, is it feels like time to get up, finally.

Wake up, Neo. Wake the fuck up this time.

 

[christabelll]

Slick. Real slick.
Turning a quarter into a dime and then sending it back to the realm of 25 cents spent in idle gossip.
Inflation sucks. The capital return less than stellar. At least looking at the stars is still free. Until they decide that bio-domes are the only means of survival. Not too long from now it seems.
Greedy. Carelessly greedy.
Give us more. moRe. MoRe. MORE. Let us take what we want and be damned the consequences. Forgetting as always. If they go - so do we.

 

[christabelll]

To begin again takes guts, he said out of the corner of his wrinkled mouth.
I oughta know. I've begun again so many times I forget how to count 'em.
Twas a bitter chuckle that gurgled in his narrow bony chest. Eheheee, I remember once I just shucked down to me skivvies, you shoulda seen ole Florie blush, and walked out of her house. Yep I did. I walked down main street in nothin but my tidy whities... Wheezes rattled the air around him as his laughter died but mirth still twinkled in his eye...Yessah, I started all over then too. At least I got me three days of quiet in the counny jail.

 

[Tzara]

Art

The long, brocaded ties were of silk, and so were sensuous to one's touch. He laid both along the broad stone shelf, smoothing the long trails of cloth out along the stone. He found them quite remarkable. So consummately elegant that he was almost afraid to touch them.

So he touched the museum's Vermeer instead, setting off an alarm, and then apologized for getting too close. "Sorry," he said, "bad habit. I like to touch beautiful things." It was once his painting, so they let him go.

Vermeer always got the light better, he thought. It was what he did.

 

[manipulatrix]

popular

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