Piet Mondriaan

Artwork by Piet Mondriaan

Kindle the embers

Of my once raging fire

Thaw my icy heart


Posted in response to Heeding Haiku with Chèvrefeuille.

One Love, Forever.

“But Now I must sleep.”

“In the cemetery?” Cara shuttered, whether from the chill in the air or fear she couldn’t tell. Either way she did not want to stop here for any reason.

“It’s as good a place as any.” Peter sighed as he lowered his weary body to the soft earth.

“You can’t rest there. That’s someone’s grave.”

Peter ignored her and stretched out his limbs, lying on his back. Cara looked at the man in front of her, this man she barely knew. The day he walked into her small town was the day nothing else mattered. He was perfect in every way. His long dark hair, his tall stature. His skin seemed to glow in the sun.

Cara jumped from a sudden surge in her toes. Peter’s cool skin brushed hers as he slowly traced his hand over the delicate bones of her foot.

“This is what I want to remember, these moments with you. Uninterrupted by the world and its cruel ways.”

He always seemed to talk as if he was saying goodbye. Was he going to leave her? She sat beside him wanting to close the gap between them. As if reading her mind he pulled her down so that their bodies were as close as they possibly could be. The energy was undeniable, raging yet sad all at once. Why did it feel like an ending every time they were together?

“I will always love you,” He whispered in her ear. She closed her eyes and drifted to sleep with his hands still stroking her hair.

As the sun rose from behind the hill peter rose from his resting place, grimacing as his joints groaned in agony.

“Until later, my Love.”

Peter hobbled away, turning to look at the grave again.

Cara Moreau



This story got an honorable mention over at Microcosms. A big thanks goes out to the judge, Geoff Holme.

Home At Last

Pilgrim’s Progress. “Thus, they got over.” Public domain illustration by Frederick Barnard 1889.

Pilgrim’s Progress. “Thus, they got over.” Public domain illustration by Frederick Barnard 1889.



I have waited for you.

I have watched you.

I’ve seen your battle with Darkness itself.

I’ve seen you through the waves he crashed upon you.

I’ve held you in those moments you thought I was gone.

I’ve heard your praises.

I’ve heard your doubts.

I’ve seen you laugh…

I’ve seen you cry.

I’ve seen you bear witness, whether it be through words or actions.

Your smile could light up a room and brighten anyone’s day, no matter who they were.

You have traveled the narrow path, difficult as it was.

I welcome you home, my good and faithful servant.


Submitted for Warmup Wednesday!

This week’s Warmup Wednesday challenge: include the end of a long journey.


Soon, She Will Leave Him

Joan Crawford & John Gilbert; publicity photo for the film “Four Walls,” 1928. Public domain image in the U.S.

Joan Crawford & John Gilbert; publicity photo for the film “Four Walls,” 1928. Public domain image in the U.S.


“There. Beautiful. Now everyone will know you are mine.”

“That’s a silly thing to say, of course I’m yours.”

Sarah ran her finger over the locket, her pale hand shaking as she lifted it to the light. The many stones cast its golden rays, setting her face aglow. Her radiance, in that moment, almost made Brenton believe that. But when she dropped the necklace down to her concave chest the harsh reality practically slapped him.

Her eyes had lost their spark long ago. Nothing he gave her made it come back. He showered her with flowers and fancy date nights, jewelry and even a house to call their own. But every day he saw the signs. Her strength waned, her weight seemed to melt off her.

He was fooling himself. She had not been his for a long time.

She belonged to another.

She belonged to Death.



This flash fiction story was written for Flash! Friday 3-36

Word Count: 147





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Cayla’s Worst Fear- Flash Fiction

This is the prompt for Flash Frenzy over at The Angry Hourglass.

I did not enter it because I was too busy to write a story during the allotted time. Unfortunately most of these events are on the weekend which is my busiest time of the week. But That’s not going to keep me from trying them out just for the enjoyment of writing.

photo courtesy Ashwin Rao

photo courtesy Ashwin Rao

Cayla’s Worst Fear

Cayla knew that something wasn’t right when she walked in the front door. The familiar cracking and popping of her grandmother’s record player filled the stale air. There was a slight burnt smell coming from the kitchen.

“Grandma? It’s Cayla….you in the bathroom?” No answer.

Cayla made her way to the kitchen. There on the stove was a pot, bone dry, burner still on. She turned it off quickly, dropped her book bag on the floor and hurried to the living room.

“Grandma?” Still no answer. Smokey stretched and arched on the couch and hopped off, prancing over to greet her.

“Where’s your momma?” She reached down to pet him. Purring, he leaned into her hand. Walking over to the record player she stepped on something crunchy…cereal. Her grandmother would never have left anything on the floor. She was the cleanest women she knew, obsessed with having everything just so. Nor would she have left a pot on the stove unattended.

Something’s wrong. She thought to herself, starting to panic.

“Grandma! Where are you?” Her voice cracked with worry. She ran down the hall and into the bathroom. The light was on, but the room was empty. Too preoccupied to worry about turning off the light, she ran up the stairs to her grandmother’s room.

“Grandma?” She ripped the door open, frantic now, and froze. There her grandmother lay, quiet and still. Too still.

Tears welled up behind her eyes, a small cry stuck in the back of her throat. She knew what she would find when she leaned in to kiss her forehead. Cold.

She looked peaceful.

Cayla’s heart ached. The tears, now free falling, dropped onto her grandmother’s cheek. She wiped them off and stepped back from the bed. Her only friend lay lifeless in front of her. She was utterly alone.


Word Count: 306