Your Face Paint is Dripping

Photo by:  kazuend

Photo by: kazuend

Beauty is in the eye of the beholder

or so they say

But not every mask can hide the blurred lines of deception

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A few more lines. This time for Three Line Tales, Week Twelve.

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My Three Lines for Thursday

Photo Credit: David

Photo Credit: David

 

I scream in silence, as ghosts taunt me from within
I’m but a tormented soul, who’s dried and cracked
And with no release for my emotions, I suffocate

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Written for #3lineThursday Year Two Week Four.

Whale

Mirissa (Sri Lanka), blue whale. CC2.0 photo by Arian Zwegers.

Mirissa (Sri Lanka), blue whale. CC2.0 photo by Arian Zwegers.

 

“Whale.”

“Your name is Whale?”

“No. They call me Whale.”

“Um, why?”

Whale smiled. She loved the look on people’s faces when she told them that. They would always hesitate, their eyes running over her body, making note that she wasn’t a particularly large person. They would open their mouth as if to say something then close it fast, thinking better of it.

Then she’d walk out toward the rising tide, lift her hands up to the setting sun, and fall into the salty bliss that was her home. She was free to swim again in her true form, Whale.

 

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Written for Warmup Wednesday!

This week’s Warmup Wednesday challenge: make the first and last words of your story “whale.”

 

Hush

Terror falls like a brick on my chest
My beating heart, the only measure of time
“Hush now, they’re coming.”

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Written for #ThreeLineThursday Week Forty-Four.

Say What?

photo courtesy Ashwin Rao

photo courtesy Ashwin Rao

 

“Do you remember that time, Mac?”

“What’s that now?”

“That time…”

“The Time? It’s almost six o’clock.”

“No, Mac, that time back in ’61?”

“61? No I’m 79, same age as you. You gettin’ forgetful, man?”

“No. No. 1961. Being here just reminded me of your 25th birthday. We were on the beach and we saw that shark…”

“Shark? Where? We better go tell that lifeguard over there. Beaches aren’t like they used to be? Ain’t nobody can swim without fear of sharks invadin’…”

“Mac, what are you ranting about? I’m trying to reminisce about that good ol’ days.”

“Old age? Who you callin’ old? Speak for yourself. I still fell like I’m 50!”

“I think you’re going senile.”

“Who you callin’ senile, ya old fart!”

“How did you hear that muttering when you can’t even here when I’m shouting?”

“What? Speak up, I can’t hear ya, Bernie.”

“Oh, never mind. Go on home, Mac.”

“Same time tomorrow?”

“Same time tomorrow, ya crazy loon.”

“Yup, see ya soon.”

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Word Count: 163

This flash fiction story was written for Flash Frenzy Round 74.

Judges Comments: “Great  characters and dialogue in this story.  Love the back-and forth miscommunication and humor. Well done!”

 

 

 

 

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Night Time Conversations and Stolen Hearts

The Great Train Robbery; public domain screen shot from 1903 film.

The Great Train Robbery; public domain screen shot from 1903 film.

 

 

“Tell me ’bout my Papa again.”

“Again, Tourmaline?”

“Pleeeeease!”

“OK. One more time.” Opal held her daughter tight in front of the fire.

“Your papa stole my heart the day he walked into the market, drenched from head to toe.  He looked right into my eyes and said I’d like to buy a towel. When he took the towel he winked at me.”

“And?”

“And we were married that summer. He was the love of my life, your father. I was a train wreck when he died.”

“Do you think you’ll marry again?”

“Only the Lord can know that, child.”

 

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Written for WarmUp Wednesday!

 “This week’s Warmup Wednesday challenge: Include a reference to your birthstone.”  (I included both birthstones for October.)

 

 

 

Debut

 

Photo Credit: Dan Phiffer via CC.

Photo Credit: Dan Phiffer via CC.

 

“Stage?”

“Isn’t he beautiful?”

“Odd name don’t you think?”

“These are odds times, Hector. It suits him.” Tereasa wrapped her newborn tightly in the threadbare blanket. She looked out at the vacant auditorium, the shadows of people past still lingered in the seats.

Wincing, she tried to get up.

“What are you doing?”

“We have to keep moving. They’ll find us.”

“They’ll be sure to find us if you pass out in the snowy street. Lay down.”

Hector took his son in his arms and looked at his wife on the hard, dusty floor.

“Stage, huh? Well, I guess it’s as good as any name.”

 

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Written for Micro Bookends 1.40

Our bookends were STAGE and NAME.