Jessypt Week 94: Glassy Waters

Jessypt
Monday


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Jessypt's Choice: Picture 1

Title:
Glassy Waters

The surface of the water looks like shiny black glass, the giant, bright moon reflecting its perfect shape. What had six months ago been a raging storm of destructive, crashing waves had become as smooth and docile as the water in the basin of my sink.

I turn to the left, then the right, surveying the remnants of a town ravished by a devastating tsunami. Buildings all around are at varying stages of construction. People walk walk arm in arm, their colorful clothes fluttering in the cool evening air. In many ways it feels like nothing was lost, that friends and family, literally thousands weren’t crushed or washed away. The marks of our truth are all around.

Truth: Dingy water marks point to the water’s touch on the buildings that remained upright.

Truth: Piles of warped, rotting wood, and broken glass still litter the streets.

Truth: Those are just the visible marks that everyone sees.

Truth: I miss my sister. And my mother. And my best friend.

Truth: Life has begun to return to normal ... whatever that means.

I cross the street and begun the walk home, grateful at least that my wife and daughter survived.

Kimmydonn Week 93: Family Secrets

Kimmydonn
Sunday



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Kimmydonn's Choice: Both

Title:

Family Secrets

“Remind me,” Aunt Maybel said. “What do you take in your tea?” She set a china teacup before me and a silver spoon on the saucer. Aunt Maybel was from another age, an older time, when small things like china and tea were made with care. Aunt Maybel’s hair was almost white, it was so grey. However, there were black strands threaded through, as though they refused to give up entirely.

“Just a little sugar. Thank you. Do you have any pictures of Grandma?” I took the teapot and poured for both of us while Aunt Maybel’s shaking hand set the sugar bowl down.

“Justine? I put all my pictures out for your mother to pick through. I thought she’d taken everything. I don’t think I have any left. Why do you ask, dear? Your mother said something about saving them. She still has them, I think.”

“Yeah, I went through those. None of them was quite right. I’m looking for one where she is my age. Before she married grandpa?”

Aunt Maybel looked at me for a while, her eyes watery and clouded. “Why are you looking for that?”

“Well, everyone says I look like Grandma, but of course, I didn’t really get to know her.” Grandma had died when I was eight. “So, I went digging through the photos, and the few of her as a girl, well, they did look like me. I was surprised there wasn’t anything between that and the wedding. She didn’t marry that young.”

Aunt Maybel smiled. “You do look like her. A lot. I think I have what you want.” She led me to one of her many cupboards and pulled out a box. It was held shut by a garter strap, black and lacy. Inside were several other bits of lace. “I wouldn’t show you this if she was alive. She swore me to secrecy. If you’re mother had asked, I would deny having it, but you … you are so like her. You’ll understand. Don’t tell your mother.”

“Of course not.” I was horribly curious what was in this box.

Aunt Maybel pushed aside a few more pieces of satin, revealing a few photographs.

“Grandma was a pinup?” I asked in wonder, touching each photo gingerly.

“Not a pinup, but … a model, a muse.”

“For Grandpa?”

Aunt Maybel stared unblinking into space for a minute. “No, not your grandfather. He came after.”

“Then who was he?” I wondered, gaping at the provocative poses, the way the light covered her as clothes didn’t. She was beautiful. It was obvious that the photographer was in love with her.

“Not a he,” Aunt Maybel said in a hoarse whisper.

My eyes went wide and followed my Aunt as she made her way through the kitchen. She returned with a bottle of amber liquid.

“Something for your tea?”

Alby Mangroves Week 93: The Muse

Because I'm full of fail, this was not posted yesterday. Kimmydonn's post will be posted later this evening.

Alby Mangroves
Saturday


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Alby Mangroves's Choice: Both

Title:
The Muse

Playfully, she flicks her shapely ankle and sends her panties flying.

I watch her flexing calves and memorize their shape, even as I nudge them apart with kisses.

When she stretches her arms above her head, I fill my senses with her: my warm, fragrant muse.

Later, in my studio, she’s untouchable.

Posing just so, she looks like a delicate marble carved by a revered master, and I question my skills.

Am I equal to this challenge?

I clutch my paint brush, but it feels like a chunk of driftwood.

I feel like an ape, throwing rocks at the moon.

Bronwyn Week 93: Antique Dreams

Bronwyn Keith
Friday


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Bronwyn’s Choice: Picture 2

Title:
Antique Dreams

I sat alone in a Starbucks, sipping a hot chocolate and writing down what I could remember from my dream. It was one I'd been having over and over for weeks. I’d decided to write down the dream in hopes of finding its significance. The dream was almost always the same. I read over what I wrote. Mostly it was descriptions of objects or people from the dream, not actions. With a sigh, I close my notebook. I was frustrated with the exercise. It had not given me any insight. I finished my hot chocolate and rose from the small table. After discarding my trash and putting my notebook in my bag, I left the coffee shop.

With no destination in mind, I wandered down the street for a bit. A block from the Starbucks, I found an antique store. I’ve always enjoyed walking through one, even if I never buy anything. The store was full of furniture and memorabilia from years gone by. The aisles were slightly wider than an average person but no more, and all of the space in the store was taken up. There were old saddles with the leather cracked from the lack of leather soap. Books as old as the early 1900s to being only a few years old covered shelves. Paintings, and framed embroidery lined the walls. The store was amazing! I walked through the aisles slowly, absorbing what I saw. I followed my current aisle around a corner, as the store was a large 'L' shape. I lightly ran my fingertips over the top of a large oak table as I walked by. I could feel the small dents in the wood from years of use.

When I reached the end of the table, I stopped with surprise. On a small end table stood a gold wind up alarm clock next to two jars of buttons. I stopped and stared at the clock in disbelief. It was the clock from my dreams, sitting exactly like it did in the dream! I picked up the clock and turned it around in my hands looking it over. I turned the key located on the back and the clock started ticking. Deciding it was more than coincidence that I found the alarm clock, I didn't put it back. I carefully carried it to the front, ignoring the rest of the treasures in the store. I laid it on the counter next to the old cash register.

"Did you find everything you wanted?" A baritone as smooth as dark chocolate asked from behind me. I turn to look at the man. I had to crane my neck back to look at his face, six and half feet of pure muscle towered over me. His dark brown hair was pulled back in to a low pony tail. My eyes wandered over him. His black t-shirt was stretched tightly over his chest and shoulders. He wore snug jeans with a pair of biker boots. I felt myself start to pant at the beauty of the man. He looked exactly like the man in my dreams. He would appear after I would pick up the clock. I shook the image away and looked at his face again. When he cocked his eye brown in question, I blushed and turned away.

"Yes, thank you." I stammered as I pulled my wallet out of my purse. He walked around the end of the counter and came to stand in front me.

"I'm Devin." He smiled as he watched me.

"I'm Julie." I shyly said as I looked back at him.

"Nice to meet you, Julie. Let's see what you have." He leaned over the counter and picked up the alarm clock. His large hands swallowed it whole. He turned it over a few times before placing it back on the counter. "That is a very nice early 1900s alarm clock you found. Out of everything in here, why did you decide on this?"

I cleared my throat, not sure what to say to his questions. Would he think I was crazy if I told him I saw it in a dream? Or would he just laugh, thinking I was joking?

"I was drawn to the clock. It seemed to call my name." I shrugged nonchalantly. “How much for it?”

Devin leaned back against the counter behind him, crossing his arms across his chest and stretching the shirt even more. He looked me over with hooded eyes. I could see the heat and lust dancing in them. I lowered my eyes to look at the counter, not sure what to think about what I saw in his. I looked back up as I heard him move.

“Well, Julie, the price is simple.” He walked from behind the counter to stand next to me. When I didn’t immediately look up at him, Devin placed a finger under my chin and raised my gaze to his. “I don’t want money. I want something else.”

“What would that be?” I asked cautiously, not sure what he wanted.

“I want to take you to dinner tonight, and I want to kiss you.” He told me. “Do you think you can meet my price?”

As he told me what he wanted, my chest tightened in anticipation and fear. I closed my eyes to think. Do I dare agree to this stranger’s price for the alarm clock, or do I forget the whole thing and leave? As I struggle with the decision, I remember a poster I saw as a college student. It said, “Live hard. Fuck hard. Die hard.” Since that day, I had always tried to live hard. With my decision made, I take a deep breath.

“I agree,” I whispered, as I opened my eyes.

“Say it louder, I couldn’t hear you.”

“I agree to your price.”

He slowly moved his hand from my chin and cupped my cheek. His calloused thumb brushed across my lips. Tingles danced along my spine at his touch. I hadn’t felt this way toward a man in forever. As he moved his finger over my lips again, I parted them and slowly touched his thumb with my tongue. I heard the air rush out of his chest at the contact. He enjoyed my actions as much as I did. From the corner of my eye, I saw his other hand lift. He threaded his fingers into my hair and pulled me closer. However, instead of kissing me right away, he rested his forehead against mine.

“I’ve wanted to do this since I saw you walk into the store.” Devin whispered, his warm breath brushing my face. Our lips touched softly. I let out a small groan as his firm lips pulled at mine. With both hands now buried in my hair, he deepened the kiss. Devin ran his tongue along my lips before he slid it in to my willing mouth. The flavor of coffee and chocolate flooded my senses. He tasted wonderful.

I dragged my hands up Devin’s chest to clutch at the front of his shirt. My knees threatened to buckle as he pulled back a little and nibbled my lips. He bit a little harder and quickly rubbed my tingling lip with his talented tongue. I let out another groan at his gentle teasing. Devin pulled slightly back once again to run his lips along my jaw to my ear. He gently bit my earlobe before moving to bury his face in my neck. His breath against my neck made me shiver, so I threaded my hands in his hair to hold him closer against me.

“That was more amazing that I imagined.” Devin whispered against my neck. He pulled away and my hands slid to his broad shoulders. “I want to do it again, but I’ll restrain myself until later.”

I chuckled at his unhappy groan and pout as he pulled away and placed his hands on my shoulders. Devin gently squeezed me before moving farther away from me. He reached over to the counter to grab pen and paper. “I want you to write down your address and phone number. I’ll pick you up tonight at seven.”

I turned to the counter and picked up the pen. I quickly wrote down my address and phone number, then folded the paper and held it in my hand. Taking a quick breath, I walked over to him and rose up onto my tip toes. I pressed my lips against his in a quick kiss.

“I’ll see you later.” With a grin spreading across my face, I reached around his waist and put the paper in his back pocket. After grabbing the clock off the counter, I sauntered out of the store, excited about the coming night.

Burntcore Week 93: Along the Edge of Love

Burntcore
Thursday

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Burntcore's Choice: Picture 1

Title: Along the Edge of Love

Brady and Holly snuck away from the side of the house, stifling their giggles so they wouldn’t be heard. The last thing they wanted was Justin to hear them and want to tag along. Anytime all the families were together, Justin tended to stick to Brady like glue anytime the families were together.

Holly’s family was hosting the annual crab bake and the house and back yard was crawling with people. It was stifling for her and Brady. They had to watch every move they made, every touch, so that their parents wouldn’t catch on. While Holly and Brady were both seventeen, Holly’s parents were very adamant that she was not to date, especially not Brady. Brady’s family wasn’t as well off as Holly’s and that was a distinction that Holly’s mother took great offense anytime she spent time with Brady.

Unfortunately for Holly’s mother, Holly did not care about money or class or social standing. All she cared about was the boy next to her. She hoped that her mother would eventually understand. Brady hoped that he would eventually show Holly’s mother that he was worthy of her beautiful daughter.

This day, they enjoyed just being together. Hand in hand, they ran towards the river that was on the other side of the property. Holly slipped off her shoes and dipped her toes into the cool water as Brady walked carefully along the edge to avoid getting his shoes wet. With a happy sigh, she pulled him close and kissed him.

It was here, along the banks of the river, that their love first bloomed, and it would be where it would continue to grow.

KekahJ Week 93: Wheels

KekahJ
Wednesday

And now with our 2nd day of KekahJ!

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KekahJ's Choice: Picture 2

Title: Wheels

There’s nothing like it. I don’t care what anyone else says. There’s absolutely nothing like the feel of the wind through your hair and rushing across your cheek as you careen down the street, a thin piece of wood and four wheels the only thing between you and the pavement. And the feeling when you catch air and land a trick perfectly? Best feeling in the world.

Pain? Pain is nothing to a skater. We fall off our boards so many times you get so it doesn’t even register anymore. We’re always covered in bumps and bruises. It’s almost like a badge of honor in a way. Scars especially.

Also, I don’t know if anyone will ever admit this, but there’s a small part of every skater who likes being misunderstood. We like that people give us sideways glances when they see us on the street. There’s a certain rush that comes from knowing that we could be busted at any moment and thrown out. People always yell that they’re going to call the cops, but they rarely do.

Being a skater is like being a member of a whole other world, if only for just a few hours each day. When we’re on our boards, whether we’re riding down the sidewalk, or trying to master adrenaline pumping new tricks, we feel like the world makes sense. You know what I mean?

KekahJ Week 93: Daydreams

KekahJ
Tuesday ... KekahJ is usually on Wednesday but we needed a fill in for today's prompt, so now we will have TWO days of KekahJ! :)



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KekahJ's Choice: Picture 1

Title:

Daydreams

Sometimes I get lost. In a spare quiet moment when the dryer is humming quietly and the dishes are done, I sit back and close my eyes and let myself get lost. I think about what it would be like to spend my days sitting quietly on the bank of some far away river with nothing more to do than watch the sun arc across the sky and listen to the rush of the water moving over the smooth rocks. I can almost see it. The sun streams through the clouds and reflects almost blindingly off the water and the cool breeze rustles the leaves of the nearby trees. Sometimes in my daydream I have a small boat, or even just a fishing pole that dangles lazily from my arm. I don’t care if I get a bite or not. It’s just there to add to the whole experience.

Then the dryer buzzes or the baby cries, awake from her afternoon nap, and I’m brought back to reality. Dreams of lazy rivers and sun dappled trees are replaced by the reality of carpools and menu planning and soccer practices. I smile wistfully to myself. I’d get bored lying by a river all day anyway.