Forgotten

Five Sentence Fiction--The word is Forgotten.




People in her Circle of Life no longer see the multi-hued sparkle of her wings, have forgotten the heights to which she once could soar.

Seeing instead, a representation of the needs they harbour being assuaged.

People in her Circle of Life no longer hear her songs of joy, sadness, defiance, strength, words sung with almost unbearable clarity.

Hearing instead, their own voices laying out multitudes of tasks and timelines... delegated.

Continuing in this, she became the multiple reflections of the requirements and ultimatums of the people in her Circle of Life, until her Authentic Soul was forgotten...no longer seen or heard even by herself.

Pirates Came A-calling

The Pirates came by today.

They said they were recruiting,

but they didn't want just anybody

that was tired of their everyday existence.

This, after all, was the chance

of a life time.

You would sail the seven seas,

gaze upon Wonderous things, 

and learn to wield a cutlass...

Or, a rapier, if that was more

to your liking.

I told them,

"Not today."

But, I had them leave

 their card.                                     

https://www.etsy.com/listing/73059312/peter-pan-photograph-unframed-nursery?ref=sc_2&plkey=8052f93788a020a453ca7ea14beaa72dbe7f0451%3A73059312&ga_search_query=pirate+photographs&ga_page=4&ga_search_type=all&ga_view_type=gallery

Lost and Found

For the 5 Sentence Fiction Challenge by Lilli McFerrin. This weeks word is Envy.


Lost and Found

I mixed the bitter root of atonement with the sweet sap tapped from the Tree of Life to send her back to the Lover wronged in the time of papyrus and Pharaoh.

The realities of her existence, draped carelessly across backs of camp chairs and cots, disappeared from the tents staked into the sands of the desert as she took sip after sip from the ancient cup.

Shackled lifetimes beyond enduring to a Karma of finding, losing, she suffered due to a mistake made in a fit of misguided rancor that caused her very being such pain that now no risk was too great.

The bazaar whispered fecund promises and grievous names to the woman who had tied her path this time to excavations of dusty sites, forbidden knowledge, and hope.

She dared the mists, so I watched with a smile as a name, that had been redacted by the stones of time, began to reappear clearly chiseled on the torch lit chamber walls around me.

http://www.controverscial.com/Margaret%20Alice%20Murray.htm

Yellow Brick Fail

For the Five Sentence Fiction Challenge. This weeks word was grief.

Yellow Brick Fail

Each wicked little bird took a piece, peck, peck, pecking away until all that was left was her fleshy container and streaming tears of long heart hurt.

She felt each beak as it tore through the meat of her resolve, her boundaries, her self esteem, her yearning, yet still she walked expecting a buffed up Tin Man to save her.

A serious minded Scarecrow would have been talk therapy company, but none were to be found, nor was there any 'roid rage Lion around to beat the intruders and their reminders of pain into bloody spots on the forest floor.

She had stepped off her yellow brick road in search of...something unseen but felt, only to find herself in a rotten apple forest populated by sorrow grown large by lack of trust and sharing, pecked to pieces by birds named Regret and Loss.

In her head she knew even the Wizard would not be able to give back the Emerald Palace of her dreams, so she trudged on along the crumbling, yellow route in shoes stained dark with shed blood longing.

                                                                 

www.messynessychic.com

Her Darkness

Latest contribution to the "Five Sentence Fiction Challenge". This weeks word was Darkness.
Find the site here: http://lilliemcferrin.com/five-sentence-fiction-darkness/

Her Darkness

Her darkness had wings the color of the backside of the rainbow,  but she was made to keep their flight feathers clipped, for soaring on currents of desire was frowned upon.

She had been made afraid of the power that overwhelmed her with the scent of ripe cherries and cinnamon, making of itself an aphrodisiac that ruptured her Soul.

A good girl did not have these thoughts, feelings, nor was she marked by the intoxicating possibility of actions bound by future regret and criticism.

Her other half, un-redeemed and lost in its denial, sneaked peeks every black moon into a shoebox at the back of the closet where her passions and dreams fluttered on the ends of short, golden chains.

Far better, said they, to abide safe and secure in non-censure, flightless and dressed by the Tribe, trained by Peers to attract the Perfect Mate, for was that not her place in the world...to replicate?

Waiting for Permission

My contribution for the Lillie McFerrin Five Sentence Fiction challenge. This weeks word was Waiting.
http://lilliemcferrin.com

She stood, illumined by the stark light flooding out of the refrigerator door...waiting.

She stared, without seeing, half empty shelves populated with salvaged margarine containers and burp-able plastic boxes that held the remains of meals remembered, as the cold brightness streamed around her.

Never allowed the luxury of exciting ingredients stirred together to nourish only herself, she existed on a mishmash of dishes left behind, relegated to her by the waste not, want not upbringing of a frugal parent.

Never permitted the simple idea of procuring something to delight, just for herself, she grew fat, bitter, and brittle having lived off the empty calories and agitated molecules of warmed over gotta-go's.

Had permission been given, she could have dined on feasts of freshness, fiestas of spices, but her Soul had forgotten that the only true authority she needed to heed, was standing in the glare of an open door staring at what she believed she deserved.

Word Routes

I missed the deadline for putting this into the Five Sentence Fiction challenge, but I thought I would share it, anyway. The word for this week was Maps.

My words are returning home.
Traveling down dirt roads, growing to farm to market black top, maturing into full blown freeway lanes of story and rolling poetry, they are taking me back.
If, I but stay away from the brake, I may re-discover roads already traveled and happen upon paths unknown before.
Like the forever unfolded map in its resolve to never return to its original form, my words have learned of different ways to seek out new side roads and rest stops.
An unholy vow is broken, my journey resumes.