Shivering chill, penetrates deep, piercing frozen marrow.
I am lost, and I hold fragile, autumn leaves, crushed,
bloodless, between my forsaken fingers – like my heart.
Joining in Grace Black’s TLT Throwback – Twenty-eight, as I just couldn’t resist this autumn leaves photograph.
Prompt: Fall. 3 lines, 10 words max per line…
Source Visual Dare
She couldn’t bear the shaving brush and foam on the bathroom windowsill, and his cologne still clung to the sweater gripped between her fingers. Martha buried her anguish within his scent and memories as she clutched his jumper to her face.
Six days was too long, far too long.
She shrugged his sweater over her head and ignored the cawing birds as they flocked beyond the cliffs. Their mournful cries served only to intensify her grief and choking sobs.
Two uniformed figures walked towards her; they’d known she’d still be there, down on the beach. Their gait slowed as the salty gale assailed them and their shoulders sagged. Black boots kicked the sand as they walked and as she watched behind her trembling fingers, the oldest removed his hat. Tears trickled and she knew what they’d say.
Six days was too long, far too long, and now – too late.
(149 Words)
Written for Angela Goff’s Visual Dare – One week, 150 words, one black-and-white photo that could spawn a hundred different stories.
Go take a look at the stories in her comments, each a different take on the picture above!
Gidget Bates
Fear me! For the dreams that whirled within my head,
that fell abandoned beneath your tread,
rise now from ash with phoenix dread!
Week eight of Three Line Thursday and another prompt.
David Shakes
Moments of feathered ice and crystal shards
cut through reality’s silver blur.
Yet still, oblivion descends, and I lose my fragile grip…
A short three line flash for Three Line Thursday…
© Lisa Shambrook
Dust motes swirled and danced in the ray of sunshine that flooded the bedroom, and Eli gazed at Aoife’s tumbling dark hair as she stood by the window. The sun glinted and bounced off the silver hairbrush she swept through her curls. His chest rose and fell with a heavy sigh and he relaxed back upon the white cotton pillows. The sheet she clutched slipped a little as she tugged at a stray tangle, and Eli imagined it dropping away from her shoulders altogether. The corner of his mouth twitched in a lazy smile and he wondered what she looked at every morning through the window.
“What d’you see out there, angel?” he asked lacing his fingers behind his head.
Her arm paused, mid-stroke and high in the air then she put the brush down. She pulled the sheet up and rested her hand against the window pane. “Trees, as green as the Emerald Isle, tall woods, stretching back as far as you can see…mountains, huge, snow-capped mountains…” she paused, her hand still flat on the glass, “and lakes,” she added, “up in the mountains. Rivers…blue ribbons of rivers and waterfalls cascading down – can’t you hear them? The water rolling and gushing, icy and cold…”
Eli grinned, his eyes still fixed on her bare back, her spine disappearing into the loose white sheet. Her lies filled the room as the air-con’s chill spread goose-bumps across his skin. He could hear Monday morning traffic, hurrying and bustling through the city streets, and the only green was bright traffic light go. Tower-blocks filled the view as far as the eye could see and the distant mountain ranges had been disguised by a film of smog for as long as he could recall.
“Waterfalls cascading…” she continued, “down to…” Her voice caught and her hand trailed down the glass, leaving an imprint that faded as quickly as her words.
She turned, slowly, the sheet bunched about her body, and her eyes met his. He drowned in her clear blue depths, and his own breath caught in his throat.
“Waterfalls…” she repeated, her yearning eyes filling with unshed tears. “Cascading down to the ocean… To the salt water, the sea, to waves crashing upon beaches and wind dancing atop the foam.”
She stared straight into his heart, salty tears slipping silently down her cheeks.
Conflict battered his soul, as compassion and desire fought to surface. His base passions won and he beckoned her to the bed. “Come, sweetheart, come…” He patted the bed beside him. “One day, my darling, one day I’ll take you back… One day we’ll run away from the city together, we’ll own a cabin in the woods, and we’ll follow the river down to the ocean… One day you’ll swim again in the sea.” He gazed at her, as her white fingers clutched tightly to the sheet about her body. She sat lightly on the bed and he rubbed her shoulders leaning in close to kiss her neck. He whispered as he feathered tiny kisses across her shoulder and down her arm. “One day, angel, but until then you’re mine, and until then we’ll play together…”
He pulled her down onto the bed and gently stripped away her sheet. He ignored her wet cheeks and the way her eyes glazed over as he caressed his prize.
Her expressionless eyes remained open as she slipped away to a far, far ocean and his promises faded, lost and buried in the same place as her pelt.
(584 Words)
My Blues Buster as prompted by ‘Home in the Woods’ by Cory Chisel and the Wandering Sons. There’ll be more tales to read if you pop over to The Tsuruoka Files…
When you grow up losing yourself in books you can’t help but have an affinity to the written word that will last a life time. Amaranth Alchemy’s brand of creativity involves rescuing old, unwanted and damaged books breathing new life into their pages.
Amaranth Alchemy products…
My daughter, Bekah, and I recently embarked on a new adventure and created Amaranth Alchemy and we’d love to introduce you to our work!
Winnie the Pooh necklace, Dream necklace and Alice bookmark…
Both of us spent our childhoods engrossed within the adventures laid down on pages; words that took us away and threw us into other worlds, other lives and allowed us to escape and experience so much more than our own small worlds could let us! I was the proverbial bookworm, never happier than when I was curled up with a good book. I loved searching my local independent bookstore for second hand books I could spend my pocket money on. The shop owner helpfully rescued tattered copies of The Famous Five and each of The Silver Brumby books so I could immerse myself amongst my favourite things!
The Lord of the Rings products…
My book collection grew and I was always saddened when my beloved books began to fall apart, spine glue disintegrating, pages slipping out, accidents, a book left out in the rain, pages torn, and general wearing out. I kept a lot of my books, reluctant to release them, and unable to throw them away, despite having bought a better condition copy! Over the years my old books vanished to charity, or final acceptance of the dreaded bin, sacrilegious!
This is the average state of the books we use before rescue…
These days charity shops are overrun with books, too many to sell or recycle and many are pulped. Those that don’t make charity are often thrown away to rot in landfill.
Marvels of Nature, Oliver Twist and Dracula bookmarks, and Winnie the Pooh wall art…
Bekah and I decided to do something about these lost and abandoned books and created a rescue service!
Alice wall art, The Story of English Literature bookmark, Birdcage quote plaque and Winnie the Pooh necklace… (clockwise)
Our choice of name epitomises our ethic…unfading creation
Amaranth: a purple flower whose name derives from the Greek ἀμάραντος (amarantos) which means ‘unfading’ and is what books are, unfading stories, and Alchemy: a magical process of creation, turning old books into new.
Dictionary word necklaces…
The vintage book pages we use in our craft are currently sourced from the Healthy Planet (a charity that gives away donated books preventing them going to landfill or being pulped) or from books lost within the dusty back rooms of charity shops or donated to us. Each item we make breathes new life into old pages.
We promise never to take pages from new books unless they are irrevocably damaged!
GIVEWAY: you can own Mrs Tiggy Winkle! Go to our FB page to take part!
You can have a chance to win the necklace above! It’s our very first giveaway and all you need to do is pop over to Facebook and ‘like’ our page Amaranth Alchemy, like and comment on the Giveaway photo…very easy and Mrs Tiggy Winkle is waiting for a lovely new home…could it be yours?
15% Etsy voucher…
Even if you don’t win…you can have 15% off in our Etsy shop until the 15th October 2014...use the code above when you go through to pay for your purchases. Go and take a look and end up with a beautiful package delivered to your door!
Amaranth Alchemy’s first packages all packed up pretty before posting…
Amaranth Alchemy is a mother and daughter team who adore words and art of every kind.
Lisa is an author, photographer and an all-round artsy dreamer. Her first novel ‘Beneath the Rainbow’ is available to critical acclaim. When she’s not writing her second and third novels she can be found tinkering with other arty projects.
Bekah is an artist and designer by trade, spending time as a Make-Up Artist out on photo shoots, and designing websites, logos and all manner of arty things. She can be discovered at Masterpiece Artistry.
Lisa and Bekah have an eye for all things of natural beauty and a talent for putting creative arts together.
Image by Lisa Shambrook (Please do not use without permission)
The thread hung, as thin as gossamer, as delicate and fragile as a spider’s silken strand.
Dark circles stained the pale skin beneath her eyes, and she ran shaky fingers through forgotten tangles. Long nails snagged within her web of hair, and the softest sigh slipped from desiccated lips as she watched the door through jaded eyes.
Outside, grey clouds filled a grey day and rain spattered the streets, and she knew no one would come.
Still, her fingers clutched the thread, slight and frail, her last thread of hope.
I haven’t written any flash fiction since Christmas, and have missed Lillie Mcferrin’s Five Sentence Fiction greatly, so this is my piece for the prompt Clutch. Hop over to Five Sentence Fiction to read the other great stories.
Didn’t think I had time this week, but the song spoke to me: Everything But The Girl ‘Missing’…so here’s my Blues Buster for Jeff over at The Tsuruoka Files.
I stare at the thin sliver of yellow light in the upstairs window as it escapes from behind the drapes. Tears smart and a silver coil swirls from my lips as I rub my gloved hands together. I run my finger along the rusted gate, watching shards of frost gather and drop. The pounding in my chest threatens to fell me and it takes every ounce of resolve to move my leaden legs and walk away.
My boots clump on the glittering, early morning pavement, as they have every day this week. I retrace yesterday’s footprints to the end of the street and slide round the corner. There, against the rows of garage doors, I give in to my tears and feel the sting of warmth roll down my frozen cheeks. Dark spots appear on my mackintosh, and my hands shake as I lift them to my face.
I gather wits and wipe away tears, and push away from the wall. I walk a familiar path, decorated with the ghost of my little, pink bicycle speeding uninhibited around the corner, and I smile. Children’s voices dance in my recollection and thirty-year-old pictures invade the street, warming up the cold morning, bathing the pavement in tinged faded memories of childhood.
As I reach the gate, upstairs curtains shift. A tempest whirls within my heart as I stand by the gate. The curtain drops and I push the gate open. Metal screeches against the ground, like it always did, and I flinch as it echoes across the sleepy neighbourhood. I drag my feet up the path and try not to slip on my rubbery legs. The door is new, white and plastic, not blue and broken.
A light snaps on behind the door and it takes everything I have not to turn and flee. Nausea rises, my stomach churns and I’m breathless. My hands shake, and I shiver with more than the frosty morning chill.
I imagine her face, lined and old, but familiar and…and what? It had been almost twenty years since I left; my soft, compliant hand in the firm grip of a social worker. I’d gone without a fight, because I’d had no fight left.
Now the door opens and I stare. She stands in a stark flood of light. I swallow, my throat as dry as the desert, and choke out something incomprehensible.
She places a hand on my arm. “Are you alright?” she asks in an alien voice.
I nod.
“You’ve stopped outside every day this week,” she continues.
I nodded again.
“Have you got the right address?” Her face is gentle with concern. “Come on in, you look shattered.”
I shake my head. “Mrs Fenwick…”
She shakes her head. “No one here by that name.” She gazes past me. “Maybe…several tenants ago.”
“Do you know where..?”
She shakes her head again. “I’m sorry my love, past my time, and old Mrs Davies, next door, passed away, so she won’t know, and the Andrews are gone too…”
I step back, my feet almost tripping over each other.
“Won’t you come in? It’s so cold out there.”
I shake my head and sniff. I want this lady’s arms around me.
“Who was she?” asks the lady.
I shake my head again and I rush away down the old familiar path, the words barely making it out of my mouth as I run. “My mother…”
(566 Words)
Scent
As she ran all she could hear was the susurrus of the murmuring leaves as they swirled about her, and she quickened her pace. She slowed stepping carefully through winding vines and convolvulus, still decorated with scattered diamonds of dew. She paused, one foot still aloft, and flared her nostrils. Heavy petrichor rose from the forest floor masking the scent she tracked. Her foot dropped and she stood silent, listening.
The breeze still whispered, and her mind whirled as scents mingled. Flora’s fragrance intermingled with fungi and soil’s pungent aroma, and different odours emanated from the undergrowth, confusing her and sending her into a tailspin.
She raised her nose, but the scent had vanished.
Just mere months since Christmas and here she was lost and abandoned. Her meretricious collar, now studded with dull zircona, had long since snapped…and she settled in the leaf mulch with a maudlin whine, to wait.
(150 Words)
The Last Krystallos 