This reminds me of Sophie Kinsella’s Confessions of a Shopaholic. Shopping, anyone? ^^
I wan’t this, this, and this!
In response to Sometimes Stellar Storyteller Six Word Story Challenge: Impulsive
She stood poised and firm
Handled herself with a class
No trace of the past
Written for Written for RonovanWrites’ haiku prompt #87: Class & Firm
I was looking for an image to go with this haiku when Google greeted me with a “Happy International Women’s Day!” What a coincident! Then I found this awesome illustration from Patsyfox. YAY! Cheers to all women (and women at heart?) all over the globe. ❤ ❤ ❤
In response to Sometimes Stellar Storyteller Six Word Story Challenge, here’s to self-forgiveness.
Looking in the mirror, she smiled.
If you look deep in her eyes, you’d realize that she is a gypsy. Wrapped in scarlet silk, her enchanting beauty is certain to ensnare a soul and turn it alight.
But in a cavernous pit inside, her soul cries.
It cries for the forests she hadn’t gone exploring. It cries for the mountains she hadn’t gone climbing. It cries for the ruined cities. The crashing waves. The sunrise. The sunset. It cries for the pieces of whatever remained of her soul.
After roaming the concrete jungle, she sits in the abyss of what— all her life— she thought was a place called home. But it is not. Home is not the clicking of McQueens, the parade of Ralph Laurens, or the display of Gucci. It is neither a breakfast at Greystone Mansion nor a night at the Beverly Hills. At the end of the day, she’s broken. Shattered into pieces of unrecognizable mess. In this empty room, she melted into a tabletop, with nothing but a candle to light her night.
Miserable. Barren. Lost.
Word Count: 175
Here’s for Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers prompt.
Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers is a weekly writing challenge hosted by Priceless Joy where a photo is used as a prompt for a piece of fiction using 150 (+/- 25 words).
Enjoy more stories here.
I’d pick those broken pieces
And place them in your hands
Whenever, wherever
I get a chance
I’d ignite the flame
Once washed by the rain
Set my heart on fire
Send my desire
I’d brave the storm
Hate, disgust, scorn
I’d face it all
In any lifetime
In any day
I’d still choose you,
Anyway.
Katie opened the bedroom window. The storm finally broke and the air felt cool and clean. While pockets of mist rose from the ground, rolling clouds drifted past the moon that hung above the trees.
She motioned to her drawer taking out an antique pyramid figure, stones, and a blue rose.
“This is crazy. Oh well… what do I have to lose!” she said scowling
Three minutes later, a soft voice filled the room with words that echoed to the night sky.
Seven stones in a circle
Crescent moon hear my plea
Rose petals in the middle
Oh night stars lead him to me
I pray thee for true love
In the breath of the night
Draw from universe
A perfect love that is right.
With a sigh of relief, Katie glanced at the window once again. She tucked herself back to bed, her eyes closed with a silent hope for the moon and stars to hear her chant.
Midnight came and the leaves turned from sporadic silver and black as they shimmered in the evening breeze. And in the midst of silence, like those we see in fairytales, silver dust came out of the pyramid and sprinkled over our sleeping Katie.
Here’s for this week’s Sunday Photo Fiction prompt by Al Forbes. Enjoy more stories here. 🙂
She stared down
Trying not to glance at him
As if she doesn’t notice
Yet she saw right through his soul
Even without looking
She turned up
The volume in her head
As if he’s not her music
Yet she heard every word he said
Even without listening
She breathed in
The freshness of morning air
As if all memories have depleted
Yet she could sense his scent
Even without smelling
She wore a smile
Trying not to look hopeful
As if her heart’s not racing
Yet she got a tang of his kisses
Even without snogging
She squeezed tightly
The pillows in her bed
As if that is all she needed
Yet she felt the warmth of his skin
Even without touching
The brave
She’s the kind of brave who would battle the raging waves and fight the cruel storm just to keep your relationship. For you she’ll fight against all odds. She’s the kind of brave who remembers. She’ll remember how she walked into love with you, with eyes wide open, choosing to take every step along the way, even when you’ve already given up. She’ll remember how she was once your sunshine and you were her moonlight. She’s the kind of brave who would wait in the room when you slammed that door close, hoping you’d come back in a heartbeat. Continue reading “On bravery and love: The brave, the braver, and the bravest”
Photo credits: Dada
If anyone has watched the movie, Lucky 7, where control-freak Amy sticks to her detailed timeline as a guideline in all walks of life including love, this one is about the same.
We are all hopeless romantic. We long for love and affection. We desire to feel the magic it brings. We hold on to our faith of finding true love. Some people get lucky, some work their ass off in search of ‘The One’, and some just run out of kismet. Time and experience may have changed our idea about love. Some gave up with their awfully broken-into-pieces heart whilst some stood up from the fall, wiping the bruises and forgetting the scars, to once again hope. Hope that someday, somewhere, somehow they might just get their luck.
Continue reading “It takes six men before you meet your lucky 7—or not”
DoodleScribbles 