His Last Text Was…….
The one he never meant to send. His emotions were scattered. One moment he was giggly and the next almost in tears.
He addressed his text to all his friends and family. He was so excited he wanted to tell everyone he knew.
He wrote: I have just won the Super 7 worth 50M dollars and I want you all to share it with me. Of course he didn’t mean it, but he felt kind of generous and heroic in doing it.
He read it one last time and then deleted the whole thing. – He thought‐ he deleted it, ‐ but in fact he sent it.
He suddenly panicked. He didn’t want to give away his millions of dollars. He might need it someday. He wanted to buy a boat and a Lamborghini.
Just then his phones all rang at once resonating through his home and he instantly knew what he had done. Oh my god he said, to himself.
His fingers flew over the keys as he “Googled” Merlin Travel for the quickest way out of town.
He left no note – left all his clothes and his car. After all he was filthy rich and he could buy whatever he wanted. There was one thing though, he really would be lonely without his fiancé, but maybe he could find another in Mozambique.
From FreeFall Friday, July 10, 2015 prompt
Using great effort and moving slowly,slowly down the garden path, Samuel, achingly struggled. Down a path strewn with yellowing, rotting leaves, and festering, melting piles of rotting fruit. What were once ripe red apples, fuzzy succulent orange and red peaches, orangish red nectarines with skin swollen with juice, was now just fermenting piles of oozing fruit mixed with dots of worms and maggots.
Samuel had been here in his youth, a youth that had been full of brightly lit thoughts and plans A youth that promised to be lively and strongly lived. One that held a promise of a future that would be unbelievable in it’s grace and grandeur. He remembered those years fondly. The years that he meet her. The beauty, the princess of wonder and wildfire. Exuding passion with every languorous move her velvet touch and rich voice carried Samuel forward to every meeting. To every dark, rich coffee gathering. Every chance to talk about an infinite future. The years would be delightfully light, floating down like the down of a new born gosling. Those were the thoughtful years. The looking forward and dazzling, brilliant years.
They were gone now. Lost to the cesspool that was left of this garden. This unattended unkept place, this place of bleakness and desperation. As she was gone. Samuel new that she was somewhere out there somewhere dancing and flitting in a place of new fresh growth. He knew it as much as he knew he would never find her, never hear her, never see her brightness, her freshness, her passion. He had lost all. As soon as he trapped her, he knew she was lost to him. She festered under fetters, unable to move she wilted, her colour faded and darkened. Her voice stopped. Her passion for life fled. Samuel was still caught, still fermenting. He was just entering his ugly years …
From Freefall Friday, July 10, 2015 prompt
I never thought you’d leave in summer.
The hardest part of school was over, I’d marked my last exam, graded my last essay, and at last I could relax with you. Weren’t we going to go to the lake? I wanted to see you laughing on a boat. Lord knows I haven’t laughed all semester, nor you, nor have I tried to make you laugh.
And that’s it, I guess. I stopped trying, and we stopped relating to each other in any sort of a rhythm. I did my teacher thing, with teacher facts, just as I would write on a dusty chalkboard, but there’s no rhythm there.
Sean Crawford, June 5, 2015
The usual menagerie met Carl at the door, Sam the samoid dog, Krissy, their long haired fluff of a cat and Ben, his son carrying a small brown bag puffed up and folded carefully on top.
“What do you have there, Ben?” his dad asked scooping him and the bag up.
“It’s my new pets. Can I keep them, dad?”
“Can I see them first?” Carl was used to Ben’s pets. He also knew that a no response would lead directly to a tantrum, one where he would have to be the big bad father and send Ben to his room or take away a privilege.
Ben advised, “Be careful.” As he passed the puffed up bag to Carl. Carl made a big show of opening the bag slowly and extra carefully.
“Ben, there is nothing in here.”
“What? Ben stuck his nose right in the opening. “Oh, Dad, he smiled his huge three year old smile, ”They are right there on the bottom. They are my new pets.”
“Oh, Carl looked again. “What do they look like?”
“They are small and friendly and they live everywhere. Mommy said so.”
Carl felt a light bulb shine in his brain. “What did you watch on TV today?”
“The Nature of Things all about bac=bac=bacterneria”
She opened the door onto chaos, the littlest, Kev was swinging from the chandelier, the middle one, red headed Chloe had a hash pipe, no not just a pipe one of those gigantic suck on things a bong, she thought, yeah a bong. Eddie the oldest was kissing a man dressed like a girl on the bean bag chair in the corner. Sheila wasn’t sure how she knew it was a man except that he/she had exceptionally long lean legs, beautifully tanned.
She shook her head. “What in the hell is going on here?” she yelled. Eddie you were supposed to keep things under control. “You promised this time you would be responsible, remember? No flying monkeys, no wild animals, no roughhousing.”
“Yo momma” Eddie disengaged himself from the long beautiful man, of definitely a man she could now see. “Do you see any animals at all?”
“No but your sister is doing drugs and your two year old brother is hanging from the chandelier. I don’t exactly call that responsible. And who is that?”
“Jackie? Jackie’s my new friend.” Eddie smiled shyly. “Isn’t she great?”
“Everyone come to attention!” she yelled. No one moved. Kev swung just out of reach over her head and Chloe had fallen asleep or at least she hoped she was asleep. She grabbed her wrist and found a weak thready pulse. Relief washed over her and she started to cry, big gulping sobs, uncontrollable tears streaked her makeup, gave her a clown face. Kev stopped swinging, Eddie sat beside her, even Chloe stirred in her sleep.
She sat up with a jolt. What a nightmare. She realised the answer to her burning question. She actually didn’t want to have children.
The flight of a bird, the crash of a wave, the whisper of a breeze at noon in the forest, they exist as an image in my brain. The fallen cones on the needle covered earth crunch beneath my shoes, the sunlight, filtered by the swaying branches, saturates my eyes, the tang of oozing sap fills my nose, the warmth of summer heats my body until even the marrow in my bones quivers with delight. The world inside is brighter, more vivid, more radiant than the world outside.
The words I strive to write, the sequences I seek, the patterns I crave never quite create the world in my head; rather, they fall short, inadequate. Once in a while they come close. Reading them, I can almost reach out and touch that world before it retreats, slipping away from the tips of my fingers like the hand of a sleeping baby falling away.
But those magic words, sequences, and patterns can exist, do exist. I know because the books I love have them. They reach out, grab me, fling me into the bright world of the imagination. So, I keep writing and someday, some day, those words, those sequences, those patterns will be mine.
I’m not perfect
I’m not perfectly comfortable
Perfection is not comfortable
Perfection is not
Jack, Friday June 5, 2015