Weight of His Sins

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“You are condemned!” The witch’s voice boomed with finality.

The witch waved her wand through the air in an infinity symbol, on the third wave, a nebulous chain appeared. As she placed it around Bartlby’s shoulders, words appeared in each link of the chain. Every beating and insult, etched into the links.

“This chain is made up of the pain and indignities you inflicted on her. You will carry it for eternity.”

“NO!” Bartleby gasped as the links hardened into steel and the weight of it forced him to his knees before it bore him screaming through Hell’s dark gate.

For the Masters of Writing Fiction Challenge  Weight

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The Princess and the Shark

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Written for the Three Things Challenge Tower, tidal wave, shark

So what kind of fairy tale would involve a tower, a tidal wave, and a shark? Pull up a monitor and let me take you on a journey through the dark and twisted recesses of my imagination.   Continue reading “The Princess and the Shark”

Collectors – Fly Swatter

For the Haunted Wordsmith Collections Challenge:

Fly Swatter

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It all started on a sweltering July afternoon. Pop and I were enjoying a coolish breeze on the patio. He had gone back into the house for drinks, asking what I wanted. I replied to his back as he entered the door to the kitchen “I’ll have an ice water, thanks.”

Next thing I know, out comes my 80-something Pop with a fly swatter. I looked at him kind of funny and he pipes up.

“Here’s the fly swatter you asked for.”

“I said ‘Ice Water’ you silly git. I laughed, he laughed, we laughed and laughed.

That Christmas, with the family gathered around, I was handed a package, carefully wrapped with a little tag that read “to Pumpkin from Pop.” Well, you guessed it, in the package was an elaborately decorated fly swatter. That started a tradition and pretty soon, every holiday, every event, brought a new fly swatter. I have fly swatters shaped like the Statue of Liberty, shaped like Texas, one shaped like a palm tree, one that lights up like a Christmas tree, one that says “DIE FLY” on it.

Pop was my grandpa and even after he passed on, my parents kept the tradition going for many more years. After they passed, I’d still buy myself a new fly swatter from everywhere I traveled. I have one from a trip to Acapulco shaped like a sombrero. I’m an old woman now, making out my will and trying to decide who to leave my prized possessions to. The house, and car and jewelry, those were easy. Family heirloom china, yep that was a given. But really, what do I do with 784 fly swatters?

Love’s Storm

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I’d like to thank Firewordsblog for the inspiration for this poem. Do check it out, many good reads

I watched the clouds gather,
growing heavier and dark.
The winds, gentle only moments ago
gathered their terrible fierceness.

Trapped in a dark relationship
not of my choosing.
I somehow lacked the courage to walk away,
to seek shelter from the rain.

Instead, I stayed, far too long
fascinated in some gruesome way
by the fury of the storm.

Not a timid rain storm
but a raging thunderstorm
filled with fear and anger, and hate.

The thunder of a slap,
the lightning jolt of cruel words,
the soaking rain of my weeping.

So many years ago,
when I was someone else
and yet … not.

I emerged a different woman,
stronger, yet gentler
washed clean by the rain
of my own tears.

Storms

For Tim on his birthday, in case you ever wondered why you love thunderstorms so much.

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He was born in Ventura County,
in nineteen seventy-nine
his Momma loved to travel
she talked about it all the time.

They moved out to Kentucky
to make a brand new start.
She tried to settle down there
and tame her gypsy heart.

She hoped that he’d be
happy there
and that he’d find a home
without her soul that
had to wander
and feet that had to roam.

One night as she watched a thunderstorm
play across the land
his Momma took him in her arms
and this is what she sang:

**Oh Kentucky give this child a home
give him the love of a good family
and a woman of his own.
Give him a fire in his heart
give him a light in his eyes.
Give him the west winds
for his brothers
and these wild Kentucky skies.”**
** (adapted from John Denver’s Wild Montana Skies)**