Yesterday

This was written for a prompt ‘Yesterday’ on the fabulous Community Storyboard. There are some really great pieces to check out if you haven’t done so already. Lately everything I’ve written seemed to rhyme, it wasn’t really a conscious decision just a fever that gripped, lol. So I thought I would try and get back my prose mojo…..

 

“No, it was yesterday” Stella shouted louder than she intended.

She didn’t seem to be getting through. Four heads were nodding in agreement but she could see it in their eyes. Their eyes couldn’t lie, not like their bodies. There was concern; yes she could see that, a veiled understanding that something wasn’t quite right.  Her mother was rubbing her hand and nodding at her like one of those plastic heads in the back of a car. Stella swiftly moved it away, the rubbing was really beginning to grate. She raised her hand to her forehead rubbing at her temple and caught the shooting look between the others.

“What the hell’s going on?”

“Stella, you’ve been hallucinating”

“So you keep saying, but that’s bullshit” She cursed as her mother raised a perfectly shaped eyebrow.

Stella let her head fall back against the pillow and shut her eyes against the thunder storm that was raging.

“She needs rest, we’ll go back to the hotel and come back later” her mother gestured to the others.

When Rita Kowalski spoke the whole world followed. The conservatively dressed matriarch had twenty years of high level politics under her belt and didn’t suffer fools gladly, least of all her children. Rita had the body of a twenty year old and the compassion of a piece of wood. She had chosen to adopt each of her three children rather than sacrifice an inch of that perfectly sculptured body. All three knew nothing about their biological parents and for her brother and sister it had never been an issue but for Stella it had always been the elephant in the room, she knew she was different, she knew there was something missing. It was like she was out of place, a visitor in the wrong place at the wrong time. She’d been secretly researching for years and that’s what had brought her to Scotland this summer.

With the room empty again, Stella was able to fight against the fog that was weaving through her brain. She could remember the tour to the castle by the Loch, the need to go inside, the need to touch the stones that lay abandoned over the centuries. She had felt at home but didn’t know why. She’d never been to Scotland in her life but there was something so familiar so comforting about the place. Yet some deep sorrow that seemed to wrap around her very soul and she couldn’t stop the rattle of her teeth or the tears that suddenly filled her eyes. The rain had come almost immediately as the clouds had darkened and followed her inside. She tried to shield herself against the heavy bursts that quickly soaked through her clothes. Then she lost her footing and everything went black.

Suddenly she was flying through the sky like a bird, over the mountains and into the clouds. She jerked awake not knowing where she was and sat forward grabbing a strong steady arm. Her breath caught in her chest as she saw the mist clearing. The castle was whole again, its stone bastions rising majestically from its foundations. Then a godlike silhouette appeared against the shifting mist, his long golden hair rippled like ribbons and his kilt wavered lightly in the breeze. She wasn’t afraid. She let her eyes roam over the features of his face, she knew who he was. A muscle clenched in his jaw

Stella sat rapt, stricken by the need to hear him speak.  He moved closer,

“You have much to learn about the world of the Fairies lass”

He leaned in and gently touched his mouth to hers. It felt right, it felt comforting, and for reasons she didn’t understand it made sense.

“Aye ye were cursed by the Fairy Queen my bonny lass” his heavy Gaelic brogue sang a sweet familiar melody that instantly filled her heart.

“But I promised I’d wait an eternity for ye my love, aye I knew you’d come back to me”

Then the rain had softened and the sky gave off an eerie pink glow. Stella felt the tension rising in her head, heard his voice growing fainter as the darkness took hold again.

“No, No, I have to go back” she screamed as the hospital room came back into focus.

A nurse came running back in flicking switches on and off the machines at the side of the bed.

“It’s alright Miss, just a nightmare” she said adjusting the pillows behind Stella’s head.

“They brought you in yesterday half dead love, you need to get your strength back” she continued settling the bedding.

“What on earth were you doing up at those ruins, especially in that storm?”

Stella listened, but didn’t speak.

The nurse carried on talking, oblivious to the lack of response from her patient. She told Stella how the ruins were said to be haunted. That an evil queen had cursed a wild highland warrior to wander alone through eternity searching for his lost love.

“Some folks say she’ll come back again one day, and bring the heather back to the Loch”

“Aye, we Scottish love our stories” giggled the nurse as she left the room.

Stella lifted the blanket from her leg, and looked down. The tiny tattoo on her ankle seemed suddenly brighter and the vivid purple of the heather seemed to take on an almost magical hue.

Stella closed her eyes and whispered “Yes, it was only yesterday”.

Time.

This was written for The Community Storyboard‘s weekly prompt ‘One Day…’ Everyone should have a look at the great pieces over there.

One day is no more than a number,

That is marked by the hands on a clock,

And tomorrow will never be longer,

Than the yesterdays of which we forgot.

*

We have twenty four hours to ponder,

If the path we have travelled is true,

Or perhaps the road over yonder,

Is the place where we live life anew.

*

A few precious minutes of memories,

Of love and of life and of laughter,

Where we grieve for the lost possibilities,

As we search for our long ever after.

*

Seconds they go in the blink of an eye,

Just moments in time that we miss,

Like the fluttering wings of a butterfly,

Or the touch of hot breath in a kiss.

*

For one day is no more than a number,

And life is just the counting of time.

A conundrum to solve before slumber,

And a mountain we mortals must climb.

The Singer

Believe it or not it’s Wednesday again and time for Friday Fictioneers. This weeks attempt at a 100 word photo prompt from Rochelle Wisoff-Fields. Every week I join the ranks of nearly 100 others, why don’t you follow the link and give it a go.

Copyright - Sandra Crook

Sasha stood on the stage and pictured it all. The cotton infused curtains that billowed in the sky. The blaze of the sun as it spotlighted her form.  She imagined the crowds that would line the warm steps; the mothers, the fathers, the sons and the daughters. She could almost taste the anticipation as it wove through the hush. It glistened on the surface like specks of fine sand and she could reach out and catch it in her palm. She caught her breath as it stilled in the silence.

“One day” she whispered, “One day it will be me”.

One Day……

 

One day I will grow into who I’ll become,

A childhood that’s moulded and shaped by the sway,

The belief in the future and the good things to come,

Yes, I’ll know who I am from that very first day.

 

One day I will know what it is to be loved,

To be held and be kissed like the storybooks say,

To be touched and be wanted, a love that is lived,

Yes, I’ll know what it is to be loved for a day.

 

One day I will know what it is to be whole,

To no longer be searching for the part that’s astray,

To join with another and share the one soul,

Yes, I’ll know what it is to be whole for a day.

 

One day I will know what it is to be old,

To only have memories to watch and replay,

Of echoes and shadows and things I can’t hold,

Yes, I’ll know I had love once, if just for a day.

Watching The Rain

This is my first attempt at the The Līgo Haibun Challenge. Each week you are given two prompts this weeks are Torture and Fascination. My attempt is for Torture. If like me you love trying new things get yourself over and have a go –

 

It was as if the weather was an extension of her state of mind; the aura of gloom that enveloped the skyline, the cold bitter chill that seeped underneath. There was always rain, so much rain. She sat in the coffee shop, a table for one, facing the window. She watched the heavens open. Rivulets of water ran down the road splashing knee high off the pavement. She tapped her fingers on the coffee cup to the beat of the rain dropping from the canopy outside.

When he said it was over she’d begged and she’d pleaded. She’d promised to be all he wanted and more and promised to forgive and forget what she saw. He said it wasn’t love, not real love and one day she would see that. But her love was blind and she couldn’t let go. She felt the pain of the barbed wire that tightened across her heart. She felt the loneliness that stung, like salt crystals on an open wound. The coffee was cold but still she drank it.

She saw them arrive and saw his hand touch hers, the hand she once held. She saw his eyes light up just as they had shone once for her. Then she watched his smile curl up at the edges and saw him whisper in her ear. She watched as his palm pressed against the small of her back as he hurried her forward. She had come to the cafe this morning so she could watch them get married.

When love goes away

Those tortured emotions

They drown in the rain

Daddy’s Been Swimming!

My first attempt at a Trifecta writing challenge. Using only 33 words to follow the cartoon below –

http://www.poisonedplayground.com

Mummy, Mummy there’s a monster in the water,

I think you’ve had more chocolate than you outta!

Mummy, Mummy, he’s waving his arms at me,

Oh my, you’re right, what’s happened to Daddy?

In my Dreams

In shadows of slumber and transient hues,

You are the sculptor and I am your muse,

Misty pink tones of a softened pastiche,

Banish the shame and let passions unleash.

Fingers so gentle, they mould a wet form,

I am the clay for your touch to transform,

My skin is the canvas that is yours to explore,

And my blood is the palette of fire you adore.

The silken washed edges that glisten and sheen,

Do dance in the moonlight and veil the unseen.

The phoenix that rises from the moulds of desire,

Is born out of passion and its transient lit fire.

Pray keep me in slumber and do not awake,

For you are the path of the road I can’t take.

You are the Romeo to my Juliet,

You are the one I cannot forget.

Those Pesky Birds.

Its Wednesday already, time for this week’s Friday Fictioneers.  A 100 word photo prompt (no murders if over) hosted by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields. Just follow the link and have a gander at the brilliant interpretations and have a go yourself.

seagulls-wicklund

This week’s photo: Copyright: E.A. Wicklund

Silvia struggled lifting the three Louis Vuittons and the matching weekender. Then cursed as each dropped with a thud onto the empty pebbled shoal.

“Too many T-Bones that man ate, I told him it would be the death of him”

A sadistic chuckle penetrated the silence as she emptied each case into the sprawling Atlantic.

“No body, no proof” she whispered.

Then thought how using his favourite steak knife to cut up his body had been just genius.

Unfortunately, as she calmly turned and walked back to the car, Sylvia missed the two birds that had swooped into the wash plucking an engraved wedding band from a recently severed finger.