Davee Jones's Blog, page 3
March 26, 2018
Tuesday Tales and Being Strong When You're Weak
Ahoy Fellow Fathomers! It's time for Tuesday Tales.
A group of writers gather together and give our interpretation of a specific word prompt each week. This week we share the prompt "strong". You never know what you might encounter when you get inside our minds. This will be an excerpt from my new yet-to-be-named WIP.
Enjoy!~
High clouds stirred and brewed against darkening blue skies. The climbing heat combined with the humidity, thrusting against a high cap in the atmosphere. Spring had come to Oklahoma. We’d already had a few strong rains, but, thankfully no tornados. When the sprinkles began, my nerves shot up and I almost lost my shit. I took Ryan underground even when it wasn’t essential. My parents had a cellar they kept stocked with supplies. So, we had a good place to go in the event of another major storm. However, I frequented often, even when the clouds produced nothing more than blocking the sunshine.
Pulling onto the concrete drive, a flash of my former home slammed against my awareness. It was a former time- I was pulling into the driveway after a day at school. Dangling from the front porch, the chimes rang outside while the breeze blew a melody only nature could create. I wondered what I would fix for supper, and tried to remember if Garrett was working the night shift.The scene left my consciousness as quickly as it arrived. I was back in the present staring at a blank city lot. Most of the trash had been removed. My friends and family took care combing through the rubble, looking for anything salvageable. I saw the blank cement foundation, once a lively groundwork for my precious family. We had so much more to build. Now, it stood empty once more, like a blank canvas for the next artist. I’d already decided I wasn’t building there again. It was time for me to move on from the ghosts of the past I had a feeling would haunt me. I couldn’t shut my brain down and certainly couldn’t prevent the what-if monsters from plaguing me. Surveying the rest of the lot illuminated by sunshine, I noted the cellar door. Walking toward it, I wasn’t sure I wanted to see inside, but, my personal train wreck kept me glued in curiosity. Leaning over, I gripped the door handle, ready to pull, when a honeybee landed on my knuckle, startling me. I shook my hand free of the stinging threat, releasing the handle. I think that was my sign from above to leave the past well alone. Maybe it was Garrett, warning me against the bog of miserable history. My eyes followed the bee, wondering how far high it would fly. Did guardian angels really take the form of something palpable on earth? I had to believe it was true, because my heart couldn’t take it any other way.
Please visit us at our main site for more interpretations of strong- Tuesday Tales Main
March 22, 2018
Colin Firth, What's the Appeal? I Could Go On and On...
Ahoy fellow fathomers, it's been a long time since I had a personal entry in my blog, but, I've been doing some thinking and decided to get back on the blogging horse. So, last night, I'm watching Bridget Jones's Baby, the final installment of my favorite of all time movies series. There's just something about Bridget I identify with. Maybe it's the awkward, self-conscious part of me I will never shake. And, I'm okay with it. I need an element to keep me from getting too stagnant and comfortable with life. You know, that inner voice driving me forward, keeping me going and never giving up. Life is a marathon, not a sprint.As a singleton, I looked to romance movies as an escape, a way to fantasize about my own Mr. Right. And, in that first movie, oh Lord, Colin Firth took my breath away. Mr. Mark Darcy, the Barrister with an impeccable swagger and captivating all business- with a sexy undertone- voice. There's no way he could fake the entire role. There's bits of him imbedded in the sexy fictional man. Mr. Darcy has been uptight all his life, and you can just see him splitting at the seams to release his passion. Passion I don't believe he even knew he possessed until he saw Bridget, I mean
really saw
Bridget. What better person to facilitate than the eccentric Bridget Jones? "I like you very much...just the way you are." Watch this clip showing the progression from uncertain to infatuation. Bridget Jones I like You Just As You AreWhat better way to start a love affair?When someone tells you the whole of you is what they like it is
universally huge
. In most cases, honestly liking someone is better than loving them. WHY- Because, in some instances, we are almost "obligated" to love. Like the obnoxious sibling, aunt, uncle, fill-in-the-blank, we
love
them, but, we may not
like
them. There's a distinct difference. When a significant other likes you as much or more than they love you, that's where we have the relationship lightbulb moment. The foundation of friendship, teamwork, companionship, loyalty, empathy, and kindness go such a long way in actually
liking a person. How many couples can say they failed, but, still loved each other yet didn't know how to make it work? Maybe they didn't like each other as much?
When Mr. Darcy looks at Bridget, the fondness and interest are visibly moving. She's simply being herself, nothing more-nothing less, and he's captivated. Damn, it's sexy, and also inspiring. At the end of the movie, he doesn't care she's written insulting gibberish, he buys her a new diary to begin again--beginning again in a new life with him. A new love filled journey, proving he can kiss better than any bad boy out there.
You know, maybe someone would look at me that way. Being myself, hair up in a messy ponytail, spilling something/anything on my clothes, tripping over air, snoring in the early morning, forgetting my own name, snorting when I laugh at something so ridiculous it should be embarrassing (but, to me it isn't embarrassing- it's hilarious)Being me, with my insane addiction to buying mistint paint at the local Lowe's. (It's a real thing I possess an addiction)Being me, drinking too much wine on a random Tuesday just because.Being me, with my aches, pains, wobbly bits, and developing wrinkles.Being me, spouting random bits of information that seem to come from out of nowhere. (my brain is routinely the space from nowhere-a black hole of lunacy)Being me, surrounded by my own second hand embarrassment. (the kind other people wince while watching me seemingly fail miserably at confident poise) Being me, becoming the object of affection of someone bright, creative, intelligent, loyal, handsome, witty, and supportive. (Yeah, THAT! I've dreamt of that man forever i think.)For those reasons, I love Mr. Mark Darcy. I hope I have my own someday.
March 20, 2018
Tuesday Tales are Pale
Ahoy Fellow Fathomers! It's time for Tuesday Tales.
A group of writers gather together and give our interpretation of a specific word prompt each week. This week we share the prompt "pale". You never know what you might encounter when you get inside our minds. This will be an excerpt from my new yet-to-be-named WIP.
Enjoy!~
Everyone in the small circle of group members welcomed me warmly. Conner walked me in, and introduced himself. He then explained he was simply my friend, and wouldn't be infringing upon the meeting. He politely excused himself and left the room. I was grateful and nervous at the same time he left me there alone. I settled myself into a chair in the circle, and readied myself as best I could. I wasn't the only young widow in the group, and there was also a young widower, Jake, there. He lost his wife in a car accident, so her loss was sudden, like when Garrett died. He spoke warmly of her as his voice broke off a little at a time- like glass chipping away from a damaged window pane. “She just went out for lunch. I kissed her good-bye for the last time on January twentieth. I remember thinking how glad I was it wasn’t icy, so the roads wouldn’t be bad.”When Mandy spoke, she introduced her late husband, Eric. “Eric started passing out and having seizures a little over a year ago. We thought it was epilepsy, so the doctors began aggressively testing. He actually had pancreatic cancer.” Looking in my direction, Mandy was catching me up with sad, punctuated sentences. “Tumors were making insulin, which made doctors think it was diabetes. See, he was so young, they didn’t think he could have something like pancreatic cancer. By the time we found out, the disease was so advanced, he had little time left.” Sniffing into a worn, wadded tissue, she appeared wearier than sad. “We didn’t make any last fabulous trips.” Shrugging her shoulders, she attempted a cynical smile. “We had to live out our dreams in our living room while I sat next to his rented hospital bed.” She then addressed the group. “I took pictures from the internet and copied them off as full pages. We fantasized about what we’d do from each image. For some reason, the beaches were our favorite…go figure.” Releasing a gentle sigh, she finished her solo. “We spent many hours saying goodbye.”From the differing perspectives, I couldn’t determine it was any easier when someone died slowly, and their loved ones had a chance to express their goodbyes, or if death came swiftly, immediately, without warning. In the end, death was still final no matter how much, or how little notice was given. I wanted to tell them, "what you're saying goes beyond the pale." In the hospital, I remember thinking I could’ve felt better if I’d known he was going to die. If only we had the chance to say goodbyes. But, I was wrong. He was still gone and the people in this group reminded me the inevitable ending to such personal stories. Toward the end of the meeting, I found myself introducing who I was. "Hi, I'm Rachel. I lost my husband in a tornado several months back. I was pregnant when he died, and am now raising our son by myself with the help of my parents."Group members solemnly made expressions of both welcome and sorry at the same time. It appeared no one wanted to say they were glad to be there, because it felt inappropriate somehow. I'm sure none of us wanted to be there, we have rather been at home spending time with the one we'd lost. By the close of the meeting, I'd felt a connection without even knowing the people there. Having folks talk about death without breaking down empowered me. These people hadn’t let death break them, so maybe there was hope for me. Not everyone spoke during the meeting. I appreciated the freedom to stay quiet if I chose to do so. Everyone in the group was understanding about each member's place in the grief process. Mandy slightly unwrapped her arms from the tight hug she was giving herself. Leaning forward, she made feeble eye contact. “I think I speak for the group- I hope you join us again.”
Please visit us at our main site for more interpretations of pale Tuesday Tales Main Page
A group of writers gather together and give our interpretation of a specific word prompt each week. This week we share the prompt "pale". You never know what you might encounter when you get inside our minds. This will be an excerpt from my new yet-to-be-named WIP.
Enjoy!~
Everyone in the small circle of group members welcomed me warmly. Conner walked me in, and introduced himself. He then explained he was simply my friend, and wouldn't be infringing upon the meeting. He politely excused himself and left the room. I was grateful and nervous at the same time he left me there alone. I settled myself into a chair in the circle, and readied myself as best I could. I wasn't the only young widow in the group, and there was also a young widower, Jake, there. He lost his wife in a car accident, so her loss was sudden, like when Garrett died. He spoke warmly of her as his voice broke off a little at a time- like glass chipping away from a damaged window pane. “She just went out for lunch. I kissed her good-bye for the last time on January twentieth. I remember thinking how glad I was it wasn’t icy, so the roads wouldn’t be bad.”When Mandy spoke, she introduced her late husband, Eric. “Eric started passing out and having seizures a little over a year ago. We thought it was epilepsy, so the doctors began aggressively testing. He actually had pancreatic cancer.” Looking in my direction, Mandy was catching me up with sad, punctuated sentences. “Tumors were making insulin, which made doctors think it was diabetes. See, he was so young, they didn’t think he could have something like pancreatic cancer. By the time we found out, the disease was so advanced, he had little time left.” Sniffing into a worn, wadded tissue, she appeared wearier than sad. “We didn’t make any last fabulous trips.” Shrugging her shoulders, she attempted a cynical smile. “We had to live out our dreams in our living room while I sat next to his rented hospital bed.” She then addressed the group. “I took pictures from the internet and copied them off as full pages. We fantasized about what we’d do from each image. For some reason, the beaches were our favorite…go figure.” Releasing a gentle sigh, she finished her solo. “We spent many hours saying goodbye.”From the differing perspectives, I couldn’t determine it was any easier when someone died slowly, and their loved ones had a chance to express their goodbyes, or if death came swiftly, immediately, without warning. In the end, death was still final no matter how much, or how little notice was given. I wanted to tell them, "what you're saying goes beyond the pale." In the hospital, I remember thinking I could’ve felt better if I’d known he was going to die. If only we had the chance to say goodbyes. But, I was wrong. He was still gone and the people in this group reminded me the inevitable ending to such personal stories. Toward the end of the meeting, I found myself introducing who I was. "Hi, I'm Rachel. I lost my husband in a tornado several months back. I was pregnant when he died, and am now raising our son by myself with the help of my parents."Group members solemnly made expressions of both welcome and sorry at the same time. It appeared no one wanted to say they were glad to be there, because it felt inappropriate somehow. I'm sure none of us wanted to be there, we have rather been at home spending time with the one we'd lost. By the close of the meeting, I'd felt a connection without even knowing the people there. Having folks talk about death without breaking down empowered me. These people hadn’t let death break them, so maybe there was hope for me. Not everyone spoke during the meeting. I appreciated the freedom to stay quiet if I chose to do so. Everyone in the group was understanding about each member's place in the grief process. Mandy slightly unwrapped her arms from the tight hug she was giving herself. Leaning forward, she made feeble eye contact. “I think I speak for the group- I hope you join us again.”
Please visit us at our main site for more interpretations of pale Tuesday Tales Main Page
March 12, 2018
Tuesday Tales This Picture is Worth a Lifetime
Ahoy Fellow Fathomers! It's time for Tuesday Tales.
A group of writers gather together and give our interpretation of a specific word prompt each week. This week we share a picture prompt. We only describe the photo in 300 words. You never know what you might encounter when you get inside our minds. This will be an excerpt from my new yet-to-be-named WIP.
Enjoy!~
“Sometimes, the hazy light streaming through the trees offers more clarity than a prism.”
“I know what you mean.” I didn’t know what else to say. Suddenly, my life became more clear, the more muddled it really seemed. Maybe he understood.
“I love the way light offers different perspectives. You know, how the leaves can be different colors, looking darker in a shadow.” Tilting his head, he stood fixated in one spot. His smile captured in a moment of contentment.
“I’m darker in the shadows.”
Laughing, Connor reached out and tweaked my nose. “Are you a vampire?”
“I sounded gloomy didn’t I?” Leave it to me to take a beautiful moment and turn it somber. I became pretty good at being my own negative self-fulfilling prophecy. Cracking my knuckles, I tried to focus on the beauty, leaving out the bitterness. Reaching back into my memories, I thought of a time when we were younger, and I couldn’t be sure, but, it felt like my lips curved into a small smile. “We used to walk this lane everytime we went to that super secret fishing spot, didn’t we?”
Recognition lit the sparks in his eyes. His smile broadened to show his teeth. “We kept that place a secret, didn’t we?”
“I think we did. But, who knows? In our childhood minds, maybe we just thought it was a super secret.”
“Maybe I just went fishing there with you so I could have you all to myself.” The sparks in his eyes dimmed to something smoldering. He defninitely didn’t look at me like that when we were kids.
“Good Lord, you were a perv back in the day? Is that what you’re saying?” Why did I make a joke out of a feeling so strong? He wasn’t a perv as a kid.
Please visit us at our main site for more interpretations of a photo Tuesday Tales Main Page
February 6, 2018
Tuesday Tales and Angry
Ahoy Fellow Fathomers! It's time for Tuesday Tales.
A group of writers gather together and give our interpretation of a specific word prompt each week. This week our prompt is the word "angry". You never know what you might encounter when you get inside our minds. This will be an excerpt from my new yet-to-be-named WIP.
Enjoy!~
I know enough about death, I’ve seen more than my fair share. I know folks go through stages, and being angry is one stage some folks allow to become quick sand. They plant their feet and sink into the muck and mire of hopelessness and bitterness, losing their will for humanity and joy. Don’t let this be you. Don’t get me wrong- You’re beautiful all the time, especially when you’re angry. I speak my truth when I speak of your beauty. Your passion is exquisite, whether by smile or by ferocity. Damn, you’re gorgeous. Yes, of all the arguments we had, we had very few when you became truly angry at me. Most of the time, it was your anger at some worldly injustice, and thank God, not at me. I’d watch your jaw clench, while the tears welled, and you exposed unbridled passion welled just beneath your skin. You knew bias to the core and raged at life’s unfair atrocities. I could only watch and attempt to comfort you, bringing you down rung by rung from the ladder of fury you’d climbed. Don’t let my death cause you extended anger. You’re better than that. You deserve well more than a lifetime of bitterness, and wherever I am watching over you, I promise you I feel enough anger for the both of us for leaving you… however I departed this world. I’ll carry the brunt of the regret and anger. I promise.
Please visit us at our main site for more interpretations of angry Tuesday Tales Main Page
A group of writers gather together and give our interpretation of a specific word prompt each week. This week our prompt is the word "angry". You never know what you might encounter when you get inside our minds. This will be an excerpt from my new yet-to-be-named WIP.
Enjoy!~
I know enough about death, I’ve seen more than my fair share. I know folks go through stages, and being angry is one stage some folks allow to become quick sand. They plant their feet and sink into the muck and mire of hopelessness and bitterness, losing their will for humanity and joy. Don’t let this be you. Don’t get me wrong- You’re beautiful all the time, especially when you’re angry. I speak my truth when I speak of your beauty. Your passion is exquisite, whether by smile or by ferocity. Damn, you’re gorgeous. Yes, of all the arguments we had, we had very few when you became truly angry at me. Most of the time, it was your anger at some worldly injustice, and thank God, not at me. I’d watch your jaw clench, while the tears welled, and you exposed unbridled passion welled just beneath your skin. You knew bias to the core and raged at life’s unfair atrocities. I could only watch and attempt to comfort you, bringing you down rung by rung from the ladder of fury you’d climbed. Don’t let my death cause you extended anger. You’re better than that. You deserve well more than a lifetime of bitterness, and wherever I am watching over you, I promise you I feel enough anger for the both of us for leaving you… however I departed this world. I’ll carry the brunt of the regret and anger. I promise.
Please visit us at our main site for more interpretations of angry Tuesday Tales Main Page
January 15, 2018
Tuesday Tales and Natural Comforts
Ahoy Fellow Fathomers! It's time for Tuesday Tales.
A group of writers gather together and give our interpretation of a specific word prompt each week. This week we share a picture prompt. We only describe the photo in 300 words. You never know what you might encounter when you get inside our minds. This will be an excerpt from my new yet-to-be-named WIP.
Enjoy!~
Grief is the kind of heartache you feel past your bones to your blood cells, permeating your actual basic body compositions. The overwhelming sadness tricks you into thinking the sorrow actually changes your soul. Such is how I imagine you this first February without me. I know I probably couldn’t even get out of bed if I were mourning you. I want you to remember something. Nature gives us an amazing comfort, an actual natural blanket, covering all the ugliness. When we need peace, we’ve always looked to the fresh snow- lovingly blanketing and protecting everything it covered. Every February, you’ve been my Valentine for so many years I never knew what it was like to not have a sweetheard on such a marked day for couples. We always share that special day just as happy and wrapped up as we did when we were first dating. I want you to know everything I did I truly meant it and I still enjoyed it even if I like to tease that I thought it was silly tradition or that the greeting card companies made up the holiday. Although they may have capitalized on it, I want you to know that as your Valentine I will always be your Valentine. I died loving you with every inch of my body and with all that I have in my heart. I hope you can believe that. I’ll believe you love me with all you had and all your strength came from your everlasting love. You'll need that strength now more than ever. Finding love again won't be as hard as you're going to try to make it. You're going to dig in your heels and realize it's not some kind of cheating on me ,or however else you want to put it.
Please visit us at our main site for more interpretations of prepare Tuesday Tales Main Page
A group of writers gather together and give our interpretation of a specific word prompt each week. This week we share a picture prompt. We only describe the photo in 300 words. You never know what you might encounter when you get inside our minds. This will be an excerpt from my new yet-to-be-named WIP.
Enjoy!~
Grief is the kind of heartache you feel past your bones to your blood cells, permeating your actual basic body compositions. The overwhelming sadness tricks you into thinking the sorrow actually changes your soul. Such is how I imagine you this first February without me. I know I probably couldn’t even get out of bed if I were mourning you. I want you to remember something. Nature gives us an amazing comfort, an actual natural blanket, covering all the ugliness. When we need peace, we’ve always looked to the fresh snow- lovingly blanketing and protecting everything it covered. Every February, you’ve been my Valentine for so many years I never knew what it was like to not have a sweetheard on such a marked day for couples. We always share that special day just as happy and wrapped up as we did when we were first dating. I want you to know everything I did I truly meant it and I still enjoyed it even if I like to tease that I thought it was silly tradition or that the greeting card companies made up the holiday. Although they may have capitalized on it, I want you to know that as your Valentine I will always be your Valentine. I died loving you with every inch of my body and with all that I have in my heart. I hope you can believe that. I’ll believe you love me with all you had and all your strength came from your everlasting love. You'll need that strength now more than ever. Finding love again won't be as hard as you're going to try to make it. You're going to dig in your heels and realize it's not some kind of cheating on me ,or however else you want to put it.
Please visit us at our main site for more interpretations of prepare Tuesday Tales Main Page
November 21, 2017
Tuesday Tales and We Thank!
Ahoy Fellow Fathomers! It's time for Tuesday Tales.
A group of writers gather together and give our interpretation of a specific word prompt each week. This week the word prompt is "thank". You never know what you might encounter when you get inside our minds. This will be an excerpt from my new yet-to-be-named WIP.
Enjoy!~
Ahoy Fellow Fathomers! It's time for Tuesday Tales.
A group of writers gather together and give our interpretation of a specific word prompt each week. This week the word prompt is "prepare". You never know what you might encounter when you get inside our minds. This will be an excerpt from my new yet-to-be-named WIP.
Enjoy!~
Owen sat beside the waning fire, staring into the glowing embers. Memories invaded his thoughts, turning this otherwise peaceful evening disturbing. He hadn’t talked to his former girlfriend, Morgan, for about six weeks. He had known Morgan as long as he’d known Caleb, since they were just out of the toddler stage. She became his best friend—he never thought of her as a girl until her beauty blossomed from behind the dirt on her cheeks and under her fingernails. The three of them were like peas in a pod, knowing each other’s secrets, even the devastating ones.Owen’s stomach churned while his chest burned. Tears threatened and he squeezed his eyes shut, yet they fell anyway. He tossed another log on the fire, not ready to go inside, might not be for several more hours. On nights like this, he needed to think. He allowed the pain and loneliness to surface. Reminiscing alone helped him manage through the days without giving away his true feelings to Caleb. Shoot, he knows me so well he probably knows about it anyway. A vision of his mother’s face appeared in his consciousness. He responded by wrapping his arms around himself in a makeshift hug for protection. Owen tried to make himself as small as possible, to squash out the unwanted image of her face. With Morgan’s exit, he had more reminders of his past than he ever imagined.His mother was known as the town crazy, some even said in shaming whispers she might have been possessed. She must’ve done too many drugs, how normal could the boy be? She’d be better off dead to the poor kid. Can you imagine having a momma like her? Those adults didn’t care what they said or if they said derogatory remarks in Owen’s presence, he understood everything they tossed about in careless conversations. Owen gritted his teeth, preparing for a long night ahead. The daylight couldn’t come soon enough so the torrent of memories would stop.
Please visit us at our main site for more interpretations of prepare Tuesday Tales Main Page
Please visit us at our main site for more interpretations of thank Tuesday Tales Main Page
A group of writers gather together and give our interpretation of a specific word prompt each week. This week the word prompt is "thank". You never know what you might encounter when you get inside our minds. This will be an excerpt from my new yet-to-be-named WIP.
Enjoy!~
Ahoy Fellow Fathomers! It's time for Tuesday Tales.
A group of writers gather together and give our interpretation of a specific word prompt each week. This week the word prompt is "prepare". You never know what you might encounter when you get inside our minds. This will be an excerpt from my new yet-to-be-named WIP.
Enjoy!~
Owen sat beside the waning fire, staring into the glowing embers. Memories invaded his thoughts, turning this otherwise peaceful evening disturbing. He hadn’t talked to his former girlfriend, Morgan, for about six weeks. He had known Morgan as long as he’d known Caleb, since they were just out of the toddler stage. She became his best friend—he never thought of her as a girl until her beauty blossomed from behind the dirt on her cheeks and under her fingernails. The three of them were like peas in a pod, knowing each other’s secrets, even the devastating ones.Owen’s stomach churned while his chest burned. Tears threatened and he squeezed his eyes shut, yet they fell anyway. He tossed another log on the fire, not ready to go inside, might not be for several more hours. On nights like this, he needed to think. He allowed the pain and loneliness to surface. Reminiscing alone helped him manage through the days without giving away his true feelings to Caleb. Shoot, he knows me so well he probably knows about it anyway. A vision of his mother’s face appeared in his consciousness. He responded by wrapping his arms around himself in a makeshift hug for protection. Owen tried to make himself as small as possible, to squash out the unwanted image of her face. With Morgan’s exit, he had more reminders of his past than he ever imagined.His mother was known as the town crazy, some even said in shaming whispers she might have been possessed. She must’ve done too many drugs, how normal could the boy be? She’d be better off dead to the poor kid. Can you imagine having a momma like her? Those adults didn’t care what they said or if they said derogatory remarks in Owen’s presence, he understood everything they tossed about in careless conversations. Owen gritted his teeth, preparing for a long night ahead. The daylight couldn’t come soon enough so the torrent of memories would stop.
Please visit us at our main site for more interpretations of prepare Tuesday Tales Main Page
Please visit us at our main site for more interpretations of thank Tuesday Tales Main Page
November 7, 2017
Tuesday Tales and Prepare
Ahoy Fellow Fathomers! It's time for Tuesday Tales.
A group of writers gather together and give our interpretation of a specific word prompt each week. This week the word prompt is "prepare". You never know what you might encounter when you get inside our minds. This will be an excerpt from my new yet-to-be-named WIP.
Enjoy!~
Owen sat beside the waning fire, staring into the glowing embers. Memories invaded his thoughts, turning this otherwise peaceful evening disturbing. He hadn’t talked to his former girlfriend, Morgan, for about six weeks. He had known Morgan as long as he’d known Caleb, since they were just out of the toddler stage. She became his best friend—he never thought of her as a girl until her beauty blossomed from behind the dirt on her cheeks and under her fingernails. The three of them were like peas in a pod, knowing each other’s secrets, even the devastating ones.Owen’s stomach churned while his chest burned. Tears threatened and he squeezed his eyes shut, yet they fell anyway. He tossed another log on the fire, not ready to go inside, might not be for several more hours. On nights like this, he needed to think. He allowed the pain and loneliness to surface. Reminiscing alone helped him manage through the days without giving away his true feelings to Caleb. Shoot, he knows me so well he probably knows about it anyway. A vision of his mother’s face appeared in his consciousness. He responded by wrapping his arms around himself in a makeshift hug for protection. Owen tried to make himself as small as possible, to squash out the unwanted image of her face. With Morgan’s exit, he had more reminders of his past than he ever imagined.His mother was known as the town crazy, some even said in shaming whispers she might have been possessed. She must’ve done too many drugs, how normal could the boy be? She’d be better off dead to the poor kid. Can you imagine having a momma like her? Those adults didn’t care what they said or if they said derogatory remarks in Owen’s presence, he understood everything they tossed about in careless conversations. Owen gritted his teeth, preparing for a long night ahead. The daylight couldn’t come soon enough so the torrent of memories would stop.
Please visit us at our main site for more interpretations of prepare Tuesday Tales Main Page
A group of writers gather together and give our interpretation of a specific word prompt each week. This week the word prompt is "prepare". You never know what you might encounter when you get inside our minds. This will be an excerpt from my new yet-to-be-named WIP.
Enjoy!~
Owen sat beside the waning fire, staring into the glowing embers. Memories invaded his thoughts, turning this otherwise peaceful evening disturbing. He hadn’t talked to his former girlfriend, Morgan, for about six weeks. He had known Morgan as long as he’d known Caleb, since they were just out of the toddler stage. She became his best friend—he never thought of her as a girl until her beauty blossomed from behind the dirt on her cheeks and under her fingernails. The three of them were like peas in a pod, knowing each other’s secrets, even the devastating ones.Owen’s stomach churned while his chest burned. Tears threatened and he squeezed his eyes shut, yet they fell anyway. He tossed another log on the fire, not ready to go inside, might not be for several more hours. On nights like this, he needed to think. He allowed the pain and loneliness to surface. Reminiscing alone helped him manage through the days without giving away his true feelings to Caleb. Shoot, he knows me so well he probably knows about it anyway. A vision of his mother’s face appeared in his consciousness. He responded by wrapping his arms around himself in a makeshift hug for protection. Owen tried to make himself as small as possible, to squash out the unwanted image of her face. With Morgan’s exit, he had more reminders of his past than he ever imagined.His mother was known as the town crazy, some even said in shaming whispers she might have been possessed. She must’ve done too many drugs, how normal could the boy be? She’d be better off dead to the poor kid. Can you imagine having a momma like her? Those adults didn’t care what they said or if they said derogatory remarks in Owen’s presence, he understood everything they tossed about in careless conversations. Owen gritted his teeth, preparing for a long night ahead. The daylight couldn’t come soon enough so the torrent of memories would stop.
Please visit us at our main site for more interpretations of prepare Tuesday Tales Main Page
October 30, 2017
Tuesday Tales and Seeing Ghosts
Ahoy Fellow Fathomers! It's time for Tuesday Tales.
A group of writers gather together and give our interpretation of a specific word prompt each week. This week the word prompt is "ghost". You never know what you might encounter when you get inside our minds. This will be an excerpt from my new yet-to-be-named WIP.
Enjoy!~
Nausea overwhelmed him, coming in consistent waves. He wretched until his belly emptied, then could only produce dry heaves. He curled tighter, trying to comfort his roiling stomach, which created pain elsewhere. He tried to recall what he was doing there, but thinking hurt his head with a sharp, itchy prickling. Yet flashes of faces assaulted his memory—Caleb, Morgan, old childhood friends, his mother, finally his little brother. The pain hurt his heart as much as the physical wounds. He tried dismally to make it stop. He couldn’t reach any of them, his voice seemed muted. The twilight of his reality kept him from knowing the real from the imagined.It became difficult to breathe and he coaxed his lungs to expand and expel. Keeping his heart beating seemed to be up to him, and he struggled to find a rhythm. When nothing made sense, he held onto the physical pieces of himself. Everything was in pain and he tried to relax when the mind-numbing mini seizures stopped. His bowels emptied uncontrollably in his jeans, causing tears to flow, coursing down cheeks darkened from shame. The color only momentarily fazed the pallor, before Owen turned ghostly white once again. He tried to spit the vile taste from his mouth, but his lips wouldn’t move anymore. The numbness became paralyzing and he wished his sense of taste was lost as well. His eyes became hot and bulged when he wretched again. The top of his head began to burn again and he willed his hand up to cover the pain, but they wouldn’t move either. Everything twitched on its own accord, a haywire non-stop pulsing made him feel his skin would split behind the mounting pressure inside his body.Cold stung his toes and fingers, the effects of his nervous system confusing his extremities. Alternating between a white hot heat and freezing sensations created chaos in his already obstructed thought processes. Merging in a constricted pathway, Owen struggled to gain control somewhere, but where mind met matter slammed the two so hard, they shattered him internally.
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October 23, 2017
Tuesday Tales and Eating Seeds
Ahoy Fellow Fathomers! It's time for Tuesday Tales.
A group of writers gather together and give our interpretation of a specific word prompt each week. This week the word prompt is "seed". You never know what you might encounter when you get inside our minds. This will be an excerpt from my new yet-to-be-named WIP.
Enjoy!~
The sun warmed the truck and the travelers, creating a lazy atmosphere. They finally turned the radio on, seeking new stations as they left one tower band when the incessant static drowned out the music. They stopped occasionally to stretch their legs and get refreshment. Caleb insisted on sunflower seeds and Dr. Pepper to keep him alert while the rest of them chose random boredom foods. He and Owen exchanged turns driving. The late afternoon sun finally dipped low enough to signal supper. Yet, they continued on, with promises of home cooking from Mr. Richard upon their arrival.
At the end of the day, deep in southeast Texas, a couple of miles from the town of Karnack, a lone figure walked along the furthermost edge of the pavement. Leandra strained for a better look. “This road isn’t terribly safe for her to be walking alone.”
Caleb slowed when he approached her. “But, we don’t have any room in the front of the truck. Not sure offering a ride in the back is polite.”
Kalista studied the girl with slumped shoulders, windblown hair, wearing cutoff jean shorts. She never looked their way, even when they passed her by. She kept walking without breaking stride, without flinching. “I didn’t see any cars broken down or anything back where we just came from. I hope someone didn’t kick her out, leaving her on foot.”
Owen looked in the side mirror, reflecting back to the young woman. “Caleb, we need to turn around. She shouldn’t be walking out here by herself. I don’t know where she will ride, but I want to at least give her the offer.”
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