New stuff

I am using a website with writing prompting. And the result is turning out to be very interesting. I am writing these without any thought to grammar, structure, redunancy. I am writing whatever comes into my head, which is a very big challenge for me. Each piece has the prompt in italics.


I thought I saw you walking under the shaded trees along the sidewalk in front of my bedroom windows. You held a mask and flashlight. I wondered where you were looking but then you looked up at the street light and smiled. Within a flash you disappeared. I cried. But only for a moment because I knew you weren’t real, only an apparition of my imagination. Hoping for the woman that I used to know. The heartbreak of a lover, but the anger of a friend scorned, in someone else’s imagination I thought I saw you….but then I knew it was nothing more than your essence pulled from my own anger, from my hateful thoughts and livid memories. I hate you she thought, nothing more than pure unadulterated hatred. Yet, my face always discovers a smile when remembering your arms, your laughter, your adoration.

My old room was lost on a winter day. The moving truck pulled up and sucked the insides clean out. Red walls formed on a cold summer day in my mind. Whispered prose across the phone line. Dreams interpreted as we painted our toenails. Barbies hidden under the bed, refusing to let go to a childhood recently lost. I think we will meet once again in a new room walls closing in on the surface. Will we recognize each other or simply touch the walls and laugh?

Hypocrite, cookie jar, city, telephone
The telephone rang slowly that morning, ringing softly in my mind, not enough to awaken my slumber. You rolled over me grabbing it from the bureau. “No!” I screamed…it’s Saturday. You smiled and patted my head like a dog needing to be appeased from the loss of a bone. Few words were spoken, your head nodding slightly…silence. I grabbed my expanding belly praying silently and focusing on the dots on the ceiling…one, two, three. “No,” I whispered into the feather pillow. “Yes,” you responded simply. Your naked body emerged from the shower suddenly grasping at my lust, holding fast to my insecurities, my weakened flesh. The white shirt, freshly starched, wrapped around your reddened flesh. A tie pulled under the collar and a black jacket completing the package. Your briefcase made a slight snap, and papers were rustled under the ceiling fan. Snap. Snap. “Goodbye.” You disappeared. The city calling you forward. My body useful for a moment in time.
“Hypocrite!” I yelled at the shut door. “You hate them and yet you run to do their bidding. You whispered words of love but have never understood them!” My tears began to flood my face causing me to suffocate and cough spit onto the bed.
Hands circling my waist, my legs pushed forward and I emerged from soiled sheets. Bare feet snapped on the wood floor and I grabbed a marker from the cookie jar. Standing in front of the white wall in your office I wrote words of hate, words of regret, words of a bitter woman.
Hours later you called. “My love,” you answered.
“Yes,” I responded in a child’s voice.
“Dinner at six?”
“Of course.”
I walked to the sink, removing a sponge.
Crouched down, the carpet burned my knees.
I began to clean the wall.
Watching colors disappear.