Suicide Note

I constantly check my reflection in your eyes.

Am I pretty? Too fat? Too thin? Too loud? What do you think of me as I cry while you call me stupid and punch me over and over again.

Why am I not good enough?

My world revolves around your ups and downs. Trapped beneath your umbrella of greed I wear gaudy greens, blues and reds per your request. I am the pawn you play because I am beautiful. With me on your arm men with money give you whatever you want.

No more.

I wish you nothing but pain. Lizbeth

Centuries Apart

Today Pegman took our merry band of flash fiction writers to Gwynedd, Wales. Thanks, Karen, for taking me up on my suggestion! A couple of weeks ago a picture of Gwynedd was the wallpaper on my computer and I thought it looked fascinating. I’ve gone over my word-count by one after whittling fifteen words out of the story (sorry).

Had you been lucky, you would have seen
nineteen barefoot girls slip into the glen,
flowers in hand, hearts full of joy.

Perhaps you would have averted your eyes
as they removed blouses and corsets
before lacing the hems
of their striped linen skirts
over rabbit skin belts round their waists.

Without a doubt
the desire
to gently touch a shoulder or knee,
would have overwhelmed you
for their skin glistened
whiter than the inside of an oyster shell
dropped upon the sand.

And your heart would have soared
when the glen filled with laughter
as the girls braided ferns
through silken blonde hair,
their own or that of their sisters’.

One step closer
you could have admired
the silver-blue fire of their wide-set eyes.
Now it’s too late,
that color is lost to the world.

What a day you missed
simply because you were
too many centuries away.

The Price of Freedom

Today Pegman took us to Billinudgel, NSW, Australia. Many of the pictures I found were of floods, and of course many weren’t, but that’s what caught my eye. Thanks to Karen Rawson for providing the Pegman gang a chance to write another 150-word story.

She hoped the water would keep him away, after all, his boat sank, cars couldn’t get up or down the street, and he couldn’t swim to save his own miserable life.
Maybe he’d drowned when the dam broke. She could hope for that too.

She’d hoped for a few things before. Nothing big. Just kindness topped with a gentle touch and a sweet word.
Instead, he’d delivered anger, solid punches and so many threats she lost track.
So, it was often a surprise when he shredded her dresses or dumped ants in the molasses or . . .

No more surprises. None. It was her turn to win.
She waded through the gasoline-slicked flood water warping her cheap vinyl floors to nail plywood over the windows and boards across the doors.
Humming “Freedom” under her breath, she lit a match, kissed the flame and dropped it on the rainbow ribbons of fuel.

(149-words)

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The Attempt

We are birds in your cage. Thousands wearing dirty, striped pajamas.
We sing, you strike us. We laugh, you scream. We dance, you ruin our feet.

Each of us leaves something behind.
Jaleh: A comb
Edda: Perfume
Abi: Her favorite high heels
Fahim: Cuff links of gold

Today is our day. My day, really. I clip the barbed wire for all of us. Each captured soul.
We have waited through dark days and bright until now. Now is perfect.
The wire parts. Countless numbers slide through. Oh, how we run!

One bullet. Two. Freedom rips through my back.

 

Freedom

As far as Baylor was concerned Malone’s Magical Circus had lost its magic. It was bad enough that Sword Swallowing Swealwe, Fire Eating Paowl and Te-Te the Fat Lady were forced to live together in one car that now reeked of honed steel, charred flesh and donuts. But people had a say, could leave if they liked. The animals troubled Baylor. Thelma – Elephant – Bleeding ankles. Bobo – Orangutan – Open sores on his chest. Giselle – Giraffe – Neck bent, wedged inside her crate. Baylor looked across the prairie, hummed It’s now or never, hefted the bolt cutters, started with Thelma. She never looked back.

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