Wednesday Night

Don’t think about it, she reminded herself for the hundredth time.

It was a Wednesday night. She was tired. Staring across the intersection, mesmerized by the pulsing yellow light of her turn signal reflecting off the slick, black tar, she had almost gone down the rabbit hole again. The light turned green, but she did not move. In Zen meditation she hadn’t even noticed. She was utterly consumed by the yellow blinking light.
Tick. Tock.
On. Off.
Tick. Tock.

She watched and listened from inside her silent car, feeling as though the turn signal was echoing her steadily beating and indifferent heart. As she sat, the yellow light seemed to grow brighter, the ticking became louder, and time seemed to stretch. Each breath between the beats felt like an eternity building pressure in her head. Her eyes became strained and dry from not blinking in centuries, and her ears began to ring like a shrieking violin. Suddenly, a trumpet sounded and two bright lights flashed in her rear-view mirror. Snapping back to reality, she urged the car forward and turned onto the highway entrance ramp.

Continue reading “Wednesday Night”


The Cosmos

When I was born, the Cosmos was young.
It’s exponential growth had scarcely begun.
As an infant, I learned to always ask, “Why?”
And the universe joyfully expanded with each reply.
Across the island of knowledge I began to crawl
And found not an edge or end, but endless sprawl.

Until, I heard something I knew was absurd.
Even though people called scientists avidly concurred
That the Cosmos was finite and several billion years old,
Who were they to limit what my universe could hold?
When, contrary to the revered “intellectuals’” thinking,
Visceral evidence told me, the Cosmos was shrinking.

And changing its age and remaking its frame
Into the young girl from the train that gave me her name.
Then suddenly it rebounded and was a bliss without time
Full of youth, and love, and picnics with red wine.
But reality returned as the Cosmos transformed
When, through heat and passion, two twinkling stars formed.

For years the Cosmos was delighted, in its pair of lights,
Let time flow as normal, only occasionally taking flight.
I watched, content, as my stars learned to ask, “Why?”,
And knew their Cosmos would be even better than mine.
And at last I thought I’d found every sprawling answer,
Until Chaos derailed my commute, that night in November.

The gentle stream of time is gone (if it ever existed),
And the Cosmos lay sprawled in the dirt, cold and twisted.
And all that I cherished as pure and profound
Now fits in my box, six feet under ground.

Thank you for reading. Please let me know what you think!

On the March

“Alright ladies. Time to go. Get your shit and fall in!”

“A true fuckin’ poet, the Cap’ is.” Grumbled Marla “Dive bar” McTavern.

“What’s that, Dive?” Snapped the bat-eared Captain, who was eager for a conciliatory battle: something to replace the one that never came during the day’s march.

But Dive knew better. She opted to get busy gathering her “shit” in lieu of speaking. Even a simple, “Nuthin’ ma’am,” would be an open invitation for the Captain’s pent up frustration. In fact the entire squad had gone silent in a way that eerily resembled the chilling calm before battle––for that is exactly what this was. The Captain was poised to launch a battery of verbal bombardment at any poor fool that spoke up. And just when the tide had seemed to turn for the better, a poor fool, Bri “6-pack” Jackson, belatedly entered the fray. Continue reading “On the March”

Bickering Rooftops

“Just look at her over there—thinking she’s better than the rest of us.”

“Come on, Sally. How do you know what she’s thinking?”

“Oh really, Jim? You’re gonna take her side? Typical…”


“—Don’t think I haven’t noticed you talking about her newfound flamboyance.”

“No! I… Well it’s hard not to notice how fantastically she sticks out.”

“‘Fantasically’! I remember you used to talk about how fantastically I stuck out…”

“Oh, come on babe…”

“Don’t ‘come on babe’ me! Admit it! My shingles don’t do it for you anymore, do they!?”

“Well they are a bit tattered…”

With all the stress and emotions of the US election today, I decided to go with a lighthearted joke of a story this week. I hope you enjoyed it!

Check out Friday Fictioneers for more stories and prompts!

PHOTO PROMPT © Sandra Crook

Word count: 98

Ominous Obelisks

Frothy foam floating atop steaming chemical vats
Boils, becoming warm white clouds
Climbing up cold concrete columns,
And billowing forth from icy smoke stacks.

The spouting towers stand in testimony:
An armada spanning across the horizon.
Obelisk overlords exploiting our energy addiction,
Polluting the air with grey oppression,
Forcing us to accept their overcast depression.

Snowflakes fall from the man-made melancholy.
The pleasant white specks against poignant grey
Appear to swirl about playfully on chilly eddies,
Until the warming Earth melts this frivolous fiction
And a frigid downpour dampens our hypnotic joy.

Suddenly the obelisks’ true colors show,
And the consequence of our reliance
To the parasitic dichotomy we’ve fostered
Placing Us above absolutely everything else
Has finally run its course. Continue reading “Ominous Obelisks”

In Need of Maintenance

For months I stood there
Teetering upon the precipice;
It being clear what I should do
Yet all I would or could choose
Was to merely waste away in fear.

For years I stood like an oak
My roots digging deeper and deeper
Into fertile soil with fright,
Seeking in childish desperation
To cling to my ledge and fight the erosion
Crumbling the world around me,
And threatening to dethrone me
From my carefully constructed perch. Continue reading “In Need of Maintenance”

Bell Tower Eulogy

The dull, rhythmic thud of a cane sounded throughout the chapel. Worn wood wove around the warped shaft like a mess of braided vines clinging to a tree in the forest. Attached to the crutch was an old woman whose warped spine complimented that of her cane. She hunched over the support staring at her feet as she shuffled down the aisle and looked up without bending her neck from under thin eyebrows at the cross behind the altar.

Her entire life she had seen that poor man hanging there, clad in nothing more than torn cloth and a crown of thorns. Every Sunday she had consumed his body and imbibed his blood, swearing the sincerity of her belief in his divine martyrdom with a resolute, “Amen.” Yet today, that sincerity faltered. Continue reading “Bell Tower Eulogy”

A Black Morning

The beautiful song of a mother robin chirping to her hatchling wafted through the window on a warm spring breeze was suddenly interrupted by the metallic twang of a mechanical marimba ringtone. A hand groggily reached out from under the covers to silence the violently vibrating intrusion. Its back looked like the varicose vein road map of a budding urban metropolis. The hand unfurled an index finger and repeatedly pushed against the smooth phone screen, blindly searching for the “snooze” button.

“Not today,” thought Celia, Continue reading “A Black Morning”

The Slowest Second

“I love it!” she exclaimed, severing our first kiss and looking down to admire the birthday present.

I was still in shock when she suddenly frowned and held up the pocket watch, aghast, and said, “I don’t think it’s working.”

“No,” I smiled, staring at the stalled second hand, “It’s just savoring the moment.”

Written for Week 30 of Three Line Tales.

photo by Rachel Crowe

Growing Up

I think we need to talk.

Look, this isn’t easy to say, but it’s best to just come out with it: Continue reading “Growing Up”