Prose. Less than 1000 words.
(Credit: maxpixel.freegreatpicture.com)
I spend a long time in the park stuffing my pockets, and on the way back, I buy several boxes of matches at the kiosk.
It is time for undersized horses and oversized ants. It is time for hedgehogs and spiders to be friends.
It is time for chestnut animals.
Posted by Beatrix MGN on October 19, 2017
https://abolg.wordpress.com/2017/10/19/autumn/
(Credit: Richard Harris on Unsplash)
The phlox gush over the edge of my terrace in a waterfall of light blue and lilac. The chrysanthemums stretch out their first petals to the world, as I eat the last strawberry.
It is deceptively sunny.
However, the wind chills the nose and makes it attempt to run away to warmer climates, and I know that without my sheepskins I would be shivering. Still, I sit in my garden and soak in the golden rays, quietly bidding them farewell and hoping that spring will come early.
Posted by Beatrix MGN on October 18, 2017
https://abolg.wordpress.com/2017/10/18/late-summer-sunshine/
(Credit: Priscilla Du Preez on Unsplash)
Hand on the windowpane,
I look in at the stranger on the sofa.
Her empty eyes are turned to the solid-white sky.
Are there any thoughts behind that blank stare?
I shiver.
Then with a jerk, I am in the sofa,
Inhabiting the head turned towards the clouds.
I look down and see unfamiliar hands writing.
Posted by Beatrix MGN on October 13, 2017
https://abolg.wordpress.com/2017/10/13/two-small-eerie-ones-2-of-2/
(Credit: Luke Braswell on Unsplash)
The painting reminds me of the Mona Lisa.
A woman sits in the foreground.
A smeared landscape behind her.
A slight blush in her cheeks.
She is very naturalistic.
I have heard that some people do not like pictures like the Mona Lisa.
They are bothered by how the eyes seem to follow one around.
However, the eyes in this portrait do not follow me anywhere.
They only follow my sister.
Posted by Beatrix MGN on October 12, 2017
https://abolg.wordpress.com/2017/10/12/two-small-eerie-ones-1-of-2/
(Credit: Tim Etchells at timetchells.com)
A veil of mist has been drawn over the city tonight.
Cold droplets settle on my face.
I should go home and sleep.
Neon signs scatter emeralds and rubies on the water.
I wish I could take the gems with me as restless legs carry me over the bridge.
I need sleep.
A murder of crows are emptying trashcans and fighting over the spoils.
They whisper their advice, but I know they don’t mean well.
I should sleep,
But my legs are still restless
And my thoughts won’t leave me alone.
Posted by Beatrix MGN on January 28, 2017
https://abolg.wordpress.com/2017/01/28/restless/
(Credit: hdwplan.com)
It should be red, she thought, and turned towards the sunset.
But the clouds were lilac with a rosy lining. The sky was light blue then yellow, which turned into a deep orange at the horizon. As a plane drew a pink line across the sky, the blinding sun brought her a surging symphony of fond memories.
Her heart swelling, close to bursting, she closed her eyes and saw on the back of her eyelids a burning circle and the face of someone, whom she would have shared all her sunsets with, if only things had been different.
When the sun was halfway below the horizon, it finally turned red, and in its bloody light she shovelled the last spadeful of dirt onto the grave.
Posted by Beatrix MGN on January 22, 2017
https://abolg.wordpress.com/2017/01/22/a-sunset/
(Credit: Rykardo on DeviantArt)
The wind brought in a fine spray from the sea, which settled on her bare arms and made them sticky and salty. After a long day of beachcombing, she withdrew to a small cave, where she roasted crabs and apples over a fire and licked the salt from her lips as seasoning.
She was cautious when she climbed further inland, and she never went into the water. The rocks were slippery with algae and most of them were sharp enough to cut flesh.
However, she did not resent the traitorous rocks.
They kept the people away.
Posted by Beatrix MGN on January 19, 2017
https://abolg.wordpress.com/2017/01/19/alone-on-a-beach/
(Credit: darkcrystal1209 on DeviantArt)
Scratching at the paint with a red lacquered fingernail, I wonder whether I will ever see the original wood again.
Notwithstanding the flaking, the desk is white all over, and maybe it is even white all the way through. Could it really be that there is no wood, only layer upon thick layer of paint and varnish?
I am determined to find out, even if only a woody skeleton will remain in my study.
With foaming Ajax, I attack with first a sponge, using the rough side, then steel wool. Powder is washed from my hands, but I ignore it even when my nail breaks. Sweat makes mascara run into my eyes, but it is only a small distraction. A small distraction from something that I have wanted to do since forever. Or at least since I gave it my own layer of paint.
I feel that I am getting closer with every layer lost.
Closer to that real, original thing, which must be there.
The carpet soaks in water, paint and make up.
The legs grow thin, as my lipstick smears.
I must be getting there and soon.
The small drawers are already gone.
My hands and knees dissolve.
Is that my hair?
What is left?
I am.
Nothing
With help from www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts
Posted by Beatrix MGN on January 15, 2017
https://abolg.wordpress.com/2017/01/15/layers/
(Credit: HeyKtupq on DeviantArt)
We met in the laundrette on Sedgwick Street. I don’t remember how our first conversation began, but I met her there every Thursday for almost a year. She brought a small bag of liquorice, which she shared with me while we watched our clothes tumble, and I brought bottle caps for her, after she told me she collected them.
She always stood up and on the balls of her feet, as if she were ready to run at any time. Once I asked her whether she liked running and she said: ‘I’ve become very good at it.’ and her eyes looked so sad, it made my heart hurt.
There was something feline about her. It was something in the fluid way she moved and how her eyes sometimes followed things, which weren’t there, or maybe I just couldn’t see them.
It’s not that I’ve forgotten her name, it’s just gone. Every time I try to remember it, I get a faint taste of liquorice in my mouth and my head goes empty. Her face has grown blurry too even though it’s only three weeks since I last saw her.
I hope she got away from whoever’s after her. I considered going to the police, but without a name or even a face, what are they supposed to do?
What am I supposed to do?
Posted by Beatrix MGN on December 29, 2016
https://abolg.wordpress.com/2016/12/29/not-forgotten-just-gone/
(Credit: wallpaperscraft.com)
White horses gallop at the tops of the waves. They surge up, tumble into each other and crash against the rocky shore.
Black branches claw the sky and the sky fights back with pelting hail.
The wind howls a cacophonous symphony with thunder at the bass drum.
Everything stands out clearly in the flashes of lightning:
The chaos
And the beauty.
Posted by Beatrix MGN on December 26, 2016
https://abolg.wordpress.com/2016/12/26/storm/
From Scriptor Obscura. Visit her at scriptorwrites.wordpress.com
From Scriptor Obscura. Visit her at scriptorwrites.wordpress.com
From Poetic Parfait. Visit her at poeticparfait.wordpress.com
From Lostupabove. Visit her at lostupabove.wordpress.com
From Sandylikeabeach. Visit her at sandylikeabeach.wordpress.com
From theImaginator. Visit him at theimaginator.wordpress.com.
A Bolg? 