We’ll meet maybe
have a good weekend
we just can’t agree
it’s not about you
your life your fears
it’s mine too you see
Tag: Flash fiction
Landline
A second cup of coffee, manuscript unread
pages turned over, ink and pencil damn his
printed lies, not fiction, no editing can hide.
Landline within a hand’s reach, adjacent to
a still full cup, arms tight beside his frame
too weak to lift, conscience has its weight.
A ring, expected, yet he jolts as if in shock
he says ‘yes’ to silence, her breathing takes
the place of words, still living, how absurd.
Saturday Shorts – 3/Oct/20
He didn’t ask
he didn’t know
she’d say yes
he thought no
#
Beside her
no one
space between
#
He made her smile
maybe… next week
End Line
His recall, a Saturday he let go… a Sunday he found himself, alone.
He thought/She thought #1
He thought, ‘I’ll trust you till I don’t’
She thought, ‘I don’t trust you already’
Six Words – 27/Jul/20
Sentenced by line. No remission, unkind.
I swear…
I swear, I don’t, do you?
Throwback Friday – Not Forgot – Eric (EDC Writing)
A true story from a while ago I posted over at the Go Dog Go Cafe today…
Flash fiction from 2017; from a memory much further back than then:
He stands a foot from the wall, illuminated by strobe lit blobs and spheres, one hand in his pocket, the other holding a cold beer. 10 pm he’d guess, summer darkness outside lures moths to flight, rhythm finds his feet, yet too soon for moves. She takes to the floor, perfection, slight yet curved, green eyed blonde, focal point of his desire. No smile, yet politely declines the handsome, or just confident, dancing with her sister or maybe a friend. He buys a second beer, a small one, returns, his space still there a few metres from her presence. 11.30 pm checks his time, no chance, better men have tried, he moves. She turns to face his walk towards her, the beat slows, traces a smile, no words, her fingers behind his neck stroke him closer, his hands…
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Six Words – 16/Mar/20
Never dated… his poems laid confused.
This Time Every Year
“He wasn’t there, at least not a moment ago?” she half thought, half spoke.
“Who?” little sister asked, answering her own question, looking from the ‘Pay Here’ queue to see what kind of man had got big sister’s attention.
He was there all right, in every sense, lean, six foot, curly close cut hair; caressing silk, eyes dancing over candy stripes, somehow not quite him.
Little sister does a double take, big sister now walking over to him.
His fingers caress each tie in turn. “A female perspective?” she enquires.
“Yours always.” his reply.
She takes a subtle blue design, almost on tiptoes leans in to place around his neck.
A faint stir, foot to foot his balance shifts, her coat unbuttoned, body free. Both sway, gap between them now as nothing, little sister’s eyes popping.
Music, no one remembered what, or if any, only movement, theirs, timeless, of another world. Classic ballroom made sensual, borderline erotic.
This world stood still, time gave time for free. Little sister’s mouth wide open, seeing yet not believing big sister dancing that way with him.
Arm’s length now, blue tie passed from her hands to his. He bows, escorts her to the line where all completely mesmerised.
“Who is he?” little sister gasps.
“No idea.” big sister smiles. “He comes to me this time every year.”
They turn around, blue tie as his eyes nowhere to be seen.
Present given and received.
