Tag Archives: spiritual

Let the Stars Decide

Friday Fictioneers -Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

from-renee-heath

PHOTO PROMPT © Renee Heath

Let the Stars Decide.

Meghan steered the Pickup onto the road and accelerated away.
Last night they had watched the meteorite shower rain across the sky and spoke of romance and the future of the universe. Their future.
John and Jeff insisted a weekend away from all distractions, she had to decide.
She loved them both, but marriage! So insistent – John or Jeff.
Which one, they were both solvent, attractive and ideal, which one?
Damn it!
Didn’t they understand the meaning of a free spirit?
She buried her feelings with them beneath the tepee. Soul mates for ever.
Meghan sped away, free at last.

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A Mystical Murder Trapped in Time

Friday Fictioneers

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PHOTO PROMPT © Nathan Sowers grandson of our own Dawn M. Miller

A Mystical Murder Trapped in Time

The remains in the burned-out shed were impossible to identify, so DCI MacLeod employed Mystical Egandor to investigate.
Egandor set up his past generator, a mirror he called Visionar, at the scene. He had to thump it to make it work, it shuddered in protest but eventually the past shed reflected in the glass.
Egandor fell asleep waiting and when he woke saw the reflection had disappeared, he thumped Visionar. Nothing.

He turned and saw the intact shed in the garden, confused, he opened the door and went inside.
Visionar shimmered and reflected a sunbeam to set the shed ablaze.

The Trappist Zone

Friday Fictioneers

dawn-in-montreal

PHOTO PROMPT © Dale Rogerson

The Trappist Zone

George, the transporter is landing.
Will I miss this place?
We did our best George, we must start over, a new beginning.
I feel a failure; all the destruction and greed.
Oh, George, remember the woolly mammoth.
Downhill since then. Where did we go wrong?
We gave them dreams and intelligence. Our experiment had potential.
Yes, we did very well, but should we just abandon them?
It’s too late, they are out of control; a self-consuming infestation.
George, the bag?
Yes, all human goodness, fully packed.
Think of our next creation; “Mensch”.
A perfect ideal; the Trappist Zone is ready.

The Return

News Flash – My short story Lilly-Anne has just been published on literally Stories a world wide short story site. Your views and comments are appreciated.

Lilly Anne – by James McEwan

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Friday Fictioneers   (slightly late this week, enjoy)

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PHOTO PROMPT © Yarnspinnerr

The Return.

Shrouded in monsoon mist along the Chakkar Road, Jazlaan viewed the ruined and dilapidated house. Seventy years ago, Partition had driven her family away. 

Still, in the kitchen, she smelled the warmth of cardamom and cinnamon sizzling in ghee and heard echoes of children lamenting in Urdu. Dust, like Chapatti flour, covered over the floors.

Mould consumed damp walls, the moths her gowns. What wealth and chattels she saved were left to grandchildren now, or burned on her pyre. The silver blacken mirror on the wall reflected her joy as she brushed her gossamer hair. 

Her spirit was home.

Yew Tree Memorial

Friday Fictioneers.

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PHOTO PROMPT © Fatima Fakier Deria

Yew Tree Memorial

In our eulogies, we promised to gather beneath the yew and play canasta.
Our descendants keep the place fresh and painted in the summer
and, in our honour, they place the cards.
I dislike their stinking cigars.
They have forgotten we played outside in the fresh air away from satanic dens and we thanked the Lord for our community spirit, friendly companionship and enjoyment in life.
We cough and splutter as their foul smoke drifts through the branches disturbing eternal peace, we wait for sundown.
In eons, we have evolved our wisdom and take our seats to play Battlestar Galactica.

Selfish Betrayal

Three Line Tales Week 82

Selfish Betrayal

I am spirit and naked flesh, promised with eternal heavenly peace.
In a world filled with joy and gifts of fruit, in a beautiful garden of Eden.
However truth, in an apple core, reveals my skeleton on the evolutionary scale.

On a Wing and a Prayer

Three Line Tales – On a Wing and a Prayer

 

Over the world and in peace, feeling the quite serenity
of flying and softly floating free from earthly responsibility.
But all too soon, we’ll land on the insecure realities of insensibility.

Life’s Neglected Past

Three Line Tales. Life’s Neglected Past.

tltweek51

Photo by Sean Tan via Unsplash

Our sunshine filled childhood days, we ran and splashed, swimming in the lake.
Those dream filled teenage years promising, as we sat dangling our wet feet.
Years gone, but have we become so dull and grey? Let’s leap naked into the deep.

Traditional Christmas Sentiment.

My piece below is a reflection on a well known Christmas Ghost Story.

Mr Scrouge.

I was never happy nor gave a festive care
When carol singers screeched outside my door.
They seemed so full of seasonal Christmas cheer
With good tidings and joy that I found such a bore.

My name is Mr Scrouge not Santa Claus.
I didn’t give presents and I didn’t send cards
Nor hung baubles or tinsel on a coniferous tree
Instead I’d count my gold and cackle aloud with glee.

Then I saw an apparition over St Nicholas’s church in town
A ghostly creature laughing, his finger pointing down
Mr Scrouge, he called, your time on Earth is running out
What use is your pointless life full of bitterness and doubt.

What do I care of others and your empty ghostly threats
I am off to the bookies now to collect my winning bets.
Then a tiny ragged boy appeared holding out an empty bowl
Sir, he said, my mother’s dying, please a penny for her soul.

And from the dirty rags in the doorway by the ironmonger Jacks
She rose up and I saw an evil face laughing on a boney rack
Her skeleton chattered, Mr Scrouge, it is clear for all to see
That death is knocking on your door, but you’ll never be free

My heart stopped beating, I shivered and felt a creeping cold
The ragged boy and mother laughed at my life becoming mould
I cried for an Angel to rescue me from this dark despotic death.
So I promised to spend my wealth to end all poverty on Earth.

The boy and mother warmed me from a pitiless lonely end
And we celebrated Christmas with all their wondrous friends
It cost me all my hard earned gold to bring them happiness and good cheer
And so the moral of my sad story to you must now be very clear.
That having lots of family and friends at Christmas is wonderfully dear.

Spirits in the Forest

Photo Challenge – Spirits in the Forest.

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Tuesday Photo Challenge -The Path

Our love began here in this dense forest
among the newly planted saplings,
in a springtime full of joyous woodland spirits.
And over the years our love had grown
as strong as the trees, and warm as this moss,
where I now sit listening to  your gentle voice
floating in the wind, that whispers through the leaves.

I had held your hand as life slipped away like sand,
and you travelled on to the journey’s end.
In your bright eyes I saw the trees calling me
into our forest for solitude and peace.
So I am not alone, because on this warm moss
where we sit, I can hear your gentle voice
floating in the wind, that whispers through the leaves.

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