“You know you are” the boy’s words cut deep.
“Please…” he was lost amongst the jeers.
“You know you are, you know…” the chorus began
Slamming the door, he closed the conversation.
“I don’t agree with any of you. Education isn’t over rated and that doesn’t make me a bigot!”
English classes aren’t always eventful.
In reply to the 55wordstory prompt “Bigot”
Like a serpent, hands constrict beneath the spotlight.
In his spell and under his control, I am in awe.
The soft light picked up his uneven growth, the twist of his tongue in concentration and his focussed blue eyes. It was as if I didn’t exist but I will always remember Dad’s shadow puppet shows.
He rose from his throne crowned in dandruff and robed in terry towelling. Trying to adjust to first light, their delight competed with consciousness.
“Spaghetti necklace” his daughter yelled, pulling it roughly over his head.
The pasta scratched and their love did little for his tiredness. Regardless, Dad smiled at the offering for the King.
In response to the Five Sentence Fiction prompt:Offering
His hands lured me in, gently rummaging through the forest on my head.
Then flying blades cut through like low flying jets as roaring clippers cleared all debris. The attack was swift and virtually painless.
“How do you like it?” he asks.
“It’s good” I reply. What else can you say to a fresh haircut?
In respnse to the Five Sentence Fiction prompt: Fresh
After being on the outside for so long, I never thought community would be so lonely. It was empowering to make the acceptance pledge but that’s where it ended.
Now I sit surrounded by noise, a sole cubicle like a tree in the woods, regretting that very pledge.
“I hate my job”
Rude and intrusive … the alarm was far from welcome.
My shirt scrapped harshly across my back and I began my first to do list for the year. “Buy fabric softener.”
With this attitude my first day back was going to be hard. Soft and welcoming, my outlook changed in an instant; brand new socks.
A poem from a man who feels like the only way to help is to pray for Sydney
.
He waits alone, not knowing what the day will bring. Not knowing himself if he’ll sink or sing.
He reads each line and every part. A dimly lit platform matched by his heart.
Sirens sit silently, the commotion is over. Luck means less than a four leaf clover.
A cafe visitor cum hostage is such a short space. With full media coverage it’s right in our face.
His train is delayed but it’ll come and he’ll board. Meanwhile he’ll pray for Sydney beginning with Dear Lord.
Reach out to someone if you’re hurting or reach put to someone else if you think they’re hurting. Yesterday’s hostage situation didn’t highlight the need to debate religion but it did show the dire need for community. Be strong Sydney
They agree, they are not a couple. They also agree that there would be benefits; laughter and shared hair products.
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Greg considered himself a smarter than the average bloke. He’d finished school without failure, graduated from university with a degree tucked proudly under each arm and for the last couple of years has been known in his industry as a bright talent to many and a guru to a few more.
Despite this, some things in life still send his mind into orbit. What do women want and how does a tree grow sideways?
Life held in hands. Meaning cupped in palms. Responsibility had no weight. I felt love.
The nurses fractically whirled around her as a single bead of sweat out ran the hair stuck to her forehead. A smile grew across her tired face. What began nine months ago was ending in pure joy.
Mother, Father, Parents … blissfully unaware.
fifty5words 