Friday, May 31

No-Prompt Thursday-Four, Bekkie Sanchez

Bekkie Sanchez

Event Entries 10:08 PM

I’m A Cheshire Cat

I’m a Cheshire Cat-I got no cares
Got a smile on my face
As I float through the air,

I’m not a normal cat
My fir is course and thick
I can be any color
And that’s not my only trick.

I’m a magical cat
With golden yellow eyes
I have a great big head
For my very small size.

From my nose to my tail
I’m a very special breed
Yep I’m very easy going
With very few needs.

In Wonderland I live
It’s a very special place
For a purple cat like me
With a smile on my face.

Yes, I’m a Cheshire Cat
And that is that.

Show Off Your Skills, 5/30/13, Pensador Louco


Pensador Louco

- - True Skin - -

There's a certain form of hungry I feel.

What it is I cannot tell you. It's not something you can point to, hear, see or measure. You can only be born with it. Grow up feeling it. Live with it. Tease it. Love it. Feed it. A hunger as big as the greed of men.

I look at the mirror one last time. My hair loosely falling over half of my face. The other half is somehow immerse in shadows, but is visible enough to let my smile catch all gazes around me. Oh, such starving eyes they usually are. Thirsty eyes. Staring at me like I'm some kind of a prize. Collectible. Manhood possession. I should bring a mirror with me.

I check on my dress. Dark. Tones of red predicting the urban night ahead of me. My entire silhouette as a flirting nightmarish invitation. A game so innocent. So filled with ancient roles. How could anyone resist?

They never do.

My pendant shines as I step into the car. Reflecting the goddess' light. I start the motor and the streets pass me fast, almost ignoring me. Almost. The city knows perfectly who I am. What I am. And if they could, all buildings and houses would bend in reverence. I forgive them. Their silent complicity is as good a tribute as a profitable nocturnal hunt.

My hunger grows, angry with me. It demands to be heard. It fights me. It's been a while since I last let it rant. Patience, I tell it. A little more, perhaps. The time necessary for an approach. A proposal. The space between the blink of an eye, forged in a fire hotter than any human heart, and the fire is all mine. Night is all mine.

I stop and take a breath of the night breeze, before entering the club. Slow-paced rock music. Low tones. Dark songs. Bauhaus decoration. Hard. Cold. The perfume of useless money, stupid childish power and male status traded for highs, kisses and pill kicks. My kind of place. An atmosphere so vile it makes my hunger grow to the point of a ravaging howl.

I enter. Alone. My presence as a pheromone. Like a halo of dark, hypnotizing field. Invisible, yet impossible to go unnoticed. The music didn't stop, though. That kind of cheap trick only happens in bad movies. But it didn't have to, anyway. I feel all eyes over me. Single ones. Married ones. A starvation as demanding as my personal hunger. Fever. Desire. Need.

I understand needs. My needs.

It doesn't take more than a drink. A man approaches. So confident. So trusty in his own power. He looks around as to be sure no one else will do the same. I'm certain he feels like an alpha dog. Shame. I didn't remember to bring the mirror. He lingers near me. Buys me a cocktail. Nothing strong, of course. I wouldn't want to ruin my appetite.

And then things start to hurry. Why does it have to be so fast? People simply don't savor a good first contact. It's always so brief. So shallow. A long repeated pick up line. Men must learn it all from the same teacher. A nod and a smile. Yes. I have my car, if you don't mind. No, I wouldn't mind going for a walk. And we leave. His ego so bright it makes him glide. All eyes still on us. On me. My hunger counting the minutes to be set free. The goddess welcomes us outside. She gives me permission to proceed to her realm. Into the night. Into myself.

Then, the plaza. Close enough. Private enough. Convenient enough.

Don't judge me. I'm not really bad. I have self imposed rules, you know? I always give them a chance to go. What can I do if they're too busy, trying to impress themselves, to take it? Too selfish and too stupid to know their place? And when it starts, it's all the same. They “want”. They “need”. They “demand”. They won't take no for an answer.

Too bad it's also too late. For me. For them. For him. For anyone in the plaza, though I made sure we were pretty much alone the whole time. No time for excuses, pledges or tears. Not even much time for a long scream.

I am here.
Born as a woman.
Baptized by my goddess.
Bathed by the moonlight.
And hungry enough to suffocate men's petty needs.

The city shivers with my howl. His face, once filled with arrogance, now is pale white with submissive and passive horror. He sees me as I really am. My true skin. My night. My hunt. My moon. I should have brought the mirror. Make him look at himself. All pride and presumption gone, turned to a mask of impotence and fear. What is he, after all? A failure of a man.

I am the daughter of Gaya.
Priestess of the silver light.
Bride of the endless cities.
I am home.
Sufficiently hungry to devour all mankind and their games.

And the night has just begun.

Prompt Tuesday-Image Six, Bekkie Sanchez


Bekkie Sanchez

Event Entries 3:16 PM

The Mudjikiwis

It was Summer & the Indian Brave was supposed to become a man this season, but he was afraid. He didn't like war & they were at war with the Chumash. It wasn’t a war likely to end soon.

Today would be the big hunt & tonight the ceremony feast where they would become men. He would become a man, be expected to fight with the others & take a wife. Every brave has done this since the people’s beginning and he was excited about leaving his childhood behind.

Strong and tall he was a well known figure in the tribe. He was used to fighting, he had been taught well by his father but his Warrior skills were not being questioned. It was his courage.

He hid this fact from the others with much bravado but eventually they were bound to find out. He pushed these doubts aside for now it was time for the hunt. He gathered his things from the lodge and went outside.

He walked over to the other young braves as they were mounting their ponies crying; "He, he, he!". They too, would soon be men and were very impatient about starting the hunt. They called out to him. Not to be left out he ran over, mounted his pony from behind & they galloped off towards their tribes hunting grounds.

His mind on the hunt he begun to relax. Nothing like a good hunt to take his mind off of war & fighting. He was pleased to be starting a family soon. They all split up into pairs for better coverage & safety in numbers. Just in case they ran into any Chumash raiding parties they'd be ready. He was hoping that wouldn’t happen.

They came out into a clearing, saw a stream and decided to water the ponies. He longed to tell his friend that he was afraid to fight in the war but that was not their way so he remained stolidly silent.

His friend was bringing his pony back out of the stream and he was already on his when he spied a small group of deer feeding up wind of them. Spurring his pony on he closed the distance between them quickly. They could still not smell him and if he was lucky he would bring home a meal of deer meat.

He was close enough and leap into action expertly fitting an arrow into his bow. He was close enough to pick one out now and he shot it. At the last second it veered sharply into a stand of thick trees but he had nicked it so he followed.

It was dark under the canopy of trees and after his eyes adjusted he could pick out the deer lying in the brush several feet away. It was very still and shafts of sunlight played through the branches. He was puzzled because it had not been a kill shot yet the deer looked dead.

He realized that his friend had been behind him and now was not. Surely he would figure it out because his people had full knowledge of this land. It was in their blood and it was their home. He summed this up quickly and was reassured his friend would catch up soon.

He was closer now to the deer and there was brush around it that had been disturbed. The deer was torn apart on one side and just as he was taking this in a huge wolf limped out from the underbrush.

“Brother please do not be afraid for I am injured and need this food.” The brave heard these words as plain as day and knew he was speaking to a spirit animal. The wolf was indeed injured, it looked like his leg was hurt. He was honored and answered in kind; “Brother wolf you may have this deer for you were the one who brought it to it’s death.”

“Thank you for your kindness young brave,” He answered; “I will not die from this injury but without food I surely would of sickened and died.” He continued; “For helping me I will give you my father’s tooth. It will help you to be brave and have much courage in battle.” And the brave took the tooth and thanked the wolf for it was a gift he needed.

He mounted his pony and left the wolf to his meal wondering where his friend had gone when he saw a rabbit out of the corner of his eye. It was close by and he drew an arrow and shot. It screamed once and lay dead. He urged his pony towards it and saw an Eagle on the ground nearby.

“I have a nest of young one’s and we need this food,” she cried. Another spirit animal, what were the chances? The brave was deeply honored, at this time in his life these were good omens.

“Sister Eagle you may have the rabbit for I will hunt another. Feed your young and live long over this valley.” The Eagle eyed the young Indian carefully and replied; “Thank you, for your kindness here’s a feather from my wing. It will help you be fast and fly through your battles.” The brave could hardly believe his ears.

He came out of his trance and realized he was watching the Eagle fly off with his rabbit. Just then his friend rode up on his pony and said to him; “I was looking all over for you and here you are goofing off in the woods. We will be the only one’s not bringing meat back for the ceremony!” His friend was a chubby boy who ate too much in his opinion but he was right.

They finished the hunt with no surprises except bringing down a wild boar which was delicious. They became men that night and the brave, no more a young man, was full of his thoughts of the woods.

The tooth glistened in the Sun as he turned it around in his fingers. The feather was soft yet bristly and large. Examining his treasures and thinking of the spirit animals already gave him strength and he felt something inside. What was it, really, could it be? Courage?

As soon as the word popped into his mind he felt it fully. The spirit’s of the wolf and eagle moved freely within him. Yes, he had courage and was not afraid! He was the ‘Mudjikiwis,’ a Cree Indian and would slay his enemies gladly with his brothers to protect the tribe.

He took a wife that season and built his own lodge. The Chumash attacked and he fought bravely with his brothers and saved the whole of the tribe with his fierceness and quickness in battle. The people sing songs of these battles to this day around our fires for he was the Mudjikiwis.

Mudjikiwis means eldest son in Cree.

Thursday, May 30

Prompt Tuesday-Image Six, françoise MICHEL


françoise MICHEL

Event Entries Yesterday 6:47 AM

L' âme indienne

Fille de la Terre et du vent
Je suis l'incarnation du vivant.
Mon peuple a toujours respecté
La nature dont il était entouré :
En osmose avec son environnement
Ayant compris de la vie, le fonctionnement.

Mais, nous dérangions certains intérêts.
Gardant les terres vierges et incultes
Notre vision de l'existence était une insulte
Pour " l'humain' en quête de son progrès.
Qu'il soit fier de sa réussite triomphale
Avec notre planète entière mise à mal !

Lorsqu'à la vérité vos yeux  s'ouvriront
Vous me verrez debout à l'horizon.
Je suis accompagnée de tous ceux
Qui vivent de leur espèce, la disparition
Et attendent, patiemment, le temps heureux
D'une prise de conscience de toutes les nations.

English Version:

The Indian Soul

Daughter of Earth and wind
I am the embodiment of living.
My people have always respected
Nature which surrounded him :
In harmony with its environment
Having understood the life operation.

But we disturbed some interests.
Keeping the pristine wilderness,
Our vision of existence was an insult
For the "human" in search of his progress.
He is proud of his triumphal success
With our whole planet devastated !

When, the truth will open your eyes
You see me standing on the horizon.
I'm here with all the others
Living of their species, the disappearance
And wait, patiently, the happy coming times
On the one growing awareness of all nations.

I would like to add it’s not easy to write in a language that one doesn’t speak. Therefore when reading this the original language will express this person the best. ♦Website’s owner.

Prompt Tuesday-Image Six, Letitia Minnick


Letitia Minnick

Event Entries  3:33 AM

Lungwamen (Lenape: "To Dream")

I watched the crowded fog creep
down the Blue Mountains
in a billowing rush
of silence.

As I stood scanning the oncoming oblivion,
a cross-eyed crow stared at me
from both sides of the veil.
Cawing, he climbed into the mist--
his black wings dissolving
into white nothingness.

As I waited,
walking trails wound back
to a time without train tracks,
without hollowed out houses
and miles of broken asphalt--
where derelict steel stacks
were something as yet to be imagined.

A mountain hawk pierced
the unseen stillness with its cry
and turned my attention
to the gushing Lehigh. Here,
I could sense an ancient wolf
padding along side the sacred spirit
surveying a modern world
arrogantly disconnected
yet ignorantly dependent.

Prompt Tuesday-Image Six, Pensador Louco


Pensador Louco

Event Entries May 28, 2013

A Fairy Tale

There was a very special old man who’s stories were as ancient as the very morning. A totem of wise words to which we prayed for counseling and protection. He was an elder and I never got his name right.

To me he was simply an old coot. A piece of old junk. Disposable. I was just a little girl when I first met him. He had made up stories about his love of horses and clear water rivers. Spirits and magic warriors. It was all he could think of. I had no interest in him at all but still he was there.

The totem.

The history of his own life was ludicrous. Stupid folklore. There was no way anyone believe that he had befriended a bat. It was silly folklore told to children to keep them in line. Life lessons. Spooky stories. He told the fable of the bat to us many times.

As the story goes he was the first. Back when the world was plain and no man had to defend more than his home and family. What a time to be alive. Wake up! Stop daydreaming.

Anyway, the old man was hunting at night when he saw the tiny bat. The bat was laying on the ground and had been severely injured. The bat was barely alive but was still breathing.

He stooped to look at he bat on the ground. He was a worthless animal after all, only good for eating bugs. He couldn’t be eaten and with that in mind he prepared to walk away. He was turning to leave the agonizing bat to suffer his fate when he heard something. The bat begin to speak to him! With a voice so soft and high it seemed to be coming from everywhere at once. He couldn’t believe his eyes and ears. What was happening?

The bat asked for help and promised in return to tell him all of his secrets. He claimed he had the secret of life.

When I was first heard this story I thought how could he fool everyone for so long? He was just a lazy old man. I can either trust him or a talking bat! I tried to leave, but somehow the whole thing was too seductive to abandon. I reluctantly sat down to listen.

He started; “In the old days when our kind was still ruling the entire country a little bat held all the secret stories of the world. Hold on! Don’t make that face. I know what it sounds like but you will see the wisdom in it.” He continued his story telling them that the spider had been saved from certain death when her nest was taken down by the strong wind. She had fallen to the ground in front of a mob of rabid red ants. The bat went into action and grabbed the torn remains of her web pulling her up. Up through the trees and branches up into a beautiful incomparable night. I took her very high up. She shook the dust from her legs and looked at me. Eight deep unblinking eyes looking into mine.

When my ancestor was starting to doubt his own sanity, the tiny bat continued his story.

“You gave me back my life,” the spider said. It was a very old spider that had no family left. She was covered with wrinkles and smelled of dusty webs. “I’m very thankful that you helped me,” she told the bat. “I was to be eaten alive and trust me it hurts because I’ve been doing it to others my entire life”, she paused.

“What is it?” asked the little bat. “A gift for both of us,” she answered going on, “You see I’m very old. So old in fact that I’m not ashamed to say it wasn’t the wind who knocked me down from the branches. You know what I mean.” She suddenly looked sad and tired. “I know I don’t have much time left and believe me when I say I’d prefer to spend it right here in a high tree with a friend than in the mouths of vengeful ants. So here’s your gift,” and she proceeded to tell him everything.

“When I was young, I could never sleep. The days would run into nights. I couldn’t rest for a cotton picking second. I had to do something about it so I decided to walk. Unlike the other spiders who stay put their entire lives I travelled though many lands learning a little more as each century passed me by.” The bat was surprised he had never heard such claims. Using knowledge as a way to prolong life was a queer idea at that. The spider continued, “I have the full knowledge of every story, every legend or spoken word  in this forsaken world. Too much for a little spider like me to keep inside. Too important to lose when I die soon. So I will pass it onto you to carry on.”

And she did. She nested herself near the bat’s ear and started to tell him all. She had a lot to tell. The rise and fall of kingdoms, legends of love, riches and wars. The bat thought it was too much, but there was more. While telling what she said was the very last story she died. The bat could not tell if she had really finished but she had imparted her knowledge to him and now he had knew. If what she said was true he had stories to keep him alive for many lifetimes. Or until he was too tired to live.

Unlike other’s before me I knew what to do with the knowledge and used it wisely. And here I am today a grown woman. Living in the debris of our world. Now disease is the new reaper and the Earth is ravaged. Greed is the new religion. Now the tribes make their tents of concrete blocks on barren land and nature is made up of bullets and rape. It is the new law. Or what the planet can still stand of us before dying too.

I think of the old man often. As an elder he was happy to tell us his tales although I had no intention of listening to them. At first anyway. The old man’s totem had finally got passed on.

Now I have brother wolf by my side and sister eagle on my shoulder. They watch over me as I use the knowledge of the universe as I please. Forgive me, but I am not a spider or a bat. I am not an old man and I have plans.  I am a very motivated woman with a new world to raise. A world of plants and animals. A new Eden without people to ruin it. People were the problem in the first place.

The moon is high. A new hunting season has begun. Don’t worry, I’ll tell you all about it later.

Monday, May 27

Add-To-Me Monday, Story Two


Bekkie Sanchez

The old man sat on the park bench feeding the pigeons. He came here every afternoon when the shadows grew long & the day cooled. The pigeon’s were greedy and never seemed to get enough to eat as they fought aggressively for the best seed.

It was the hottest Summer that he could remember & even the birds seemed bothered by the heat as they quarreled over his offering. A crow landed amongst the pigeons scattering them. The old man watched as they circled back to continue feeding.

This is when he had time to think. He was already lost in thought right now and of course he was thinking about her.

He missed her every single day of the last 10 years he had lived without her. When they had meet he knew she was special. She had a way about her that could charm even the gruffest curmudgeon. She put a smile on everyone’s face. And he could still not go on without her.

françoise MICHEL

The most important thing to him was reliving that fateful day when everything had changed. It was his fault he had interfered and the thought still filled him with doubt and fear. He wanted to fix things to get her back and have her in his life! He felt like terrible that he had let it happen and longed to get her back.

All those years ago he could see her before him smiling that smile. I loved her eternal smile. She offered that smile to everyone and it was always on her face…he missed her so.

He went to sleep that night but awoke the next morning feeling a raging jealousy. It was as if it had jumped out of the nightstand at him and that feeling never left  him until later that evening. He had wanted to pull those feelings out of himself and trample them. He imagined throwing them away in the dustbin and felt a little better.

He couldn’t let it go because after all he was her husband, the one that needed to be with her and the fact that he wasn’t was the worst possible thing that could of befallen him.

French Version:

e plus important,  ce qui lui avait échappé depuis tout ce temps.

Il fallait revenir en arrière, repasser dans ma tête cette journée

fatidique où tout avait  basculé.

Retrouver la faille, l 'endroit où s'était immiscé le doute, la peur.

Si je comble la retrouve la femme.

Faire machine arrière pour, enfin, me projeter dans l'avenir : me sentir corneille plutôt que pigeon ! Mais comment m'y prendre ? 10

ans déjà.... Elle était là, devant moi, me regardant de toute sa

hauteur ; son éternel sourire, qu'elle offrait à chacun, accroché à son visage. Je ne pouvais plus le voir, j'en étais presque jaloux :
dès le réveil, il était là comme s'il avait sauté de sa table de nuit

sur sa face et il ne la quittait plus jusqu'au soir.

J'aurais voulu l'arracher, le piétiner, le jeter à la poubelle. C'était moi son mari, moi qui avait beson d'être auprès d'elle et c'est ainsi que le pire est arrivé....

I would like to add it’s not easy to write in a language that one doesn’t speak. Therefore when reading this the original language will express this person the best. ♦Website’s owner.

Bekkie Sanchez

What was he so jealous about? The feelings twisted him and for the first time in all of these years he didn’t go to the park to feed the pigeons. He was bone tired, emotionally spent and moped around his house all day mumbling to himself. He was not even fit for the birds.

He finally ate a small supper, a can of sardines in mustard sauce and saltines. It would do for now. As he crossed the room to the stairs he caught his reflection in the mirror. He was startled and didn’t recognize himself for a moment.

He was deeply shocked at this image in the candlelight. The face had been ravaged by time and the white hair was thin and balding. The lines in the reflection of the face where deep and he didn’t like the look in the man’s eyes. His eyes and his face! This fact hit him with an intensity that caused him great pain. Clutching his head a moan escaped his lips as he bolted up the stairs to his bed. He slept fitfully that night but he had a dream and it was about her!

They were together again and so happy! She told him how much she wanted him back and that they would always be together now. Before she died she had found a way. She told him she would meet him at her gravesite and that they would never be apart again.

He didn’t want to let her go this time the dream was so real and he could feel everything so strongly. But she assured him that this was only the beginning and they would be together again soon.

She told him what to do and made him promise to do it the next day. They would be together again soon. He could not deny her anything because he wanted this more than life itself.

The next day bright and early he woke up refreshed. He felt wonderful as if he were young again. He whistled a tune as he busied himself getting ready to go to the cemetery. He put on his best suit, combed what was left of his hair and left his cottage.

He went to get her favorite flowers which he hadn’t bought since those fateful 10 years ago when he had lost her. He got her white roses her favorite. Expensive but worth the cost for her. He did everything she asked last night and by late afternoon was ready. He was going to have her back. Forever she had said.

He got to the cemetery and rushed to her gravesite. It was now getting dark as he placed the flowers on her grave. He sat in the grass and waited like she told him to. The moon was a sliver as it shown above him. It would happen soon.

She had told him in the dream about a gypsy fortune teller she went to regularly. The old gypsy told her about her untimely death and she had begged the woman to help. She gave that gypsy almost everything she owned. But now it would be well worth it.

He had fallen dreamlessly asleep in the grass and when he awoke he saw a dark figure in a cloak standing before him. As the spider webs cleared from his brain he suddenly saw her again and she was just as beautiful as ever. She smiled that Cheshire smile and they fell into each other’s arms. They made love right there in the cemetery and all was well in his world again.

He wanted to ask her how this was happening and what was this magic that brought her back to him but he kept his mouth shut. There would be plenty of time for that later. She was back and they had forever to be together now. Forever.

Holding hands like newlyweds they started back to the cottage. As they walked through the gates of the graveyard and he glanced sideways at her. She looked just like before and was radiant. Suddenly she made a strange sound. She had stopped in her tracks.

She pulled her hand out of his and turned her back to him trembling. The moon ducked behind a bank of dark clouds and he paused. It seemed like the longest time had passed. He reached out, put his hands on her shoulders and spun her around to kiss her. He would kiss this pain away! They would be together. Forever.

As he took her in his arms she felt boney, so skinny. Obviously he would have to fatten her up. As he kissed her he felt a wetness and something scratched his face. Surprised he stepped back and saw a sight he couldn’t understand. It was hideous and it had her voice! It was pleading with him to kiss her again and make love to her.

A rotting corpse stood before him and it had her voice. It had been her but it was now something vile and it stunk of rancid flesh. His mouth hung open and his mind reeled as the flight instinct screamed in his brain to run. He wanted to escape but his feet were glued to the spot.

With that lovely singsong voice because it was the only way he knew it was her, still smiling with rotted lips she said; “Forever now dear! We are together forever now and I will never leave your side again.”

This was the worst participation I ever had on an Add-To-Me Monday and this is only the second one. A huge thanks to françoise MICHEL, without her I would of written this story all by myself. She did her part of the story and doesn’t even write in English. I applaud her courage and talent to write. She is a marvelous writer and friend and really came through for me.

So what’s wrong with the rest of you? I understand this is a holiday weekend and most of you members are probably busy but I was hoping for a few more people to join in. It’s only adding a paragraph or so how hard is that? Unfortunately a lot of people who want to write with the Show Offs can’t figure out how. I can only do so much to help and then it’s up to my members. Yes, you.

Today I am not putting up Add-To-Monday Three because it’s over for now. I would reinstate it only if I get interested people who ask me about having it again.

Happy Memorial Day fellow Show Offs!

Saturday, May 25

Prompt Tuesday-Image Five, Bekkie Sanchez


Bekkie Sanchez

Event Entries 5:15 PM

The Fallen One

She kneels before me on the old faded carpet
With large wings on her back as dark as pitch
Black feathers are dancing on the light breeze
The thin white curtains gently billowing
Her face remains hidden in the shadows
As my eyes roam over her perfect body
What secrets does she keep?

Her beauty is unsurpassed by anything on earth
My gaze caresses her as she lifts her eyes to mine
All the horrors of the universe are revealed
I cannot look away as I see the terrible truth within
The fear & agony no one man can contain
Darkness closes all around me as I ascend into hell
For she is one of the fallen & has taken my soul.

No-Prompt Thursday-Three, Bekkie Sanchez

Bekkie Sanchez

Event Entries 5:04 PM

No More Honey

Doth the little honey bee
Making life so sweet
Buzzing flower to flower
Nature so complete.

Comes the bee from Africa
Fighting to survive
The honey bee is overrun
No honey in the hive.

Man he uses pesticides
Beauty everywhere you see
Poison pollen in the fields
Requiem for Honey Bees.

No-Prompt Thursday-Three, françoise MICHEL

françoise MICHEL

Event Entries 6:56 AM


La lune était de sortie, hier.
Ce  magnifique astre fier,
Tel l'oeil unique du cyclope,
Dardait son regard myope
Sur la terre des hommes
n'y trouvant qu'une vie fantôme.

Très tard, elle se réveille
A l'heure où nous dormons.
Dans une étrange veille
D'un monde à l'unisson
Qui tente d'éviter, absolument
Une rencontre dans son présent.

Cependant, il arrive certaines fois
Au début de la journée, de la croiser.
Mais elle a déjà perdu son éclat.
Au soleil, elle fait un pied de nez,
Avant de s'en retourner chez elle
En attente d'une occasion nouvelle.

English Version:


The moon was out yesterday.
This beautiful star proud,
As the single eye of the Cyclops,
Darted its myopic glance
On the earth of the men
there being a ghost life.

Very late, it wakes
At a time when we sleep.
The strange guardian
Of a world in unison
Trying to avoid, absolutely
An encounter in its present.

However, it happens some times
At the beginning of the day, to cross it.
But it has lost its luster.
To the sun, it makes thumbs its nose
Before it goes back home
Waiting for a new opportunity.

I would like to add it’s not easy to write in a language that one doesn’t speak. Therefore when reading this the original language will express this person the best. ♦Website’s owner.

Thursday, May 23

No-Prompt Thursday-Three, Letitia Minnick

Letitia Minnick
Event Entries 5:41 PM
Merops apiaster

The West African beauty
flits and struts in pretty plumage--
always watchful,
intently listening,
waiting for the worker bee
to foolishly fly in front of her--
freeing her from the drudgery
of having to hunt for herself.

Prompt Tuesday-Image Five, françoise MICHEL

françoise MICHEL

Event Entries 1:45 PM


Nous ne pouvons pas le voir
Il oeuvre dans le noir
C'est l'ange de la nuit
Il pare à tous nos ennuis
Homme ou femme qu'importe
Pour nous veiller de  la  sorte

Très discret dans l'obscurité
Avec  son plumage aux ailes sombres
Il laisse dans l'épaisse pénombre
L'unique sentiment de sa matérialité

Mais, prends garde à toi, bienfaiteur,
N'oublie pas de regarder l'heure
Au premier rayon du  soleil levant
Impossible de reprendre ton envol
Tes plumes tomberont inexorablement
A jamais captif de cette planète folle

English Version:


We can not see him
He has been in the black
This is the angel of the night
It prevents all our troubles
Man or woman no matter
To watching over us like this

Very discreet in the pitch-dark
With its nice and black wings
He leaves in deep shade
The unique feeling of its materiality

But best beware, benefactor
Do not forget to look at the time
With the first rays of the rising sun
Unable to take your flight
Your feathers fall inexorably
Ever captured this crazy planet

I would like to add it’s not easy to write in a language that one doesn’t speak. Therefore when reading this the original language will express this person the best. ♦Website’s owner.

Wednesday, May 22

Add-To-Me Monday, Story One

Bekkie Sanchez

It was dark as pitch out here & my head was killing me as I walked along the deserted highway gas can in hand. The desert night was warm & there was a sliver of moon hanging in the night sky but I was not here to enjoy the scenery.

Getting away had been the easy part but now I had to find some damn gas or it was over. Or another vehicle.

I hesitated and looked back the way I had come swatting at the variety of buzzing insects around my head. Nothing had passed me on this god forsaken road since my truck ran out of gas. Gravel crunched under my feet as I trudged on & just as I was beginning to think I'd never find anything for miles I.....

Pensador Louco

...noticed a fading light in what appeared to be a couple of miles away. Or at least I thought I saw it. I mean, it’s easy to be tricked when every bug in this God forsaken desert decides to make a condo out of my eye and ears? I started to hurry.

Silence, the horrible silence. This place was supposed to be deserted but my steps over the dirt sounded loud enough for me to believe anyone could be hearing me. Watching me. Following me. Shit! I started to get real paranoid quick. Bad time for a breakdown. Can’t let that happen now you idiot!

My head was pounding. I could feel the flow of blood going in and out of my brain. Pulse. Pulse. Pain. Every step. Every buzz. How long could it be?

The light was still out there. I was holding my breath but it didn’t seem to get any closer. What a ridiculous story to tell. A grown up with a Hercules size headache racing flies and mosquitoes to reach a light that might as well be a night mirage.

Why did the night have to be so silent?

No birds. No wind. Not even a lousy rattlesnake. I was alone and the light was far away and the lord of flies seemed as he wanted to break me into pieces. My head was crackling like burnt toast. No rest for the wicked I suppose. No rest at all.

After five minutes or so I came to a shock. I was so busy lamenting about my lack of luck that I failed to notice the light was finally getting closer. The bugs had given up on my left ear. And I definitely wasn’t running over the filthy dirt anymore. I was…

M. Blank

hurrying down a paved road, still unable to make out the edges of a town.  But the light had to be coming from somewhere.

The crackling in my head grew more severe as I wondered what would happen when I did find help.  People weren't too kind to strangers who showed up in the middle of the night stained with blood.  I gritted my teeth and walked on hoping the gas station attendant would be some punk kid too stoned to notice my macabre attire.

The flies continued to pursue me drawn to the nourishing fluid that stained my flesh.  I slapped my arm and felt the body squish beneath my blow.  It struck me again how easy it was to bring harm.  But there was no time to think about that, I had to...

Imalyn Dowedia

find gas real quick. Trying to forget the hammering in my temples and focus my entire attention to the light far ahead proves difficult. Each step is hell itself, breathing is shallow and I thought I heard a pathetic moan somewhere when actually the sound came from my dried up lips.

As the light ahead expanded with each step I took, my heart began to pound furiously.

M. Blank

I could make out the outline of a building now short and squat.  The light perched on a corner.  I hurried my pace, hoping to see a human being.  Or a vehicle I could siphon from.  My head clearing I realized the latter would be the better option.  Then I could get back to Clarisse.

I shook my head clear the viscera from my thoughts.  It didn't happen.  She would be smiling when I got back and ready to get going.  She was a bubbly little thing and didn't deserve this.

I came to a fence guarding the perimeter of the building and the vehicles in the lot.  Not a person in view.  I...

Bekkie Sanchez

was covered in blood, sweat stained and bone tired. How was I going to get over the fence? My mind reeled without water.

Clarisse was waiting, or maybe she wasn't  I had been gone all night and most of the morning. I had told her I would be right back. She couldn't wait forever we were on the run from the cops. She had helped me kill the man for the truck but we weren't out of the woods by any means. And here I was almost dead with no way back yet.

I walked around the fence with a new determination nursing a wicked thirst. The place really was deserted I saw nobody around. No guards either. It seemed to be some kind of medical building although I saw no patients coming or going. Then I saw it, a hole in the fence just my luck! A small hole but I could enlarge it. I made quick work of it and was soon standing beside a car. I tried the door expecting it to be locked. It wasn't so I let myself in.

I hadn't sat down for many miles and my boots were killing me. I peered in the mirror and didn't recognize myself at all. Unshaven, filthy and unbeknownst to me I even had some blood on my cheek underneath the insect bites.

Letting a groan escape my lips I noticed they hurt and were cracked. I needed water and something to eat. Water! It was imperative I find some or there would be no getting back to Clarisse.

I jumped out of the car with renewed vigor looking around before I popped the hood. Everything looked good so I hot wired it and was rewarded by the sound of the engine running. Just my luck there was almost a full tank of gas!

I still needed to find some water and the only place to get it would be that medical building. I…

M. Blank

scoped it out and saw no guards so  I picked up a rock and heaved it at the nearest window.  After knocking some shards loose, I scooted through the hole and dropped to my feet in the broken glass.

Empty, stained cots lined the room.  Glinting surgical tools hung from the far wall.  Blood stained the floor.  I forgot my thirst.

I had to get back to Clarisse, but the place drew me in.  I had to see more.  I had to…

Bekkie Sanchez

I heard a noise behind me and spun around but too late!

I came to with an aching head right where I had started in the beginning of this terrible turn of events. A head with a sledge hammer working inside.

Now I needed water badly and I was so hungry my stomach was eating itself. My mouth tasted sour and I felt fuzzy...wait, have I been drugged?

I wanted to wipe my mouth but the motion of my arm was stopped by something. I pulled again.

My eyesight was blurry and the room was spinning round. All I could make out was white and some red smears. I could make out some people walking around that's all I could do or say.

Clarisse will be gone by now and there's no sense in going back. This thought came to me in waves like the Pink Floyd song. Why was I thinking of Pink Floyd at a time like this?

A blurry figure came over to me and without speaking and got close enough for me to see she was a nurse. She looked at my vital signs head bobbing as it swam around my view. She reached way above my head and did something with a tube.

I can't describe the feeling that flowed into all parts of my body. What is this wonderful feeling and where has it been all my...

I clutched, or would of clutched at my heart if I hadn't been in restraints as it began to race. I started seizing.

My last and only thought was of Clarisse that sweet bubbly thing that hunted and killed with me. She didn't deserve this.

At that I took my last gasp of life.

Prompt Tuesday-Image Five, Kim Robertson


Kim Robertson

Event Entries Yesterday 8:27 PM

Derdekea’s Daughter

Everything is supposed to be black and white. Good verses Evil. Light and Darkness. Clear. Simple. Nothing to agonize over. But life is never clear and simple is it?

It is all a bit confusing, I saw her yet I didn't. I mean the image is strong in my mind yet I know it never really happened. I saw clearly in front of the window in my just rented empty apartment a blonde, young and beautiful woman. She was kneeling in a square of warm sunlight. She wore a black sleeveless top, black shorts and tall patent leather shoes and something else. She had wings. Black wings. And the room was filled with black feathers floating towards the floor while a breeze flapped a thin white curtain on the window. I remember this!

She said it was never like that. She was just picking up a penny from the floor. She laughed when I mentioned feathers and wings, “Look, if you want me to go out to dinner with you, just ask! Stop with the corny angel pickup lines!” So I did.

It never occurred to me that there was anything weird about her, apart from my day dream. I assumed she was from the Real Estate company there to make sure everything was OK with the apartment. Only now when I think about it, she never spoke about the apartment or the Real Estate at all. We just talked about the warm weather and spring. How lovely it was with the flowers blooming and the birds singing their joy. We talked and talked and I felt like I had known her all my life it was so easy.

“Shem,” she said; “Did I tell you you have the most gorgeous blue eyes?” She looked intensely into mine with her stunning golden ones. I felt my heart skip a beat and start fluttering in my chest. Her breath was hot and smelled of roses and something much more human. “This is.. is.. going so fast.” She placed her hands either side of my head. “Oooooh I could get in so much trouble for this.” She leant in and kissed my lips hesitantly, then again and again. I felt dizzy. I felt queasy. I pulled her close and kissed her completely right there in my empty apartment in the sun and warm breeze.

The rest of the afternoon was spent like young lovers. We explored each other and tickled, teased and made passionate love on the carpet. Over and again until the sun went down. In between we spoke about my life and loves and she about her hopes. She wanted people to get over their pettiness and small mindedness. She seemed wise beyond her years and deeply caring about the world yet strangely naïve to the small details of life.

I asked her for her name but she became distressed and said I must not ask it of her. “Why on earth not? It’s not like I am going to tell your boss on you,” I said defensively. She just looked at me weirdly as I said; “Come on you know my name it’s only fair that I know yours! Please, please tell me your name! I demand it!” She looked defeated and replied downcast; “I am Dara, daughter of Derdekea.” I thought it was a bit of an odd name but she looked so down I wanted to comfort her. I held her in my arms and said playfully; “There! That wasn’t so hard Dara. Now that we know each other maybe we should be friends!” I laughed and she laughed with me. We kissed and made love once again falling asleep in each other’s arms.

When I awoke it was cold and dark and I was alone. Of her I could find nothing but she had left my clothes folded and sitting on top was a single black feather.

The next day I called the Real Estate company but they said no one called Dara worked there, in fact no one was supposed to be in my apartment at all that afternoon. That was a complete dead end. I tried looking through Facebook but there were hundreds of Dara's. No Dara Derdekea’s and Derdekea appeared to be a surname.

I researched more looking for where this odd sounding name came from. I traced it back to a very strange old and odd source. What caught my eye was my name in the search result; The Paraphrase of Shem. I read it and the more I read it the more I remembered the feathers and the wings. Derdekea was a heavenly, powerful female angel who descends to earth for the salvation of man. That was pretty heavy.

In the end I gave up because all avenues seemed to lead nowhere at all. I never did get to go out to dinner with her. Maybe I should make a reservation for dinner and she will just show up! I hope that I meet her again.

Prompt Tuesday-Image Five, Letitia Minnick


Letitia Minnick

Event Entries 3:19 AM


She came in answer
to his call only
to ultimately
find herself lacking.

Molting inadequacies,
she shed angelic feathers
with each woeful tear.

Prompt Tuesday-Image Five, Pensador Louco


Pensador Louco

Event Entries Yesterday 6:13 PM

The Worm

No more room.

She stood still for a moment or two. Feeling the weight. Such a heavy weight, the flesh. More than she imagined to be possible, and no technology to evaluate it. The unbearable heaviness of a body made up of flesh, blood, bones and needs. She was on her knees with her hair loosely falling over her eyes. She had a certain awareness of where she was and how she got there which made her see everything. She felt everything at once, every sound, every crack that was on the long wooden floor.

A cat was crying somewhere like a newborn. A savage little beast with a cry so aggressive it could only be translated as one thing: desire. There was no more room.

She could hear the neighbors watching the screens. She never quite understood the screens. Empty messages, soulless as she was. Giving people hope as she was supposed to have given.

The nameless one stood up her shoulders adjusting to the uncomfortable hanging of wings that could no longer fly. They stunk of death as they were now rotting, useless and blackened.

The cat was still roaring. Warnings of safe sex. Cars were passing by she could hear them outside the window. The screen. Addictive melodies and promises of love so vain as the ones which made her want to leave. Her wings were almost dust by now. Minutes perhaps or moments before she could sense the wounds she'd carry for the rest of her existence. A life as young and fresh as the small cats being born.

It was desire all along in an endless land. There was no will but to obey as she discovered desire in the form of a worm. A vermin and there were billions of them in the world. The cat continued. The damned screen. The cars and people in the streets. Was the noise never going to end?  The worm was all she could think of amongst the terrible noise. The insignificant maggot who knew how to make her want more.

The man who made her feel like there was no more room. Who made her fall.

Wings resisting from being cursed and blood made of ozone pouring from translucent veins. Feathers falling down a maze of shame and accusations. Restrains. Chains. Her body being formed. It felt as heavy as hell. She felt nothing, really. Nothing at all. Only desire and sound. Like the happiness of the people when listening to the screen. New dresses. New jobs. Money. Consume. Love. What was love after all? She would finally be free, along with her little, beautiful, passionate maggot.

But things are never that simple, are they?

She was there now because she had been made flesh. But it wasn't her love for him that made her fall. It was lust and desire. The same emotions that kept the cat screaming in the night. The same kind of thing that made her eyes burn deep and fiercely red. Like her smile.

He was nowhere to be found. It was too late for her to mind. She was still smiling. The cat was still screaming.

There could be no more room in heaven. Or in Earth. Or near that miserable worm but it was no problem.

There would always be room for her where desire ruled the fallen.

Saturday, May 18

No-Prompt Thursday-Two, Pensador Louco

Pensador Louco  Show Offs Community


Everything started with an absurd idea.

The old maestro looked back and noticed the endless amount of music he had left in his past. A lifetime of melodies and harmonies, rhythms and conductions, all he ever knew how to do. His whole life had been dedicated to music and symphony, which was the most noble food for one's soul.

All that was lost now. He was deaf, and there was nothing to do about it.

It's so hard to imagine someone having every symphony in his head, and being only permitted to hear them as memories do, as memories go. Never being really there, in his ears. Memories coming back to him were bittersweet as he heard the notes of music playing in his head. An echo off, as were dimmed his entreaties. Oh and he missed it! He missed everything about hearing music and the life. The life.

He was the Maestro! The man who had brought fear to the faces of his musicians as his rule was harsh. But at the end hearing the audience applause it had all been worth it. Fear, reverence and respect are the foundation of a good conductor. The ovation was his treasure forever. And alas, he had it all! The sound of the world in his ears.

But now he was purged and broken. Incapable. He was deaf, and there was nothing to hear. How could they do this to him?

Like a bad joke among his new life of silence and shame, one day the old Maestro saw an auction a piece. And it spoke to him. A museum piece like himself. The old dead Gramophone looked back and a bizarre wish arose. A bond. An equal, unable to sound, just like him.

It was broke beyond repair as he felt he was so he bought it and took it home. He placed it on the mantle.

There it sat in a dark corner unseen, just as he had become unseen. He sat down opposite the Gramophone and studied it all night contemplating his shattered life. What was and never would be again.

One day he noticed it was getting dirty and decided to clean it. While he was rubbing it something strange happened.

He cut his finger. A mere scratch that was hardly noticed. A cut made by the hard and thick needle of the Gramophone. An instrument that reminded him of himself. A cut still, more serious and sad that any Princess Aurora could ever suffer. But the wound suddenly sounded. The needle quickly drew a drop of his blood and drank it like a tyrant. Exactly as a conductor should do. A vibration then rose, shaking dust of ages, crusts of indifference and spider webs of lost time. It created a clear and perfect musical note. And the deaf could hear it.

The conductor was awake. There would be no sleep for Aurora that night. Without hesitation, he jabbed his finger, the same one the needle had cut and, as a casual vagina, let his friend drink at will. It was so thirsty. Like a sponge turned into music. The gramophone drank from his finger and, as a gesture of appreciation, fired away adagios and allegros from its cone. Desire made flesh. Flesh squeezed into music. Music he could hear. His own blood serving as a red and unique musical score. His flesh to violins. Metals. Cadences.

How could he deny it more food?

Great days followed this, and at the conductor's home it was a merry time. And why shouldn't it be? He couldn't care if the world went to hell. Why should he? Wasn't his music back? It was his compositions that dripped and flowed from his veins and was it not his legacy? All he needed was his best friend. Just the two of them. Composer and orchestra together in a solid red. It was obviously too good to last.

Well, was that not a sign of weakness that his source was exhausted? That all meals were not enough and that his blood was not enough? He'd die bloodless listening to the Gramophone and at that moment as the thought occurred to him he knew that was exactly how the idea appeared. The absurd and funny idea.

The old Maestro rose from the floor. He had little strength left to stand up, and the Gramophone was still thirsty for more. Hungry. He could no longer feed him alone, no blood enough to quench all he wanted to listen. But there was so much food in the rest of the world. Wasn't it replete with stupid deaf people? Those who did not appreciate the value of an authentic symphony? Were not the ones blessed with a body capable of listening, that made fun of the few who would really value it and fill the air with heavenly harmony? There were thousands of persons who simply didn't deserve to hear music. Too many. Too many. So many, in fact.

That no one would miss one or two, right?

A week went by since the crazy idea, and no sound was heard in the old house. But soon, alas, soon.

He looked at himself in the mirror, and the image pleased him. He was still deaf. Of course he was. But he was a restful one now, due to days and nights of rest and good meals. He recovered his strength enough to feed his friend for another week. Or to bring home with him a new form of audience. One he would teach how to listen properly.

He left the house through the front door. The night was high and he could hear nothing. However, far from bringing him sadness, his deafness was good now, because it announced its biggest and clearest regency. It would prove to be his definitive work, and he could not wait. He was as eager as a boy, and went hunting for those deaf people who didn't really need to hear and to which no one would hear again. He was happy. So happy. He only needed a few. A handful of them would be sufficient. Just enough for a lifetime of orchestras.

There. He spotted the first candidate a few blocks from him. A candidate so small he would make no resistance to be taken.

The maestro stopped, closed his eyes for a brief moment and imagined how beautiful it would be to conduct his hungry gramophone. He wanted to see what would be given to him in return, for all the food and juice he was bringing home. He smiled. You could almost hear him licking his lips. And as a harsh ruler, again in life, the look of fear on the audience's faces would be satisfaction enough. Each of them waiting their turn.

He stopped breathing and opened his eyes.

And walked into his future, whistling a song that he had no form of hearing.

No-Prompt Thursday-Two, Bekkie Sanchez

Bekkie Sanchez

11:36 AM Entries For Events

Writer’s Block

My book it lies unfinished
That poem left dangling there
The words remain extinguished
It’s like my thoughts are bare.

My first book came so easy
The money made now gone
The blank page makes me queasy
My writing just looks wrong.

I meant to write a story
A word, a phrase, a quote
I wanted all the glory
One word is all I wrote.

No-Prompt Thursday-Two, françoise MICHEL

françoise MICHEL

Event Entries 11:07 AM

La vie des mots

Dans ma tête, mes mots caracolent.
Lorsqu'ils s'ennuient, ils invitent des amis.
Ils s'amusent, dansent des farandoles,
font la fête bruyamment, sans répit.

Certaines fois, ils en ont assez et se rebellent
Ils partent vers d'autres destinations
A la recherche d'une nouvelle définition
Ils s'enrichissent, se croisent, se mêlent.

Puis, je les vois revenir dans le lointain
lourds de sens, le pas incertain
Ils sont fatigués et traînent des pieds
il est temps de les coucher, là sur le papier.

English Version:

The Life of Words

In my mind, my words prance.
When bored, they invite friends.
They laugh and dance farandoles,
are partying loudly, relentlessly.

Some times they have had enough and rebel
They go to other destinations
Looking for a new definition
They get richer, intersect, mingle.

Then I see them back in the distance
full of meaning, not the uncertain
They are tired and dragging their feet
it is time to sleep, then on paper.

I would like to add it’s not easy to write in a language that one doesn’t speak. Therefore when reading this the original language will express this person the best. ♦Website’s owner.

Prompt Tuesday-Image Four, Kim Robertson


Kim Robertson

Show Offs (Event Entries) May 16, 2013

Lot’s Tale

Never look back.
Never look back.
Don't look back.

"Flee to the hills, lest you be swept away!', they both said. Lot trudged on through the desert heat, thinking back on the last 24 hours.

The day had started much like any other, but Lot sensed something in the air. He went to the city wall, as he did each day to greet the rising sun.  It rose amid a shroud of angry red light, shimmering across the plains. Birds awoke with the sun, but instead of singing Lot watched them fly out of the city and away towards the hills. On his way home normally Lot would see a few friendly cats and dogs in the streets, he had some treats in his pocket for them. Today all was silent and empty, none of his friends where around.  Even when he released the chickens from their cages they did not want to come out, they just hid inside the coup, as if a fox was waiting outside. Something was clearly not right.

Troubled, he later went to the market. There he spied his prospective sons-in-law who were brothers. Both were drunk and rowdy and, upon seeing Lot, they made him welcome. “Ah Lot, come have a drink with us! Soon we will marry your daughters and bring honor on your family. You could certainly do with that, eh!”, they laughed. Lot was a very patient and kind man and took the disrespectful behavior without response. “Boys, I am worried. The birds and animals are behaving strangely; there is something not right in the air. Last time it was like this there was a large earthquake. Maybe we should leave the city and head onto the plains where it will be safer?”

“Both of the young men laughed out loud, “Ah Lot! You see a few birds flying away and you think the world is ending! Today is a beautiful day and all is right with the world. You can go and stand in the hot sun and stare at mountains all on your own!”

Lot spent the day gathering supplies for a journey for his family. He decided that a small journey for a few days would not harm anyone. In the evening he came home and was met by his wife and daughters. “Ho! Lot, where have you been today? We have missed you.” Lot replied, “Beloved Edith, I have gathered food and supplies for a journey.  We are going to Zoar!”. So they all gathered their things.

That night, while the family ate a quiet supper, there was a knock upon their door. Lot answered cautiously, due to the late hour. There before him were two people, who he later could not describe. They appeared clothed in white but in what style he could not say. “We bear news of great import for you, Lot. A great disaster is coming to this city. You must leave or face ruin and death!”  Lot was very scared and became determined to the task. The visitors said a great many other things that Lot did not understand. Stories of fire and earthquake and death, and how me must move further than Zoar before a week is out.”  Lot was left terrified.

First thing in the morning, instead of his walk to the city wall, Lots family lead a caravan of all the asses Lot owned towards the city gates. His neighbors heard the clamor and came to see what the fuss was. When they saw him they jeered and laughed, “Have you finally gone broke old man? Has your foolish generosity been your downfall? You had better run! Your creditors come with swords! I will buy your daughters as slaves, but not your haggard wife!” and many other taunts. They were glad to leave the gates.

Lot warned his family, “I believe those visitors last night were Angels! They told me to warn you that whatever you hear, whatever you see, whatever you feel, do not look back!”

Soon after the ground started to shake making the asses baulk and become nervous. The family tugged on the lines, but never looked back.

Next they heard a tremendous crack and the sound of angry fire whooshing and sizzling and spurting. The animals panicked, and some broke away, but still lot and his family remained firm.

The sky grew dark and lightning fell all around and a hot harsh wind that smelled of sulfur tore past the family and the few animals. Clouds of ash started falling from the sky obscuring sight and sense of direction. Sounds of crashing and thunder rent the air and also what sounded like the voice of doom.

Suddenly Edith turned to lot, “I cannot see the girls! We have lost them! We must turn back!”  With that she turned around.

Lot remembered the look on her face to his dying day. It took a few seconds, but seemed an eternity. Lot lunged toward her to stop her but her eyes grew wide and it was too late. Her skin turned pale and ashen and she screamed. As her eyes turned white, she clawed at her face. All of her hair fell to the ground and shattered into salty sand.

Then her screaming stopped and she stood still, and slowly hardened and became stone like, crackling like salt thrown on a fire. Her skin turned grey, then white like the nearby Dead Sea lakes.
Lot knew she was dead. He was paralyzed. He did touched her but she was gone. For an age he stood stunned staring at her form, unable to understand.

“Father! We heard a scream! Is all well? What is the matter?”, his daughters called as they emerged from the swirling ash clouds. Lot came to, and shook himself. “Oh my daughters! There your mother stands, struck by what lies behind! DO NOT LOOK, Oh please, DO NOT LOOK BEHIND!”

For days they moved on and finally left the maelstrom and came to the village of Zoar which was abandoned, only a few worn salt statues in poses of horror were left. Lot stayed for a night, and grieved his lost wife, then moved on. He never did look back again: not then, nor for the rest of his life.

Friday, May 17

No-Prompt Thursday-Two, Letitia Minnick

Letitia Minnick

Event Entries Yesterday 4:15 PM

An Invitation to Walk

Stepping off the cobblestone
to follow a moth flown path
of loose circles turning a tighter spiral toward
a flickering flame of bitter self pity,
her mood is eclipsed by a brighter light
coaxing it gently
to stop the spin
and fly for fresher air.

Thursday, May 16

Prompt Tuesday-Image Four, Pensador Louco


Pensador Louco

7:34 AM

Mark watched the stains in the carpet grow bigger and bigger.

Like a meditation moment, just seeing the spots get bigger and bigger. Except that, for a good meditation, the ambient should be quiet and calm. Silent. But Deborah’s screams simply wouldn’t cease so easily.

So Mark picked up a tool.

He lifted it. He lowered it. Again. Again. Tireless waving with the tool. His silhouette through the windows casted the shadow of a painter. Up and down, his arm went. Up and down. The utensil in the shadow looked like a brush, drops of the ink kept spoiling the carpet. Red drops and stains from a deep red portrait.

Mark couldn’t make any sense of what Deborah said. No problem. In the end, it didn’t matter a bit.  It was their wedding, a special date. Nothing would ever ruin that beautiful moment.

In. out. The blade did a fantastic job, guided by Mark’s hand. All of that life leaking from her body and not a single visible wound. It’d be a shame to ruin her. So lovely. Bright white and dark red in a wedding dress he bought her when he promised he’d never leave.

He never did.

A minute or so later, Deborah stopped screaming and sat still. Gorgeous. Mark fixed the tie in his tuxedo and sat next to her for the happy photo. Click. Flash. Done.

Mark was so pleased, he stood up. Almost jumping.

Waiting for Deborah’s body to start moving again.

It did.

Then he put a gun to his own chest. Click. Flash. Done. And after a minute he was raising too.

He felt brand new. Took his wife by the hand.

And together they went for the little wedding cake, the one who was chained in the nearby room.

So juicy. So good. So like a fairy tale.

Happily ever after.

Wednesday, May 15

Prompt Tuesday-Image Four, Bekkie Sanchez


Bekkie Sanchez Show Offs

An End To It

Hearing voices in my head
Lying naked on my bed
Soaked in sweat & racked with pain
Will it ever end?

Twisting turning inside out
Full of fear & filled with doubt
Goose-bumped skin & crawling flesh
Will it ever end?

Death is coming round the bend
Sickness is my only friend
Trapped inside with no way out
Will it ever end?

Wiping spittle off my lips
I won't take much more of this
Take the knife & plunge it in 
Will it ever end?

Blood is spreading everywhere
I feel no more, I do not care
The demon's gone but so am I
Finally an end.

Prompt Tuesday-Image Four, françoise MICHEL


françoise MICHEL

8:29 AM Event Entries

"Mirage de l'âge"

Quelle est cette femme qui me regarde ?
Ce corps sans forme qui me rend hagarde.
Ces rides profondes aux coins des yeux,
Qui les font paraitre beaucoup plus vieux.

Malgré la couteuse chirurgie esthétique,
L'agile bistouri, qui devait m'être bénéfique :
Je survis entre stupeur et malédiction,
Quand je désire  bonheur et  rédemption.

Serais-je déjà parvenue au terme
Des possibilités de mon épiderme ?

Et pourquoi pas tirer sur mes pommettes
Cela me donne une apparence plus jeunette.
c'est ainsi que je t'aime mon beau miroir
Lorsque tu me permets de mieux y voir...

English Version:

"Mirage of age"

What is this woman who is watching me? This body without form that makes me Haggard. These deep wrinkles at the corners of the eyes, which make them seem much older. Despite the costly cosmetic surgery, the agile scalpel, which would be beneficial to me: I survive between stupor and curse, when I desire happiness and redemption. I already reached at the end of the possibilities of my skin? And why not pull on my cheekbones that gives me more teen look. that is how I love you my beautiful mirror when you would like to see is better...

I would like to add it’s not easy to write in a language that one doesn’t speak. Therefore when reading this the original language will express this person the best. ♦Website’s owner.

Sunday, May 12

No-Prompt Thursday-One, Bekkie Sanchez

Bekkie Sanchez

11:36 AM Entries For Events

A Daughter’s Love

I think of you most everyday
And really wanted this to say
Thank you mom for having me
On that wonderful Tuesday.

So on this day I'm hoping that
Your Mother's Day is bright,
And filled with many memories
To fill you with delight.

Today I send my kisses
My love and hugs galore
Enjoy this mother's special day
That's what a daughter's love is for.

Saturday, May 11

No-Prompt Thursday-One, françoise MICHEL

françoise MICHEL

11:19 AM Entries For Events

Et si la fin était le début.......

Un trompe l'oeil somptueux et gigantesque
La nature, elle même, en est constituée
A l'image de l'iceberg titanesque
Dont l'immensité est immergée.

Un pan important de notre longue vie
Ne servirait-il qu'à nous mettre en appétit ?
Une approche de plusieurs dizaines d'années
Avant d'oser, seulement,aborder le vif du sujet.

Que savons nous du moment présent ?
Nous nous pensons infiniment grands
Et nous ne vivons que le ridiculement petit
Notre regard n'absorbant d'un tout qu'une partie.

Mais non, je suis en train de rêver
Il s'agit simplement d'un superbe gif
Entre mon imagination et la réalité
Mon esprit demeure interrogatif....

English Version:

And if the end was the beginning .......

A trompe l'lavish and gigantic eye
Nature, itself, is made
A picture of the titanic iceberg
Whose vastness is submerged.

An important part of our long life
It would only serve to whet our appetites?
Approach decades
Before daring, only address the heart of the matter.

What do we know of the present moment?
We believe infinitely large
And we live the ridiculously small
Our eyes are absorbing a part of a whole.

But no, I'm dreaming
It is simply a wonderful gif
Between my imagination and reality
My mind is still questioning .…

I would like to add it’s not easy to write in a language that one doesn’t speak. Therefore when reading this the original language will express this person the best. ♦Website’s owner.

No-Prompt Thursday-One, Letitia Minnick

Letitia Minnick

4:43 AM 

Community Show Offs (Entries For Events)

Sound Check

In the excitement of
the early morning hour,
a bloated silence seems
about to burst--
its thin membrane drawn
tight across the brim.

Waiting for the perfect prompt,
the pencil perches
on the page and with
the slightest inspired breath,
the instrument
begins its serenade.

Thursday, May 9

Prompt Tuesday-Image Three, Letitia Minnick


Letitia Minnick

6:20 PM Entries For Events

Le troisième cavalie

The black horse trudges every track,
a cloud of dust raised
from each plodding hoof
on would-be well tended land.

Its rider, with weighing scales clanking,
whispers darkness on the wind--
encouraging the corporate farmers
to let growing fields lay fallow
and alter grain for yield
regardless of nutrition.

His skinless grin
and empty sockets survey
the line of women walking,
suffering harassment,
forever risking rape,
to collect contaminated
water for their families.

A human right means nothing
to a servant of apocalyptic greed.