In a Shimmering Moment

Posted on January 23, 2022 by Raivenne

His placid face in no way shows the nervousness he feels. He has been here before. The expansive thrill is none the less valid for it.

Still, he keeps his tremulous sigh within as cameras focus on him and a few others.

In a shimmering moment of triumph that cannot be undone, several hearts quiver in anticipation of the reveal.

The tension mounts as the presenter’s fingers reach for and break the seal. Its cracking so loud it seems to filter away all other sound except for one voice…

“And the Academy Award goes to…”

Photo of an Academy Award "Oscar" statue

The Sunday Whirl | Wordle 537

Wordle 537: undone, cracking, triumph, expansive, reach, quiver, shimmering, filter, way, reveal, sigh, moment. Use the words in a short story or poem — undone, cracking, triumph, expansive, reach, quiver, shimmering, filter, way, reveal, sigh, moment
Use the words in a short story or poem

The Sunday Whirl: Wordle-535 – See?

Posted on January 12, 2022 by Raivenne

It started with an annoyed sigh. A moment of here we go again(!) that will lead into being fraught with worry. He’s already had a glimpse of this frustration with others in his family and knew the shape of things to come.

It could not be avoided, still he chaffed against it.

He first discovered it might be an issue when he could barely discern the gap that differentiated the characters he knows should be there. A gap he knows was there before today. His breath caught in the shift of self-awareness he was not happy about.

It wasn’t time for that yet. It couldn’t be.

Despite the low hanging lights, the bright lighting itself was not enough for him to read the tiny print on the restaurant menu thrust in front of him.

He glared at his girlfriend’s amused smirk as she offered the pair she wore.

Try as he might, he could not avoid the truth anymore. Vanity be damned, he needed glasses.

woman handing man reading glasses in fancy restaurant — I googled eyeglasses restaurant. You have NO idea how stoked I was to find this perfect image!

The Sunday Whirl: Wordle – 535

sigh, glimpse, fraught, shape, shift, gap, low, might, moment, lead, thrust, breath

In A Frenzy

Posted on November 24, 2021 by Raivenne

From a distance I watched the koi in the man-made pond. Seemingly heedless to the world around them, they swim peacefully, their tranquil moves a narcotic in these hectic times. I step a little closer watching. They continue to swim in ever lazy circles. It is a game we play. Well, a game I play. I am never sure if they are in on it or not. I play the game, nonetheless.

The game? How close can I get before they notice me?

There are concentric circles around the pond that mark my progress. So far, I have made it as far the third circle before I am spotted. I am at that line now, trying to get to the second, knowing it will take divine intervention to reach the first line.

Slowly creeping upon the pond, I take my time.

For a moment there is a single erratic movement and I think the jig is up. I still and after a moment the idle swimming continues. I am almost there.

I advance barely, barely lifting my foot from the ground, and slide it ever so slowly forward. All I have to do now is…

DAMN ! I’ve been spotted.

In a blink the formerly calm water is a frenzy of movement. Mouths agape, they all rush forward in a circle synchronized swimmers might envy.

Defeated once again, I take out the bag of food n my packet and feed the koi.

I’ll get past that second circle tomorrow.

Written for:

Cryanny’s Cove, Narcotic – Word of the Day Challenge

Use the word of the day in a poem or short story.

Cyranny’s Cove, November 24th #1MinFiction Challenge

What’s the #1MinFiction” Challenge?

Each week Cyranny provides a prompt to inspire one to write a very short story. The idea being to type the whole story in a minute or less. Of course, you can think about it before hitting the keyboard, and you can take all your time to edit it afterwards…

This week’s prompt is the photo above.

The Beginning of the End

Posted on November 19, 2021 by Raivenne

Cyranny's Cove photo of a the booted feet of a person standing in wet autumn leaves on the ground.

For most people in the United States, Fall unofficially begins the Tuesday after Labor Day.

But not for Bree.

For her autumn truly began in mid-November nearly two
months after its official start.

By mid-November, the many trees that line her street reach their peak orange,
red and yellow colors. And each year, a week or two before Thanksgiving without
fail, it happens: the last hurrah of the hurricane season. While usually not
worthy enough to be graced with a name, it is a storm strong enough that the colorful
jewels of the trees are mercilessly flung to the ground.

Bree will step out onto her yard where seemingly overnight it is littered
near slick with the torn wet remnants of color that once graced the trees. She’ll
look upon the many gnarled branches left clawing at the shortening hours of
gray daylight. Then, and only then, does she feel it is autumn at last.

Written for Cyranny’s Cove, November 17th #1MinFiction Challenge

What’s the ”One Minute Fiction” challenge about?

This week’s prompt is the photo above.

Was It Worth It?

Posted on October 11, 2021 by Raivenne

The prince sighed at the tragic tableau before him.

Two mothers sobbed against their husbands whose own tears fell in silent grief. All bemoaned their part played in what has come to pass. The two men glanced at one another, but neither could sustain the visual contact. Their hate too old. Their pain too fresh.

“What are the roots that clutch, what branches grow out of this stony rubbish?” he looked to each of the four red rimmed eyes, but none could return his stare.

“It could have begun here. Grown into something beautiful had you let it. Instead, it ends with them and with you, now the last of your line.”

“Was it worth it?” He spread his arms to the ones before him, but each knew the gesture encompassed several others no longer there to speak. “Capulet. Montague. Go bury your children.”

dVerse Poets Pub | Prosery: The Waste Land

At dVerse Mish tends bar and welcomes us to another round of Prosery where we are asked to write a very short piece of prose that tells a story, with a beginning, a middle and an end, in any genre of our choice.

Since it is a kind of Flash Fiction, there is a limit of 144 words. It must include a complete line from a poem in the story, within the word limit.

Punctuation can be changed, but it is not allowed to subtract or insert words in between parts of the original quotation.

Today quote is from T.S. Eliiott’s The Wasteland “What are the roots that clutch, what branches grow out of this stony rubbish?”

In my mind Romeo and Juliet are the branches that would have grown from the stony rubbish of their families’ hate had it been allowed to take root.

The Final Bullet

Posted on July 16, 2021 by Raivenne

“I summon you, the beasts of war!”

One soldier suddenly screamed into the darkening lazuline skies nearly obscured by smoke and flame surrounding them as they huddled in a found trench.

The tokens that had moved around maps in the plotting and paper rehearsal of their campaign in the sterility of the general’s compound, had not lived up to its gritty reality. If 100 things could have gone wrong, it seemed that 90 of them had. Watson again pushed away the mental reminder that this mission would be his final bullets for a while; he would be on leave in a few days. Having been back-turned twice, this mission was one for the Fail column. Those thoughts did him no good now when the few of them left were simply trying to survive long enough to report this failure of a mission.

“Janssen! What the bloody hell are you doing? Shut it!” Another soldier, Corporal Murray, hissed.

With his rifle raised overhead to the sky in defiant punctuation, Lieutenant Janssen continued his rant.

“Come! Cast your shadows upon my flesh. You think me afraid? Come then! Come find a gallant feast of fear in which to dine and learn that Janssen is a poor man’s buffet indeed for I am not ear-marked to be such food stuffs!”

Captain Watson’s head spun from Janssen’s outcry, to Lieutenant Rupali, a meter on his opposite side in a clear do you hear this? expression before they ducked from a spray of stone and debris from another blast close to where they were. Blasts that were getting closer and closer as the enemy closed in.

Captain Watson wished he were surprised. He had always felt there was something off with Janssen but had kept it to himself. The man was a decent soldier, if high strung. When Janssen, what they at the time had thought was jokingly, fancied himself a modern-day Shakespearean tragedy in the making and started to sprinkle Elizabethan speech into his words, Watson knew he was no longer the only one who had begun to worry as signs of that off-ness increased. It explained Janssen’s language as the mission and his mind started unraveling.

They have been on the run for three days straight as they wove their way out of the gauntlet of enemy territory. At times there was no choice but to quickly fish through the belongings of the slain, picking up ammunition and whatever supplies from the fallen who no longer needed them. Leave no man behind, an abandoned concept in their desperation for survival. Watson felt the weight from the collected dog tags of those he could get to that he carried in his med pack.

He knew they were so close to being saved. Their last radio communique before it was shot out had them no more than a couple of kilometers from the rescue approaching on the other side. The last thing they needed was attention drawn to themselves. It was clear Lieutenant Janssen had not got that message as another grenade blast went off far too close to them. Watson knew the next one would strike true. They had to abandon their position.

“Come you spilled seed! A worthiness for only the lead of my bullets to eat!”

There was no ambiguity about it, Janssen had gone mad; the screaming man rising to his feet now put them all at risk.

“Jesus Christ! He’s going to get us killed!” Rupali swung his rifle around, his intention clear.

It was Rupali’s outcry that made Janssen turn and lock eyes with his fellow lieutenant. Watson and Rupali knew then that any chance at communion with Janssen was gone a moment before he turned and started screaming at a run when he was brought down.

“No!” Watson yelled as he scrambled out of the trench, the doctor already swinging his med pack around for use.

Some part of him registered the increased firepower as his people began to engage the enemy to give him a chance. He ignored it as he made his way to Janssen.

He dropped to his knees, his mind already in medic mode as he began to triage. It took a moment before it registered that he was too far from his patient. It was another moment before the agonizing pain that caused him to drop his med pack from the bullet that tore through him made itself known.

But Watson knew it was bad. Very bad.

He did not notice that their rescue had finally arrived; his thoughts as he slipped into unconsciousness: Please, God, let me live. Don’t let this be the final bullet.

The Sunday Whirl | Wordle 509
Language, Eat, Fish, Flame, Feast, Saved, Risk, Unraveling, Spray, Shadow, Stone, Off

Mindlovemisery’s Menagerie | Wordle #249
Gallant, Ear-Marked, Sterility, Fail, Stone, Plotting, Rehearsal, Punctuation, Ambiguity, 100, Back-Turned, Communion

Mindlovemisery’s Menagerie |First Line Friday: July 16, 2021
“I summon you, the beasts of war!”

A Cuppa Can’t Fix Everything

Posted on May 21, 2021 by Raivenne

A perfectly brewed cup of tea can’t fix everything.

Words oft said by his French grandmother flittered through his mind.

Though it is surprising what a good cuppa in good china can help get you through.

Though normally a coffee drinker, sometimes grand-mere’s advice had its merits. The aroma of the brew wafted from the bone porcelain cup he delicately held. The translucent teacup was over a century old. It had once been part of a set of twelve. Now only five complete sets, by some miracle the teapot itself and the single cup sans saucer he used now remained.

It was soothing.

But not soothing enough.

Nearly eight years: seven years, nine months and sixteen days to be exact.

He looked at the packet of papers before him once again.

All the appropriate boxes were checked, statements filled out and signed, copies made and the original certificate and cheque made payable to ‘HM Courts and Tribunals Service’ attached.

Such a cold black and white ending to something that began so red hot nearly a decade ago.

Form D8: Application for a divorce, dissolution or to apply for a (judicial) separation order

Form D80A: Statement in support of an application for divorce or (judicial) separation on the ground of adultery

Then wait for response.

Then Form D84: Apply to court for a decree nisi, conditional order or (judicial) separation decree or order

Then wait some more.

And then finally, FINALLY Form D36: Ask the court to make a decree nisi absolute, or a conditional order final

It was going to be at least another three months before all was said and done.

He just wanted it DONE!

The inherited tea set became the lesser by one unmatched teacup as it went airborne and crashed into the wall.

He cursed as he realized what he did and cleaned it up. Another thing the marriage had ruined.

The tea had been soothing, but not anymore.

He gathered what he needed, grabbed the packet and headed to the nearest divorce center.

He heeded another piece of advice and called a friend to meet at a pub later:

And when good tea in good china no longer helps, it usually means you need something stronger. Because sometimes a perfectly brewed cup of tea can’t fix everything.

First Line Friday: May 21, 2021

Dylan gives the opening line and challenges you to create whatever comes afterward. Length, genre, and structure are completely up to you. Feel free to modify the line as you see fit, adding punctuation, quotes, or other bits if so desired. No need to tie it to the picture, unless you want to.

Or for more of a challenge, change nothing.

The line for this week is: A perfectly brewed cup of tea can’t fix everything.

The Beginning of The End

Posted on May 12, 2021 by Raivenne

She sat among her own.

Around her were other historians of the old, the ancient, in spoken word alone. Some old, some young, all in awe of the hoarfrost woman, the eldest of the griots.

Eyes of stone that easily flashed in compliments or condemnations, were a study in consternation as she gazed among those gathered. Especially the young who dared challenge their way.

“Only mouths are we who sings the distant heart which safely exists in the center of all things!”

Bent and cane dependent, she moved boldly nonetheless to the youngest among them and held out a gnarled, aged hand. He had tried to hide the offending item he carried, but as always, she knew.

He handed her the scroll. Their history on vellum.

He saw it as the beginning.

She knew it for what it was: the beginning…

…of their end.

dVerse Poets Pub | Prosery: Here’s the thing about existing

At dVerse Sanaa tends bar and welcomes us to another round of Prosery where we are asked to write a very short piece of prose that tells a story, with a beginning, a middle and an end, in any genre of our choice.

Since it is a kind of Flash Fiction, there is a limit of 144 words. It must include a complete line from a poem in the story, within the word limit.

Punctuation can be changed, but it is not allowed to subract or insert words in between parts of the original quotation.

This week’s quote:

“Only mouths are we. Who sings the distant heart which safely exists in the center of all things?” – from Rainer Maria Rilke, “Heartbeat.”

Microwave

Posted on March 12, 2018 by Raivenne

Shawn stood at the stove, fry pan in hand as warmed-up yet another of James’ impromptu dinners. The man had a gift for taking leftovers and whatever else he could find and conjure up deliciousness. It was the only way to get a decent meal in Shawn sometimes. He let work keep him up all manners of hours and a proper meal oft fell by the wayside in the process. James made sure he ate.

After three other roommates had come and gone in a two year span. James signed on. They gave each other a million reason to walk away from being roommates. Yet in a short few weeks of living together there had been a marked difference in the daily routine of the place. Holly claimed it was like the apartment had a cold draft that someone finally sealed and the place was warm again. Shawn knew the draft was him and the warmth was James. He was always the mar, the blemish, the thing wrong in the equation. Until James that is, who arrived with his own issues. His temper being the worst.

Normally Shawn would use the microwave, but he had conducted a food experiment that had not gone quite as expected. James understandably had refused to clean it this time as he had all the other times, but the man was a hard-wired germaphobe. Shawn would often just wait it out knowing James would cave in and do it. Still, every now and then the man would raise a brow and get a stubborn streak. And it would be like sand in his shoe he couldn’t seem to shake out until it was resolved. This was three days later – that was a record. Shawn knew he really was going to have to do something about it. He couldn’t stand it if James employed the silent treatment again.

Over a year ago, the first and last time Shawn made a huge mess and didn’t clean, James absolutely did not speak to him. Being petty, after a week, Shawn had moved the sofa to block the front door, delaying him when he knew James was running late. Shawn sat at the desk on his, earphones on, acting engrossed on his laptop. He looked up just in time to see James eyes turned stormy as he glared at Shawn. He still said nothing as he lifted the couch, flipped it over where it landed on the side table smashing it and went on his way leaving the door wide open. Holly, their landlady heard the crash and came running upstairs, passing a furious James along the way. She walked up to him and smacked on the back of his head so hard he saw stars ordering him to fix it. He knew she did not mean the table. Shawn was not in the least surprised when the cost of the table was charged to his share of the rent. By then he had cleaned the apartment, apologized. He almost cried in relief when James very efficiently and justifiably proceeded to curse him out.

Somehow they made the worse seem better in each other. Now at nearly two years together it was so much improved. James made him do better. No James made him want to do better. Shawn knew James learned to better manage his temper from dealing with him. They balanced each other.

Shawn sighed looking back at the microwave with guilt. He turned off the stove and got the cleaning supplies.

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Mindlovemisery’s Menagerie | Music Challenge #24: “Million Reasons” by Lady Gaga

The Sunday Whirl – Wordle #342
Mar, Draft, Stormy, Sand, Charge, Silence, Fry, Star, Wired, Manner, Gift, Guilt

Anamoly

Posted on March 4, 2018 by Raivenne

He and his brother stepped up on the lower bar and leaned on the top, looking down on the scene. His piercing glacier eyes with a dark auburn brow arched watched the new haul being brought in. While his enigmatic sibling had less of a care, other than that the beasts did not disturb his dealings, he was always intrigued by them. Especially the arrivals from a few days before. No, that was not accurate, he was intrigued especially in him.

The pens were always a cacophony of sound, but not from that one, he hardly vocalized. The other beasts were either snarling in the fury of their capture, or whining piteously as they licked their wounds from lessons in the folly of touching the wired netting. Dark haired, dark eyed and small in stature, he still thought to hold a certain menace. A thought proven accurate when the small beast had magically produced a hidden blade to slice the face of the huge blond beast that made the mistake of trying to dominate. The fight was efficient and over quick. It was going to have a permanent scar, which devalued the property, but ensured that he, and the huge blond he seemed to have made a partnership with since then, were left alone. It set him apart.

He saw how the others behaved around him. How they seemed to defer to him, gave him the choicest parts of their food, which he barely consumed other than an odd penchant for apples. If he was not the alpha of the pack, he was definitely not afraid to be the lone wolf. His mind seemed more focused, compared to most of the other beasts, his attention …sharp? Can such beasts have a sharp mind? He inwardly laughed at the folly of such a thought as he and his brother returned to the main building.

The beast was an anomaly. He did not like anomalies, they bred trouble.

Still…

His brother sat in the chair by the hearth, as always. Feet up on the trunk, his younger sibling sat with all arms crossed. He brought the hands of the uppers together before his face, as that multi-faceted verdigris gaze swept over him. One amused brow rose a moment later. He saw. He knew. He did not bother to acknowledge the protests as he got up and went to the intercom.

“Tranquilize the small dark one and bring him secured to my brother’s office. If the huge blond beast tries to protect him, he’s already damaged goods, put him down. And oh, you saw what happened to the last one who didn’t search properly – don’t make my brother repeat that censure. So, if you could be so kind as to check the small beast thoroughly this time? We already see how resourceful this one is for a human.”

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The Sunday Whirl |Wordle 341
Haul, Mind, Snarling, Sharp, Arms, Hearth, Apart, Small, Saw, Scar, Bar, Trunk

Use at least ten of the words in a story or poem.

Raivenne-lations

Doing what you like is freedom; liking what you do is happiness.

Category Archives: flash fiction