Silently…it dies…

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A loophole…peace…hope to gain…
A place to hide…to escape the pain?

Yes, this has happened…and that has too…
Regret…of all these things I do.

Where is this place…of which I search?
Standing…bleeding…covered in dirt,

My face ashamed…I am a disgrace.
I guess this loophole…an imagined place….?

I look…your eyes…and find it not there…
Just anger…judgment…devoid of care.

My head in my hands…I beg of your face…
Show some concern…if only a trace…

Afraid…I look…but only once more…
Your back fades…you close the door.

Wretched…alone…this heart cries…
The hope within…silently dies…

***

This poem is in response to today’s word prompt, loophole.

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The Face Behind A Broken Window

So, I continue my quest to combine two prompts, one from WordPress (WP), and the other from The Writer’s Block (WB).  The intent is to create an interesting challenge that will entertain the minds of my readers.

This is the equation of today’s combination:

 

[WP = Brilliant] + [WB = Write a story about the images on a roll of film] =

The Face Behind a Broken Window

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Photo from Grim Stitch Factory. Handmade and hand-painted by Cameron Scholes.

 

Amy’s heart beat loud against her chest, and her hands trembled as she handed the clerk a twenty dollar bill.  The clerk noticed, and looked questioningly at Amy, but said nothing during the exchange.

Mindlessly, Amy thanked the clerk, and grabbed the envelope which contained the photos developed from the roll of 35 mm film, she had submitted earlier.  Automatic doors opened, and she stepped into the howling of winter’s wind.  She was oblivious to the cold, for her mind could think of nothing but what she held within her hand.

Amy opened the door of of car, and slid into the driver’s seat.  Not willing to wait until she got home, she ripped open the envelope and begin to rifle through the photos.  There were many pictures of Sky and Rudy, and on any other day, she would have paused to gush over the images of the two loves of her life; however, today was different…

Today she searched for the face of her stalker.

Finally, she came to the photos of the old abandoned farm house and barn.  Amy, an artist at heart, had taken these with the intent of putting them to canvas.

She had been alone the day she took the pictures.  With Sky at work, and Rudy at the groomers, she had, had time to kill, so, she grabbed her camera, and drove deep into the loneliness of rural Virginia.

She had spent over half an hour snapping shots, of the abandoned structure.    Wondering what it had been like in it’s heyday,  Amy felt nostalgic, and her hand itched to hold a paintbrush.

Later that night her phone rang.  She picked it up and put it to her ear.

Amy listened to the silence from the other side of the connection.  Finally, she heard her stalker’s breath waxing and waning in an almost poetic rhythm.

Amy felt her knees buckle, and she reached for the counter to keep from falling to the floor.   Abruptly, the breathing from the other side stopped, and after a long pause a raspy voice whispered…

“…I watched you today.  Paint for me…paint for me, Amy…”  He held her name for a long while, and then the line went dead.

Now, as she sat in her car, she searched the photos of the dilapidated barn, and could find nothing out of the ordinary, until she rested her eyes on the small broken window, surrounded by planks of rotted wood.

From the window a face stared back at her.

She quickly put on her glasses, hoping for a better view, but the exposure of the photograph was too dark.  She looked at the next photo, to find it bathed with brilliant rays of sun, that had escaped the grays of the clouds overhead.

There was just enough light to capture a perfect image of the face looking at her.

The face was cloaked in burlap, and could pass for any scarecrow strung up to frighten birds of the field.  The mask was stitched with what looked like leather twine, and its cutout eyes were black.

Amy stared at the face behind the broken window, and her blood ran cold.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The “Airport Test”

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Thanks for stopping by Redhead Reflections!

I hope this day has treated you well thus far, and I send out good energies to all who read this!

Today’s word from WordPress is Forlorn, and the prompt from my book, Writer’s BlockIMG_4442 is…Opening Lines.

So, I continue my quest to combine the two prompts, with the intention of creating an interesting challenge that will be entertaining for my readers.

Writer’s Block says this about Opening Lines:

“What makes a good opening line?  It depends on the story.  Editors of suspense thrillers often hold manuscripts up to an “Airport Test”:  If you were browsing through an airport bookstore, picked up a paperback, and read the opening line, would you buy the book before boarding your flight?”

After reading this I decided it would be fun to take an opening line from one of my horror stories, and tweak it just a bit to include the WordPress word, forlorn.  

Today’s combination is the third in this series.

“Amy opened her eyes to nothing…forlorn, she tried to bring her hands to her eyes, thinking she could rub away the dark, but her hands were bound behind her back.”

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Photo from loverofdarkness.com by Don

Hopefully, this opening line passes the “Airport Test.” 

***

If you would like to read Amy’s Story visit Creepy Reflections where all of my horror stories take up their residence.   

 

Viable Danger

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My sister, my mama and me 

Today’s word prompt is viable.

So, I took the liberty of looking it up in several dictionaries, and this is what I found:

  1. Alive, capable of living, developing, or reproducing.
  2. Capable of working, functioning or developing adequately.
  3. Able to exist, perform as intended, or succeed.

After digging a little more I was able to discover its etymology.  It originated from Latin’s word vita.  In France, during the 1820’s, “vita” evolved into “vie” which meant life, and the suffix “able” was originally used in reference to newborn infants, in 1848.   If we were to compute this etymology into a mathematical equation it would look something like this:

[Latin/Vita]  +  [French/Vie=Life(1820’s)]  +  [Able=Newborn(1848)] =  Viable

Gosh, I love words!  

New words are provided daily by WordPress (WP), with the intent of getting the writer’s, imaginary juices flowing.

Sometimes they inspire me, but mostly…not so much.

514zc4z+s6L._SX258_BO1,204,203,200_Today, I had the bright idea of taking today’s  word, and combining it with a prompt from my book, The Writer’s Block.  The book is a 3×3 inch block filled with 786 ideas. (That’s a whopping 2 years and 66 days of writing material!)

My challenge is to take one prompt from the book, but only in the order it is given.  The very first prompt is:  Describe your first brush with danger.  So, if I were to compute today’s challenge into a mathematical equation it would look something like this:

 

[Viable]  +  [Describe your first brush with danger]  =  [Today’s Post]

So without further ado…today’s post:

 

Viable Danger

My first brush with danger happened early in my life.  I was only a newborn, so this story is based on my mother’s word, and it goes something like this…

I was a preemie, born a month early, and weighed barely five pounds.  In spite of this, baby Lisa, was a viable newborn, ready to take on the world.

My mom took me home to live on Wood Street, in Roanoke Rapids, North Carolina.

Wood street, at that time was a dead, end dirt road.  The locals liked to call it “washboard alley” because of all its ruts.  Also, I’ve heard it say, that the area was called “frog level,” because every evening the frogs would congregate in the nearby creek to serenade the street dwellers.

One day, my mom laid her sleepy baby (me) in the crib, and covered her with a warm blanket.  Since I seemed content enough, she left me with my father, and walked past my aunt’s house to visit my grandmother, who lived two houses down and on the left.

After a while, my dad looked in at me, and saw that I was not breathing and that I had turned an ashen color.  Frightened, he picked me up, opened the front door, and hollered, “Bessie, come quick…there’s something wrong with this baby!”  My mom and aunt came running, grabbed me, got in the car, and headed to the hospital.  My aunt drove, and my mom, who just happened to be a nurse, performed CPR on me the entire ride to the hospital.

At the hospital I was given oxygen.  The doctor said I almost died of SIDS, (Sudden Infant Death Syndrome) and then scolded my mom for laying me on my back instead of my tummy.

My mom vowed she had laid me in the crib on my tummy, and I believe her.  At that time (1960’s), it was advised to lay infants on their stomach.  Today it’s just the opposite.

That’s the story of my first brush with danger, and since it nearly killed me; I dub this post Viable Danger.

***

I’ve no clue what WP’s daily prompt will be, however,  the prompt from The Writer’s Block is:  Diet

(Hope you’ll join me for tomorrows combination!)

PS –  Thank you mom, dad, and aunt Emma for saving this girl’s life!

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