Each moment is a certain truth whose definition is free of the apocryphal elements of everyday business, where efficacy for masks prevails. Masks are for strong hands and weak souls and I’ve no use for that now.
My lungs weep silently, with the patina in my eyes its only evidence. Old photographs visit my diminished brain, dressing it with scenes that flutter and perish like June bugs in summer. Mortality becomes leaven as the chill in my bones becomes more ambitious and the silhouettes of the living give way to the company of spirits.
The dark is my last breath.
A big thank you very much goes out to Tara Roberts at Thin Spiral Notebook. Her 100 word prompts have become a favorite writers task of mine and I am much obliged to the multi-talented task mistress for her rhymes and reasons. Go check out her blog, it’s wonderful.
“The end is simply another beginning waiting to happen,” She whispered.
“Spare me the tired rock song,” I said.
Her laughter, it was like trying to capture the wind in your hands. She had Audrey Hepburn in the curious tilt of her head and Carole King rummaging storms in that sultry voice. A feline declaration owned the curl in her wicked smile.
“Our story . . is over,”
Her body went dark. Her wings, no longer inviolable, fell to the ground like a weathered steeple. The moments wept as if a priceless work of art in a city full of thieves.
The following short story was inspired by a prompt doled out by the lovely Tara Roberts at Thin Spiral Notebook. The prompt word was Story, and Tara’s rules were fun and simple. Use or infer the word in a 100 word story. Exactly 100 words. Admittedly, I am not the most adept social networker (mild understatement), but I did it once before and nobody got hurt. AND, it happened to be a ton of fun. So thank you Tara!