I blew my whistle in pace, ensuring that I gave each of them their due respect as their shadows hit the wall. It started with seven, the faithful and supportive, there for all the falls. Running head high she carved the way for the reliable six. Staying behind to help the rest, six always giving me the nod of head to chest.
In their usual cluster came bursting five, four and three, a wind of charm and zealous wrapped in joyful curiosity. Great for the sprint, but unable to carry the long cross, I smile at their inevitable chaos. A smile because it is shortly preceded by the calm peace of two. Two so sweet, running on love it always seemed that clouds carried her feet.
This is how I run the numbers, each day in practice, me with the whistle and they providing the intrinsic countdown to the one.
Inspired by the prompt ‘run the numbers’ at typetrigger.com
There I stood with the bold black future. Set squarely in times font, standing off the stark backdrop of creamy white ocean. The menagerie of angles began to rise off their structured lines, taking a journey into the rays of light guiding their way toward my eyes. The message danced, twirling me with its delicate affirmation of my soul. The moment inspired deep within, pacing the exchange, I expired the message back into bottled time. Each corner of my lips raised, an instant moment of grateful praise as I read again the words…”you’ve been published.”
Inspired by prompt ‘been published’ at typetrigger.com
It was the last thing I added back to my mask. Dressing quickly to turn out my wings and fly head on into another bad choice, daunted by collapsed will. It always struck me how much I hated what I loved just an hour ago. I felt extinguished, two wet fingers had pinched my wick and I only smoldered a last bit of smoke, perhaps the final signal of my desire. Stiff blue jacket now in place, I discretely folded the brass buckle into my leather green belt covering all the shame I had let loose in my plunge. The last of the exchange complete I gave her a tip for the next visit and walked heavily home from the 24 hour diner.
inspired by the prompt ‘green belt’ at typetrigger.com
I combed my fingers through curly strands of auburn hair, twisting thoughts into queues for what next to say. Where was the last sentence, did I leave it in the corner again or perhaps its resting on top of my head with my glasses. Tighter and tighter the twist becomes, pulling from each follicle strands of words tied with knotted verbs and bowed adjectives, until finally the spitted paragraph marks the page.
inspired by the prompt ‘comed’ at typetrigger.com
In the dark, the crescendo of our breath turning the air into an oven.
Drops of sweat making puddles for our souls to splash in.
Telling a story of ghosts and skeletons, inspired in each expiration.
inspired by the prompt ‘in the dark’ at typetrigger.com
Standing before me was the paper image of my character. A skilled impostor, she reflected my curves down to the finest detail, yet stood prehensible to my orders. So I took a swallow of the finest grain and with a click of the Bic, I blew her a kiss. As the stream of flames met from her to I, we stood for the final time eye to eye. In a final flash the last of the wafer thin antagonist turned to ash.
Based on prompt ‘skilled impostor’ at typetrigger.com