She wore a red dress

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She wore a red dress, mischevious and playful.

She wore a red dress, looking dangerously insane.

She wore a red dress, completely enamoring all the men.

She wore a red dress, making her look so serene and strict.

She wore a red dress, one that spoke of unspeakable horrors.

She wore a red dress, looking so innocent and lovely in that dress.

She wore a red dress, something about her so inherently scary.

She wore a red dress, hiding knives in unimaginable places.

She wore a red dress, like the devil with the score to settle.

She wore a red dress, her twists and folds never ending.

She wore a red dress, elegant and utterly charming.

 

She wore a red dress, and as her enemies’ blood splattered upon her, it seemed to get even redder.


Written for the prompt, She wore a red dress, part of July Writing Prompts by the lovely M. Photo by Samuel Zeller on Unsplash

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She was magic

She was magic,

all spells and love.

But if provoked,

all curses and thereof.

 

She was beauty,

the prettiest flower.

Gentle and caring,

every day, every hour.

 

She was love,

pure and caring.

But still angry,

when he had it coming.

 

She was the world,

to him and perhaps more.

So drawn was he,

that he forgot she had flaws.

 

She was normal,

except to his twisted views.

She loved him,

so tried to break through.

 

She was determined,

to help him any way she could.

Multiple arguments,

that lead up to nothing good.

 

She was gone,

no one to blame but him.

His life shattered,

everything inside him dim.

 

He was alone,

everything his making.

A love pure,

yet absolutely wrecking.

 

She was an idea,

perfection in a nutshell.

But reality is rarely

covered in pastel.

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Everybody has flaws, no one is perfect and to see them as such is not doing them any justice.

A response to She was magic, part of July Photo Prompt, hosted by the lovely M.

 

The Gentle Wave #writephoto

Gazing at the deep blue,

Marveling at its wonder.

All the highs and lows,

Making her ponder.

 

Memories flashing in front

Of her deep blue eyes.

Thinking about beginnings,

And sad goodbyes.

 

Waves washing into the shore,

Gently yet so full of force.

Washing away her teary eyes,

Yet her voice still is hoarse.

 

Waves marking their place,

Yet repeating it again.

Drying her eyes of tears,

Gently ceasing the pain.

 

After hours on the rock,

She got up to leave.

Her heart no longer weeping,

She no longer meek.


Written as a response to Thursday Photo Prompt- Wave #writephoto, hosted by Sue at Sue Vincent’s Daily Echo.

 

Serenity

She sighed as she took another sip of her drink her eyes ever so often traveling towards the sun-soaked beach. Giving herself a mental shake, she sighed again. Her eyes drifted towards the decorated clock on the wall. He should’ve been here minutes ago, he’d pay for that, oh he would.

She drifted away again, turning those thoughts away from her mind. Lost in her refreshing drink, she began to imagine all sorts of wonderful things, her eyes traveling outside every once a while.

So lost she was into her own world that she did not see, nor hear a man approaching her.

“Um, miss…” She turned her head towards the relatively overweight man, slowly, purposefully and gave him a once over. He face was strained, his body shaking, and he was sweating, a lot.

She smiled as she gestured over him to sit down. “Well, Mr. Smith, I’m glad you finally showed up.”

His excuses did not interest her. She sat her glass down, a predatory smile on her face. He shivered as she spoke. “We shall talk about your tardiness later. Now, let’s get down to business…”

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Word Count: 189

Written as a response to Sunday Photo Prompt, hosted by the lovely Susan. To read other stories from the same prompt, click here.

Beginnings #writephoto

Underneath the magnificent canopy,

the wind blowing ever so softly,

skies painted ever so beautifully,

sun dying ever so warmly.

 

She sat, gazing at the beauty around,

content with everything here.

Entranced by nature’s splendor,

shoulders light and bright.

 

Past troubles and tensions forgotten,

stress leaving her body.

No more dwelling for future anxieties,

what-ifs or could-have-beens.

 

As darkness grew throughout,

she got up, ready to leave.

To not return to this wonderland,

until she’d bested herself.

 

A new place, a new beginning,

no expectations thrust upon.

She’d build herself from the ground,

and return here once more.

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Written as a response to Thursday Photo Prompt- Beginning #writephoto, hosted by the lovely Sue over on Sue Vincent’s Daily Echo.

Choice

tltweek124

One door leads to paradise, the other to the netherworld. Fiery realms of hell, and eternal peace of heaven. Choose your path clearly, but remember you grow only when you’re faced with difficulty, only when you’re rooted.


Written as a response to Three Line Tales, Week 124. Photo by Luis Alfonso Orellana via Unsplash.

Splash

Em was bored. Her parents were off doing boring adult stuff and she was stuck watching her brother. She glared at the little kid, who in turn bared his teeth. Remembering the countless bites she’d experienced, she looked away.

There were other children nearby, in a similar predicament as theirs. But one look was enough to turn Em away from them. She wasn’t nearly as girlish to join the other girls, who seemed busy checking for lice or attempting elegant hairdos, nor was she interested in the snot-nosed brats.

One glance away was all it took. A sudden splash was heard and to her panic, her brother had decided that swimming in the fountain was a good idea.

She rushed forward, grabbing her brother by his arms tightly and instructing the other kids to call the parents. She grabbed and did not let go. She held, panicked until their parents arrived.

Many teary apologies and panics later, they got him out. And all that remained about this incident was an embarrassing story to tell.

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Word Count: 174

Written as a response to Flash fiction for aspiring writers prompt 169, hosted by Priceless Joy, photo copyright wildverbs. To read other stories inspired by this prompt click here.

Blast

Em stood with a smile, her body gently swaying to the beat. All around her, people were smiling, happy, enjoying the music to the fullest. She was too, the music was great, the people were trippy, and more importantly, her target was too.

Maneuvering the crowd to get closer to him was a struggle. But she was no slacker, she would get the job done, and she’d do it with a smile.

When adequately close, Em did a once-over of her target. He was sufficiently drunk, not enough to have lost coherency, but enough to make it easy for her. Looking around, and after determining the crowd’s inefficiency, she got to work.

Loud music and even louder crowds turned out in her advantage. She just walked up to him, pretended to care for her ‘boyfriend’ when he looked like he was about to pass out. After that, getting him away from the crowd was albeit hard, but she persevered.

She made her way out, grinning like a maniac. It’d be a while until the cops found his body.

She’d have a blast. After all, she was doing no wrong, just righting an injustice.

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Word Count: 193

Written as a response to Flash Fiction for the Purposeful Practitioner, hosted by Rodger. To read other stories of this prompt, click here.

Flamingo

Stephanie glared at the plastic flamingos outside the mall in disdain. They looked so awkward. She glanced at her watch again, sighing deeply. He should have arrived already. The gall of him, making her come here and arriving late himself. The flamingoes obviously got the brunt of her anger.

She smiled as the music began. Her favorite song, no their favorite song was playing. The memories started to flood her mind. Looking around, she smiled even more fondly. This place had held so many moments for her.

So entranced was she at the song and the past along with that she did not even notice him walking towards her. When she did, she took a double take. He was wearing a suit and looking ruggedly handsome at that too.

He slowly walked towards her, with that coy smile adorning his face. When sufficiently close, he dropped down to his knees, and to her utter amazement and shock proffered a ring towards her.

“Steph I…”

“Yes, Yes. A thousand times yes.” She shouted, not letting him get any words out. ‘

One full hour and many professions of love later, they exited the mall. Suddenly the flamingos did not look half bad.

Word Count: 200

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Written as a response to Sunday Photo Fiction, hosted by Susan. To read other answers to this prompt click here.

 

The broken remains #writephoto

Em moved her eyes around the bare room, her face impassive, her hands clenched tightly. Barest flicker of anger flashed on her face as she spotted the exotic feather on the floor. She picked up the offending item from the floor, fury radiating from her stone cold face.

Everything was so different now, she remarked to herself. Everything was gone and in its place lay the vast emptiness that surrounded her day and night. Reminiscing about the past brought a whole fresh wave upon her. Outwardly, her face remained so still, a mask of indifference, but inside was a whole different story. Raging walls of anger along with a steady stream of thoughts, both violent and loathing.

The echoes of footsteps around her startled her, snapping her out of the rage-filled reverie. In this vast emptiness, it was hard to determine the location and direction of the sound but she’d guessed right. As she gazed into the form of her lifelong friend, the last remnants of the anger left her but the desperation and hurt still remained.

Seeing the all too familiar shudder pass through her friend’s body, Row hastened forward, enveloping Em into an embrace. She held her as her body shook with fury and hurt. She held on tight as the tears started falling along with a cascade of insults. She held on tight as Em sank to the ground, taking her alongside, not letting her go even for a second, holding her tight. She held on, for herself and for Em.

The two women sat like that in the empty house for a long time. Without words, without any exchange, they consoled each other. Being there for the other when they needed the most, combating the emptiness inside and outside with slow warmth and lasting love. And when they got up, their minds were clear, and their hearts even more so. There was only one thing on their minds, there was only one thing left to do, revenge.

The small blue feather, now downtrodden and messy, floated slowly and wistfully as the footsteps echoed in the empty house once again, dimming with each passing second, slowly ceasing into nothingness.

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Yet another action-packed, filled with emotions and little to no dialogue, narrative-esque short. Feels like I’m doing a lot of those recently…

Written as a response to Thursday Photo Prompt- Remains #writephoto, hosted by the lovely Sue.