Raw Material

I scribbled the following for this week's Five-Sentence Fiction prompt, Limitless. 

Raw Material

Magazine Alley, as she thought of it, was now mid-thigh deep and bordered by heaps of clothes which, when they had been piled there, had been clean. The table beside her best chair was covered in layers of useful things: scraps of paper with notes and recipes, stalled knitting projects, forgotten cups of tea with fuzzy tea bags attached, empty yogurt containers, and bits of fabric. The house, being so full, was quiet and comforting--a perfect setting for creativity. Raw material for making art surrounded her, but she wandered, sometimes stumbling on an abandoned shoe or dog toy, trying to figure out where to begin. She sighed to herself, thinking for the millionth time, The possibilities are limitless.

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A Discussion on Bronze

The following was written for Anonymous Legacy's VisDare #30: Basking. It is 137 words, done very quickly (about 20 minutes) because I need to get to sleep. As always, please leave me comments. I enjoy reading them.

Photo Source

A Discussion on Bronze

For decades, he dreamed of having a friend who would linger with him as others bustled by.  The constant stream of passersby made him feel both gawky and invisible. One day, a man walked near. The bronze lion, having poor peripheral vision, only caught a glimpse of the slightly hunched man before this stranger began to climb up his tail. Even though the lion was quite old, the pressure of footsteps didn’t bother him a bit. In fact, he thought to himself, I might purr, if I could. As the man sat on top of his cool, flowing mane, his shoes rested lightly on the lion's proud brow. They sat in silence, but to the lion it seemed like a much-longed-for conversation. He managed a quiet rumble deep within. The man glanced in the direction of the train.

Rivulets

The following was written in response to Anonymous Legacy's Visual Dare #26. It is 124 words and took me roughly 40 minutes in five-minute bursts because of my reluctant sleeper. I hope it's coherent. I am an eager sleeper with too few opportunities.

Rivulets

Photo Source

The sunrise crept up her nose and tickled her eyelids too early in the summer. After so many mornings staring at the ceiling, she had identified a dog, a tree, a face, and a pigeon in the plaster’s rough texture. The face was old with deep ditches for wrinkles. If a person like that cried, would the tears dry up as they followed that winding valley? she wondered. Her eyes relaxed and blurred, making the images seem clearer and more detailed. She yawned deeply and closed her eyes. If she fell back asleep, sometimes she dreamed that the face was telling her about hard work and the sorrow of missing teeth. A tiny drop of water, almost imperceptible, landed just above her left eyebrow. 







I love comments. If you have a second, I'd love to know what you thought of this bit of flash fiction, whether or not you enjoy Neopolitan ice cream, or what your favorite Calypso song is.

Unblinking

Here's another response to VisDare from Anonymous Legacy. It's a simple 85 words to make up for my recent overages.

Unblinking

The last thing he remembered was his wife--upon noting his missing belt and smelling the gin and unfamiliar cologne emanating from his skin—rushing toward him roaring, “You will never be late again!”  

Photo Source

It was an odd feeling, to be awake but not blinking. His fingers found the place where his eyelids had been and where now there were two clock faces with raised lines and four little hands that clicked. Ten minutes after ten o’clock. Or was it ten minutes till two o’clock?

Another Time, Maybe

Another Visual Dare from Anonymous Legacy. This one came in at 177. That's twenty-seven words over the limit. I'm fixin' to get a flash fiction ticket! Someone take away my creative license!

...But seriously, I'm working on very little sleep (isn't that obvious?) and I just don't have the whittling skills or time this week to get it down to 150. I hope you like it anyway. Feel free to skip over 27 words.

Another Time, Maybe

photo credit

She preferred the ones with people--boys wearing short pants outside a church, men in t-shirts leaning against cars, or babies in layers of lace. This one was just an ornate room with long tables and benches under chandeliers and elaborate carvings. No people at all. On the back, "Another time, maybe" was written without ending punctuation on the left. No stamp. No postmark. A small water stain. She pressed it discreetly to her nose. Musty with a hint of artificial gardenia.

"We found the creamer that matches the sugar bowl you bought a while back."

Ina turned toward the shopkeeper and said sheepishly, "I dropped it. Arthritis.”

"In that case, you'd better stick to paper," he muttered.

"Just this, then." She held up the postcard.

"Damaged," he said squinting. "And sort of boring." 

"It’s perfect," She smiled.

He rolled his eyes. "Take it."

She nodded her gratitude and exited the shop. Outside, she reached into her purse and touched the creamer, nestled safely in an embroidered napkin, as she dropped the card carelessly onto the sidewalk.

As always, I can be found on Twitter @gardenofedits or Facebook (Garden of Edits). I love comments,    
knock-knock jokes, and pictures of bears.

Seven and One

I cheated. This piece, while still flash fiction, is more than one hundred words above what is "allowed" for a Visual Dare. Ho Hum. I guess it's an editing fail. Thanks to Anonymous Legacy for yet another intriguing photo.

Seven and One

photo source

Like the beat-beat-beat of the tom-tom, Ella Fitzgerald's smooth croon floated over the room. The woman rubbed her face and swung her feet over the side of the low single bed. The spartan grey room contained eight narrow beds on simple bedframes, seven of which were topped with perfectly smooth white sheets and pillows. Her own warm, rumpled bed was dressed in black. No doors. No windows. A large ornate stereo stood in one corner. 

Stretching, she took a few steps on the bare grey concrete floor and smacked the needle away from the record. She pulled a black tunic over her white shift, and for the hundred millionth time or so (she'd lost count), from the corner of her eye, she saw her bedsheets pull themselves up and smooth themselves out. She sighed. The record player's arm moved back to the place where it had been interrupted, night and daaaaay, you are the one. She heard her sisters giggling nearby, and a second later they appeared in a white cluster. "How is it out there?" she asked automatically, eons past pretending to care about their answer. 

They continued to giggle. "It's all just too much!" said Thursday in singsong. "Spring, you know! Puddles!" The seven of them giggled even harder. 

"I'm ready for bed!" announced Monday, throwing herself onto a mattress. 

"Hmm," she grunted, dragging her feet toward the wall. 

"Good night, Night!" they said in unison, cackling as they always did and tossing their white robes onto the floor. Night walked through the wall and sat, alone in the dark and quiet. 

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Catching Up

Well, NaPoWriMo got away from me. Or, maybe I got away from it. That seems more likely. My life is so full and bustling right now that I'm afraid blogging has taken a backseat. I'm still doodling--producing mostly inscrutable little scribbles--but I have made it my goal to put something on my poor little blog at least twice per month. (I had to pause there because I really wanted to promise once per week, but who am I kidding? My little potato, who is wild when awake, only naps with his paws resting on me and lets me sleep just enough during the night that I don't actually fall into a recognized psychosis. I'm lucky to get four uninterrupted minutes of thought per day, and sometimes those have to be devoted to grocery lists and trying to remember where I put my phone. I'm also getting my garden in and remembering to shower every few days.) I missed the Visual Dare from last week, but I really wanted to contribute because I had an idea brewing about the photo. I plan on completing this idea and perhaps another slice of flash fiction this week. 

Thanks for reading. What's going on with you this spring? Leave me a comment, a link to your blog, or an ASCII picture of a platypus. Follow @gardenofedits on Twitter or find Garden of Edits on Facebook. In addition to posting tidbits about reading, writing, and editing, I love to chat and make terrible puns.