We are distinct
The softly spoken force of gravity, specifically
Keeps us apart
Just enough
To preserve our own identity
In our separateness
We consume the entirety
Of space
You filling every void around me
And I do the same
Each in our element
When the heat causes me to rise
And dance
As you follow suit
Leaving no gap between me and you
You and me Continue reading
Breaking News: divers have found three figurines off the coast of Samoa, in the South Pacific Ocean, giving weight to the legend of the buried treasure of Island Number Twenty-Three. It is said that many moons ago, under the decree of the Pacific King, whose kingdom spanned fifty-seven islands, a stonemason and his two apprentices were sent to the twenty-third island, which housed all the Kingdom’s treasures. There, they set about building and re-building the fortress around the island, much to the consternation of Whirlpool, the local wave god who felt all the treasures were his. Over many years, Whirlpool pushed with fury, the white froth of his anger slowly eroding the wall, but he made no headway as the stonemason and his two apprentices were meticulous in their repairs. One day, Tsunami, a visiting wave god from the Indian Ocean conspired with Whirlpool, joining forces to share in the spoils of Island Number Twenty-Three. Tsunami was tall enough to peer over the fortress, where he saw the stonemason and his apprentices at work. In his rage, he not only flooded the island, he cursed the stonemason and his two apprentices, turning them into stone figurines that could not hear, see, or speak, ensuring the whereabouts of the long since buried treasure remains a closely guarded secret.
Write approximately 200 words based on image of 3 stone figurines in the “hear no evil, see no evil, speak no evil” pose. Prompt from Sunday Photo Fiction.
“Ladies and gentlemen, this is your captain speaking. We are experiencing turbulence and ask that you remain in your seats with your seat belts fastened.” AJ spoke the familiar words with practiced calm, but this time things were different. Flicking switches and adjusting controls on deck, he panicked when he noticed cabin pressure fluctuating, red lights flashing dire warnings. His heart rate quickened, echoing the knocks he could hear through the layers of steel. His hands unsteady as he made futile adjustments. Hyperventilating, his thoughts drifted to a regatta 30 years earlier, his hand in his dad’s, secure in their warmth and strength as he looked up to the dance of four planes, leaving a fleeting trail in their wake. They were coloured brightly, vivid blues, reds and yellows. He’d wanted to be a pilot since that day, vowing to make his father proud, to soar with invincibility through the sky, but he was always brought down to earth, reminded of his failings. A lifetime of regrets came into the focus of his mind’s eye with every tumble his plane took, hurtling toward its finale, without the grace and beauty of the stunt planes at the regatta.
Write approximately 200 words based on image of 4 planes doing stunts and maneuvers, leaving a trail of condensate through the sky. Prompt from Sunday Photo Fiction.
Work in Progress 