The desk had been unused for a decade. Someone had pushed it to the far end of the shed and dumped an unwanted pot plant on it. The plant thrived on the water dripping from the roof and hid the untold secrets hidden in the drawers. The new owner had big plans for the land, wishing to return the former estate to its glory. The unearthing of a serial killer’s diary and the discovery of the graveyard in her new back garden shattered her dream. Instead, the monstrosity became known for unearthed murder victims and the closing of cold cases.
I woke up with a feeling of dread. The day was meant to be a celebration of the Resurrection of Christ. But it reminded me of other events. Personal events. The death of a family and my belief in the goodness of humanity. Remembering past Easters caused tears to run down my face. Egg hunts. Family dinners. Togetherness. Destroyed by a gun and a psychopath claiming we would all be resurrected. My meal today would be a solitary one in memory of the Resurrection, the love of a family, and the annihilation of a church community.
(I wished to write a piece on the celebration on Easter but my hands typed the above. In spite of this piece, I do wish everyone a wonderful Easter Sunday with their family)
The arched hallways were filled with a hushed silence, soothing her soul. Moving slowly, she breathed in the pure air. She was safe now. No longer would she live a life embroiled in the darkness of others, their hatred seeping into the goodness of her inner being. No longer would the sounds of the embittered city hound her thoughts and question her actions. The Old Religion would cloister her within its walls and give her refuge. And in return? She would give her life to combing the books that had survived, searching for the truths to help an ailing society.
There was a time when I thought the train tracks leading out of the city would take me away from what had become my life. Tainted. Stained by my environment. Haunted by those who had abused me. Hope had dwindled. And yet, for a moment, it had been ignited by what I believed to be love. Disillusionment and betrayal had led to this moment. I no longer have the will to struggle through life.
The rush of adrenaline as I fall through the air makes me feel truly alive. Maybe ending it was a mistake.
The automobile had been passed onto him by his grandfather. Weekends saw him tinkering with the machine, buffing the chromework, and lovingly cleaning the leather upholstery. While working on the car, he would remember the pleasant moments spent with his role model. He wished often he had listened to the last piece of advice given over the bonnet of the car: “Marry a woman who understands the enticing purr of a well-run engine.” Instead her beauty, charisma and joie de vivre had beguiled him. Twenty years later, she had become bitter with disappointment and they had nothing in common. (99 words)
The water crept up overland during the night. Unseen. Acres of crops were submerged; animals and humans drowned. The tranquil water caused panic among the villagers – especially when those on the higher ground refused them entry into the barricaded compounds. The wealthy did not consider the lives of the menial hands. What they saw was the rising water and the limited space on the hillside. A few days later the water crept back to sea, leaving behind muddy devastation. Carrion fed and the survivors were left with the task to begin again with nothing except their soft hands and intellect.
Do you think the wealthy have any regrets about helping the workers gain acess into the compound?
The battered stairway had seen plenty in its lifetime. It remembered the debut of its life and the young couple who had first stepped onto it. They had been exhuberant, full of hope. The years had slowly eroded her joyfulness and brought with it disillusionment. The children had skipped up and down the cement stairs, turning into adults with their own young trailing behind them. The first family had long ago left this place. Now foot traffic hardly passed down these stairs. Architects had come by, planning a new building. Its life was over and it passed with no regrets.
The oncoming lights flashed by quickly. She began to feel a sense of desperation. Why would nobody stop? She looked over the edge and saw his head bobbing in the water, knowing that soon he would lose the strength to stay afloat. She continued to wave her hands frantically at the cars moving by, hoping for a good Samaritan. He had thought himself invincible and now look where he was – at the mercy of a stranger who may stop too late! She regretted bitterly the decision to join him tonight. She preferred the serenity of a life without mishap.
The building rose four stories and housed an ecclectic group who had lived all their lives in this neighbourhood. The one who drove the group lived on the top floor. Her age was undetermined and her eyes shone with the wisdom of her years. She counselled the young, encouraged those who wished to give up on life, and reminisced with the old. Her advice guided many actions in the neighbourhood and change in the area had to pass her approval. They brainstormed on how to get her on their side, not realising that she had forseen the need for change.
The nurse walked down the corrider, passing the sealed doors that housed the test subjects, the detritus of human life who offered nothing to society. They had been given the opportunity to contribute something meaningful to mankind’s future as the experiments being conducted on them would result in the knowledge needed to protect humanity against the invaders. Humans needed to adapt and evolve – the outcasts would help with the knowing of how. The nurse entered a cell, needle ready. The girl inside turned, magnificent in her added height and strength. She no longer needed the treatment.