MC's Whispers

Whispering Silences

Archive for the tag “photo prompt”

The tenant of the clock

jhc-clock

©J Hardy Carroll

It was a present from the global travels of a great uncle. It was a gift passed down each generation. It was one that carried the history of its owners with it.

It was finely crafted and had an essence of another era. It stood out in every home it was placed. But that was its point after all: to remind you that you should stand out of the crowd.

One night in its new location, a faint scratching woke everyone up. It wasn’t the clock ticking.

It was something hiding inside the clock-tower: a tiny kitten seeking a home.

 

Also part of Friday Fictioneers

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A night view that unites

gah_window

©Gah Learner

Look at that full moon. Just days ago, it was but a slit in the night sky. Barely even visible. And now…it illuminates the darkness”.

She stared at the empty page highlighted by her lamp. Still not a word. She just couldn’t get her feelings out. All the words were swirling in her mind. A hurricane inside that refused to exteriorise itself.

And all she could do was stare out the window at the view. It was an essential part of the house they bought together.

Maybe he too is staring at this very moon now too. Wherever he is”.

 

Also part of Friday Fictioneers

Reflecting feelings

nathan-sowers-dawn-millers-friend

©Nathan Sowers

It was the only thing left over from the yard sale. And she didn’t understand why. If she could afford it, it would have been the first thing she would spend her money on. It was plain and “normal”, but sometimes what looks simple is more than that. Plus, it definitely had a story. It must have. Nothing so “ordinary” was every what it appeared to be.

As the sun set, she found herself mesmerised by it. The clear reflection of the garden shed had captured her attention.

Or perhaps it was the flickering light that appeared at its window.

 

Also part of Friday Fictioneers

 

A ritual of light

tribute-carla-bicomong

©Carla Bicomong

It was a ritual held once a year. Usually at the end of summer. Around the time of a full moon. People of all ages would gather by the coast and with almost religious reverence quietly place the one they brought and lit onto the water.

The paper lanterns would first fill the surface of the water like floating candles. In the midst of the night, it was a calming sight.

Then another series of flying lanterns would be released into the sky.

It was a symbol of hope, of light taking over the darkness, of optimism and ever-present life.

 

Also part of Friday Fictioneers

Green happiness

ronda-del-boccio

©Ronda Del Boccio

When Martha first moved into her own house, her parents brought her a plant. There were no flowers, just green leaves. They told her that plants were necessary in our lives and our homes not only for the oxygen they provide, but for the meanings they give to us.

Martha didn’t quite understand.

At first she didn’t really care for the plant. She left it at some corner of the house with sunlight and regular water.

But she quickly came to realise that the more she cared for the plant the more it bloomed. It became her friend and inspiration.

 

Also part of Friday Fictioneers

 

 

Broken time

©MCD_IMG_20180730_182431

©MCD

She wanted a walk on the beach. It was the only thing that could calm her storms. And lately her outbreaks were many. He couldn’t understand why. And she couldn’t explain it to him.

They walked hand in hand in silence, listening to the tranquil splash of the waves on the shore.

It had just rained and the clouds were beginning to disperse in the sky.

A few sailboats interrupted the endless smooth water surface.

A few ducks allowed themselves to drift by, along with a seagull who appeared tired of flying.

They sat down for a while by a wooden bench staring into the ocean.

There it was. A broken peer. As if abandoned to its fate. As if forgotten.

She gazed at it for minutes, wondering what stories it had to tell, how many lives had walked on it, in how many memories it featured.

And then… all those moments were simply gone.

Maybe it is true that nothing lasts forever. It is certainly painful. But that is also the reason why we need to make every moment count and everything we live in it beautiful.

Heatwave mood

dawn-in-montreal

©Dale Rogerson

When the heatwave arrived, any desire for outdoor activity disappeared. Michelle lay in bed, doors and windows closed to keep in the cool of the air condition. Her mood of the day was to do nothing. If possible, to not even get up.

The sky seemed cloudy. It was that hot and humid. The only place to be outside was at the beach, but the sea was miles away.

She stared out the window, half asleep, hoping something would pleasantly alter the laziness that had taken over her.

The silence was broken by a tingling sound. Repeated twice. A message.

 

Also part of Friday Fictioneers

The corner of notes

music-room

©Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

It was a corner in the house that belonged to him alone. One in which all worries and concerns would evaporate, converted into notes and music. It was a corner that hosted all of his instruments, his closest friends, those that accompanied him since he was a child. It was to them that he would seek refuge, where he would turn when something went wrong, but also when he wanted to celebrate. They knew best how to express it all: every emotion, every heartbeat.

This was the corner where life gained a meaning. Where he would feel, above all, understood.

 

Also part of Friday Fictioneers

The fortune-teller’s prediction

venice-fatima

©Fatima Fakier

When you meet the one, you’ll see her in Venice”. It was a silly prompt from a fortune-teller at a fair when they were kids. They were not even teenagers then and not even thinking about love. Life was so much easier. Careless and stress-free. But then, both Michael and Lilly grew up. And they lost touch throughout the years. She went abroad to study and he was hired at a local company, working day and night. Life passed them by.

Until chance – or maybe karma – reunited them on a plane to Venice. It was time to fulfil the prediction.

 

Also part of Friday Fictioneers

A peacock’s strut

meep-by-the-window

©Jean L. Hays

It was one of those days, when you look out of the window lost in your thoughts. A strange bird caught her attention. It reminded her of a saying her grandfather used to tell her: “be a peacock in a world full of blackbirds”. It was a prompt to refuse to be ordinary.

But in our world today, everyone believes they’re a peacock. Strutting along, gleaming and boasting of their supposed abilities and good looks. “Appearance is deceiving”, she pondered.

She looked closer at the bird. It seemed ordinary. “A peacock that rests on its feathers is just another turkey”.

 

Also part of Friday Fictioneers

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