MC's Whispers

Whispering Silences

Archive for the tag “writing challenge”

Seven of a kind

https://study.com/cimages/multimages/16/duck3.jpgThere were four of them. And in the next months, they became seven. Four yellow and three black. All they had was each other.

They followed each other blindly. Trust was no issue. It never was. That was what family was about. Trusting the other blindly. Unconditionally. Without question.

Sometimes they would split into small groups. Two-three there and another couple a little further away.

They would always find something to do.

And they would always come back together.

United.

Looking out for each other.

They were a family.

Seven ducklings.

Fluffy, cute and lively.

IF only we were all like them.

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Escape boots

dadsshoesWhenever I wanted to get away…to escape from it all…from the mundane routine that was choking me, or bringing me down, I would put on these boots and go”. His voice was sore, as though it was suppressing all the pain he felt and from which he desired to flee from. The boots were a gift from a German friend. One with whom he would often go wandering in the mountains. It was the only way he could find some peace, some spiritual relaxation.

But now… If I could only remember where I left them”, he uttered almost in despair.

 

Also part of Friday Fictioneers

Life in full speed

https://encrypted-tbn0.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcSCwsxz9lk0sa_BySWGKBRObwy312pHFAJb1D3pqfgJb4v9EkOBShe felt her hand slowly slip from his grip. It was that feeling you get when you see in your sleep that you’re falling and you jitter, often kicking the person sleeping next to you.

But this time it all happened so rapidly.

She fell into a thick mattress of bushes, treetops whose brunches scathed her bare skin. The scratches began to bleed and all of a sudden, she was running barefoot in a jungle, too scared to look back at what was chasing her with full speed.

She tried to scream, but there was no voice to come out of her. Her lungs hurt. She could feel the pain in her chest mounting. And it was so hot. So unbearably hot.

She was now walking, her muscles sore from the running.

She was panting. She didn’t know where she was going or why all this was happening, but her adrenaline levels were still high.

Back in reality, she was lying in a hospital bed, with two doctors over her head trying to get her to wake up from the coma she had fallen into after the car accident. Her husband was the one driving and the one who – free of heavy injuries – had tried to grab her hand to pull her out of the flaming vehicle.

Also part of Daily Prompt: Rapid

The dried-up creek

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©Karen Rawson

It was an autumn morning without a cloud in the sky. It had been days since they had raised their gaze to so much blue. Today they were celebrating. It didn’t really matter what; there is always something to rejoice each day. So they decided to do something different. Life is only worth it if you take risks and believe you can succeed.

After what seemed like endless turns, they reached a forgotten stairwell that led to the remnants of a creek. It was muddy and dull.

This used to be a park. It was where I first saw you”.

 

Also part of Friday Fictioneers

Altering an unreal vision

http://www.weatherbook.com/images/6_14_04_web.jpgIt was one of those mornings when it was neither hot nor cold; it was just cloudy and dull. Like her mood that day. The humid heat made it all somewhat insufferable, even stifling.

Zoe woke up nervous. It was the type of agitation that appeared after not being able to sleep well all night, with too many thoughts swivelling through her mind and a temper she couldn’t really explain.

She had dreamt that her big dance performance had arrived, the one that would make or break her career; the one that would get her into the professional dance school she had her heart set on since she was a child. But just as she was about to make that finally leap, sure to astonish everyone, her ankle turned and she had to conclude the show with grinding teeth and a pain that left her in stitches. It was almost impossible not to reveal how much it hurt.

Zoe woke in the middle of the night in sweat and an inexplicable pain in her stomach. It all felt so real. The passion, the agony, the anguish, the sting, the heartbreak, the utter discomfort of it all.

She took hold of her years-old teddy bear and, with the naivety of a child, tried to go back to sleep. But it was no longer possible.

Dawn came but the emotions had remained. How do you alter a nightmare?

She spent all day watching movies on her couch. It was an effort to change her mood. But that didn’t work either. It only happened when he came along. When Ted rang the doorbell and greeted her with a smile, a rose, a cookie and – what she needed most – a warm, tight hug.

 

Also part of Daily Prompt: Astonish

Be authentic; be real

https://thecreatorwritings.files.wordpress.com/2016/02/authenticity-hoax.jpg?w=473We hear it often and almost everywhere: be yourself; be authentic. But in a world where almost everything and everyone is a copy, how easy is it really to be an original?

Authenticity is a trait or a characteristic described by the recognition and acknowledgement of who you are and being brave enough to live it. It is being real, showing true emotion and not indulging in hypocrisy.

You don’t need to copy others. The mentality of the masses doesn’t always work. That is why masses are often likened to sheep – presumably dumb animals who follow each other even acting irrationally. Stand out from the crowd. It is a prompt that calls on people to embrace their differences. It is the only way to bring about change. By daring to be unique. Regardless of whether this will lead to others copying you. The original will always distinctively vary from a fake.

“In order to be irreplaceable, one must always be different” – Coco Chanel

“It is better to fail in originality than to succeed in imitation” – Herman Melville

 

Also part of Daily Prompt: Authentic

Never a time waste

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©Dale Rogerson

The speech had just ended and Sarah thought it was the most boring two hours of her life. Jonas had the same view. “What a time waste!” he was heard saying in the reception area, glass of wine in hand. Sarah’s eyes met his glance and he approached her. “Politicians never have something new to say, don’t you think?” he suggested as he handed her a topped-up wine glass.

She smiled, blushing at his communicative spirit, the ease with which he started a conversation with someone unknown.

Yes,” she finally agreed. “But perhaps the evening will now be more interesting”.

 

Also part of Friday Fictioneers

Season in bloom

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©Fatima Fakier Deria

Once the season changed, they would take the garden furniture out and set it in its usual place under the large oak tree. They would spend an entire morning washing the winter dust off; playfully splashing each other with the garden hose. Then, they would allow the sun’s rays to rejuvenate them with new life, ready for the new summer memories that were to be created.

Spring was their favourite time. It was when everything in bloom reminded them that even after a harsh and dark winter, it would always be warm and bright again. You just had to wait.

 

Also part of Friday Fictioneers

Capturing life

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©Ted Strutz

Her first photo camera was a birthday present received as she entered puberty. It was accompanied by a card that read, “go explore the world out there and show us what you see”. It soon became an item she would never leave the house without.

Soon, that camera was replaced by one more expensive and specialised. It again came as a present and the prompt “so that you capture the beauty of life and never let it go”.

Years later, her photographs are worth millions. Yet she is content with a tripod, a friend and a sky full of stars.

 

Also part of Friday Fictioneers

Believing in a dream

crook-building

©Sandra Crook

Close your eyes and hold on to my hand”. Her ballroom dress fluttering in the light evening breeze. She was prepared for a royal evening. That’s was what her prince had promised. They were middle-class working people; two youngsters who met thanks to a common hobby. Dancing was their passion and what brought them closer together.

She had told him many times of her desire to attend a royal ball, but she never believed it would happen so soon. He took her early, so she could enjoy the springtime in the gardens, together with a romantic walk across the lake.

 

Also part of Friday Fictioneers

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