MC's Whispers

Whispering Silences

Archive for the tag “writing prompt”

Unplug yourself

©Dale Rogerson

“You know, almost everything will work again if you unplug it for a few moments. Including you”. He squeezed her hand, as she looked at him and smiled.

He was the person who could see right through her even without her saying a single word about how she felt or the hurricane of thoughts in her mind.

She loved that about him. He knew exactly what to do and where to take her to unwind. To simply forget about everything for a while.

Like to this fun-filled colourful exhibition.

“Life is wonderful if you’re willing to experience it”, he added.

Also part of Friday Fictioneers

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The passion that matters

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We often waste time over things that shouldn’t matter much.

So we don’t see the important stuff.

Like that glow when people talk about things they love. When they ramble all chirpy, full of excitement and high-pitches, radiating enthusiasm.

Their excitement is enough to enthral you and like a wave wash away your problems.

Also part of Weekend Writing Prompt

The box office event

©Ted Strutz

She had been waiting for the show for weeks. It set a box office record wherever it performed. She had told him and he had excitedly agreed to go. After all, he couldn’t refuse something that got her so happy that she couldn’t stop blabbing while bouncing around happily.

A few days earlier, she awoke by a nightmare. He consoled her, wrapping her in his arms until she fell back asleep.

But then, a peculiar thing happened. Her fear had diffused into him. Unjustifiably and inexplicably.

It was when they were already seated that it happened. And it was life-changing.

Also part of Friday Fictioneers

The hustle and bustle of sincerity

©Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

Sit there and wait. Observe. That hustle and bustle that is so characteristic of airports. That feeling of restlessness, anticipation and anguish. Imagine the stories, of where others are coming from and heading to. And the knowing that you too will soon be at some other part of the world.

But more than anything, realise that airports see the most sincere feelings: people reunited, running into each other at high speed, kissing and crying, recounting stories the mouth can’t tell fast enough, eyes that are struggling to take in all the charge, the hugging, and the end of missing someone.

Also part of Friday Fictioneers

Subjective Idyll

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Turquoise blue, crystal clear waters

White sand spreading beneath you like a carpet

Yellow-orange-red sunsets spanning a cloudless sky

Tranquillity, calm and serenity

The sound of waves embracing the shore

A light breeze clashing against your sun-kissed face

A wooden cottage-retreat with an endless view

A drive up the scenic mountains         

A walk into evergreen forests

Rafting down current

Hiking up a famous trail

Snowflakes on your icy-cold red nose

A snowman you brought to life

Idyll only has the significance you grant it.

Also part of Weekend Writing Prompt

The place we call home

©Ceayr

Home is where you feel safe.

It is the place where no matter how broken you are, you feel whole. As if all the pieces come together and are mended, even if only for a while.

It is the people who lift you up when you fall. Who are there to catch you when your wings are too soar to fly.

It is the love you receive from those who can hear your silence, who can feel your heart, even when you don’t say a word.

Home is something beyond a simple place.

It is an extension of your soul.

Also part of Friday Fictioneers

A radical flee

©Susan Eames

He just got up one morning and left.

It’s not something you usually do without intensive planning or careful thought. But sometimes it’s what you need.

It’s when you disappear or something serious happens that you realise the true nature of the people around you, who cares for you and who are worthy of being a part of your life.

Ivan was so fed up with the futility and hypocrisy of his surroundings, he had to act radically.

Then the phone rang.

Where are you?” the female voice sounded concerned.

On a tree, gazing at the ocean,” he replied serene.

Also part of Friday Fictioneers

Happy Endings

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Did you always know you would end up together?” the little girl asked her Grandma who was baking a cake for her wedding anniversary. The child loved kitchen-table talk. It was the place where real-life stories were told. Where she realised that true love exists in reality and that sometimes, fairy tales do come true even after many hardships. It was all a matter of how much you wanted something, and how much you were willing to try for it.

Her grandmother smiled as she mixed the dough in a big round bowl. “Well, to be honest, I wasn’t sure. But I had a feeling this one was special. That there would be something more to this man who courted me so decisively.

You weren’t sure? Because I was certain!” Grandpa interrupted as he abruptly entered the kitchen and surprised Grandma with a peck on the cheek. She still blushed, even after all these years.

The child clapped happily. She was witnessing a couple who never aged and who lasted through time.

How did you know, Grandpa?

Well, I just did. It’s like an intuition. That special feeling when I first looked into your grandmother’s eyes. I just knew we’d click. As if our fates were from that moment tied together”.

Grandma smiled as she continued her baking. Her eyes sparkled as she recalled those first moments of their encounter.

I wish I will be lucky enough to find a love like yours,” the little girl said.

I’m sure you will,” Grandma responded. “When the time comes, that person who will cherish you and treat you like the most important treasure in the world will appear.”

The child sighed in optimism as she watched the elderly couple take care of each other as if they were still young lovers, as if none of the decades had passed over them.

“Those who love deeply never grow old; they may die of old age, but they die young” – Benjamin Franklin

Swimming counter-current

©Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

He entered the swimming pool area a couple of hours ahead of the competition and the other contestants.

There was a strange tranquillity in the still waters and the silence. Everything was ready, preparing for a festival, excitement, cheering and action.

But, he remained calm. His breathing rhythm had not increased a single beat. As if he didn’t care.

It was the biggest race of his life so far, yet he remained motionless, unaffected by it all. The only thing he could not shake off was that something wrong was about to happen.

He later wished he had been wrong.

Also part of Friday Fictioneers

The image of hurt

©Jean L. Hays

“What would you like to talk about today?” The therapist took his notebook and a pen and sunk himself into the purple velvet chair opposite.

“Pain,” he replied immediately.

The therapist looked straight at him. Sorrow was reflecting out of his patient’s eyes. You could see he was hurt, there was something not right inside him. Disappointment that had become sadness, anger that had converted into bitterness; it was all evident in his posture and expression.

“Show me what you think it looks like,” he said, proposing a few photographs.

The patient pointed to one of a barren, anhydrous land.

Also part of Friday Fictioneers

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