Short Fiction

Blue Blanket

several yarn balls
Photo by Rijan Hamidovic on Pexels.com

Blue Blanket
Red-rimmed eyes, tear-streaked cheeks, cotton mouthed, she sat on her sofa, in her spot, as she snapped open the plastic container. A familiar fragrance teased her nostrils as she gasped and then allowed the scent to overtake her senses. Staring at the blanket through blurred vision, it was soft country blue colored, with fringed edges. Knowing this blanket was her sister’s favorite, she needed to keep this treasure.

Cozying in to the familiar soft comfort of her spot on the sofa, she gathered her yarn and hook. Excitement tickled her soul as she pondered the joy her sister would feel when she saw and touched her new blanket. While it was not her taste, her sister loved blues and mauves. Selecting the soft toned, country blue was easy. This would be a gift for her sister’s 21st birthday and she wanted to give something to her sister to treasure all of her life. As was her habit, she pondered positive thoughts as she hooked the yarn. Believing that keeping good thoughts would only make for many good things, she was certain that this blanket would bring much comfort and joy.

Holding the well-loved blanket to her face, breathing in the scent, closing her eyes, memories flooded her. Feeling the softness as she grazed the blanket with her fingertips, she came across a raised, rough patch. Looking closely, there was a stain, much in the shade of red, as in nail polish. This would have been from her niece. She loved the blanket and was likely wrapped in it while she painted her nails.

Working each row, creating the design, allowing for both durability and beauty, she counted and watched as the blanket unfolded into a work of art. Her old cat would keep her lap extra warm as he crawled underneath the workings. He was old and not so likely to bat the yarn as he did in his younger years. A bit of him would go along with the blanket, as it would be very difficult to pick out his golden fur.

Even after all these years, there were gold flecks in the blanket. Oh Kitty, she thought, you now can rest with my sister and her other pet children. Tell her to keep a warm spot for me, one day. She stroked the gold and closed her eyes, remembering the comfort he brought to her in all of his days. Dozing to a nappy sleep, she woke to nothing more or less than the changes of life. And peace. Peace in knowing that those before have no more pain and peace in knowing that those left behind can best bring comfort to each other. It’s the circle.

poetry

Ripping the Soul

crash foam ocean rocks
Photo by Ricardo Esquivel on Pexels.com

Ripping the Soul

ripping apart the nucleus of love
tearing at the riptide of shame
pressing into the soul
oozing from the pain
seeping into the decaying brain
cells are left with no release
but to grow less and fester more
such is the diseased brain
such is the life with loss
there’s shame where there should not be shame
there’s blame where there should not be blame
there’s hate where there should not be hate
so much else dies with the loss
so much else goes with the pain of decay
so much leaves
so much goes away
never to come back
taking the time to release these pains
taking the time to allow healing
taking the time to promote growth
renews the soul

Short Fiction, short story

Struggle – Six Sentence Story

woman wearing blue top beside table
Photo by Christina Morillo on Pexels.com

Struggle

Entering her zip code, Elaine focused on the task at hand, knowing it was the most important job for which she would apply.

Counting the change in the bottom of her purse, Barbara placed the coins in stacks, realizing she had just enough for a round trip bus fare to the interview.

Entering the code in the key pad of her office, Jasmine knew she would have some heavy decision making to make about who she would hire for her personal assistant.

Calling the doctor’s office, Elaine entered the code which ensured it authenticated her, only to hear the answer she needed to know, the news, if bad, would be a nurse and the phone redirected to the nursing department.

Barbara walked into Jasmine’s office, ready as she could be for the job interview, she had a job, but she needed to supplement her income, due to the high bills from her husband’s medical treatments; Keeping him always in the back of her mind, after the funeral, she knew he would be there in spirit.

Elaine hung up the phone, went to her computer, emailed to Jasmine’s office, confirming her appointment, she needed this job more than ever, but she also knew it would offer her no promises in her life.
…..
There you go! That’s the Six Sentence Story for this week.

Rules of the hop:
Write 6 Sentences. No more. No less.
Use the current week’s prompt word.
Come back here on Thursday, link your post…
Spread the word and put in a good one to your fellow writers 🙂

PROMPT WORD: CODE

Want to join in? Go to Six Sentence Story and hop in!

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short story

The Last Haircut

OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA
The Last Haircut
Photograph of the roots of a tree and rocks-taken by Lisa Tomey

Mounted on the back of the toilet seat, I intensely watched and listened as the gritty sounds of the razor cut through his whiskers and shaving cream, knowing not to speak while this most delicate operation took place, once completed, I was allowed to run my fingers through his damp mostly salty hair before he generously applied the tonic, magically turning more to pepper toned locks, combing his hair in place, to utter perfection, slapping on his spicy aftershave, his head was complete, intact with precision and thoughtful with words of wisdom, which I took in with every living breath.

Emotions ran high when I got the call that Daddy would be on his final days, having moved away, I was at a loss, but I knew that it was in my path to get to him, no matter what, with the company of my sister, we traveled to him, with no regrets.

My eyes saw him in the hospital bed and as I wondered if he would know who I was he smiled, you see Alzheimer’s had stolen some of his memory, but he gleefully told the nurse, when he saw us that “these are my daughters,” which conjured up my happy.

Our brother came in with clippers and asked me to give Daddy a haircut and it was an honor to be asked to do this final task, as Daddy always liked to keep his hair cut, as long as I remember, as I always fussed about how his wavy locks would be gone, but he always left some at the top, for his little girl, I liked to think, you know, just because it made me feel good.

Running my fingers through his thick mane, I closed my eyes in memory of all the times I did this as a child, going back in time before I was known, to the times when sand and salt were his life, an old Navy soul before he chose the blue sky of the Air Force, as I felt the dampness of his locks, I knew that no memories were clipped away as the roots of life run deep and even in the afterlife, who knows how much deeper than those roots run, so memory does not have an end or maybe even a beginning.

Youth was not lost when there is a man such as my father in your life, we had the chance to learn about cherishing life, having a sense of humor, running through adventures, taking risks, valuing the essence of less, and so much more; Giving Daddy his last haircut grounded me in the roots of that life and the awareness that while it may be a simple haircut to some, it was an acceptance that no matter who would even see this haircut, that he left this world in honor, knowing he had the look of a respectable man, as he should.

….

So, there you have it, my six sentence story for this week. I took the challenge of Denise and tried something  a little different, using an acrostic style, only I did it for a story vs poetry. How’d I do Denise?

Are you itching to tried your hand at Six Sentence Story? Go to this LINK and join us.

This weeks prompt: MEMORY