Scribblings by Sarah, Stories by Sarah

 Just Desserts 

I stared at the single gladiola adorning the table of the restaurant. The wilted petals belied their brightly coloured hues. I felt sympathy, as I had a sense I looked somewhat the same. My makeup, applied 10 hours ago, still held its colour but had that smudged, worn look. As did my clothing. I noticed with a grimace, I had a small red stain on my shirt. How long had that been there? Boy, what a day! I needed this. I told myself.

I sat up in my chair, straightening my posture, so as to attract the attention of the slovenly wait staff, who seem more interested in socialising than serving. No doubt sharing some galimatias^ they would gossip about at the end of their shift.

I shook my hand in the air, waving and trying to meet the tall, willowy one’s eye. With visible sufferance, she finally wandered over.

“Are you ready to order?” she asked, with all the radiance of a spent light globe.

Ignoring her attitude, I placed my order, “Yes please I’ll just have dessert – the chocolate brownie, lemon meringue pie and the Italian donuts. Oh, and a coffee too. Thanks.”

Her eyes widened. She seemed on the verge of saying something, however immured* her thoughts, instead turning to take the order to the kitchen.

I watched the chef through the cut-out in the wall. I did like these open-style, industrial-type kitchens. You could see what was happening and make sure no untoward hygiene practices were taking place. I looked on with satisfaction, as he took the knife and cut a huge wedge of the pie. The peaks of meringue were like waves atop the glorious yellow tart. He placed it on a plate and commenced piping double whipped cream around its base. It was like a mountain from heaven.

Next was the chocolate brownie. He pulled it straight out of the oven and mesmerised, I observed him slide the slightly oozing chocolate block onto a separate plate. He gripped a traditional ice cream scoop and dished up three lashings of vanilla bean ice cream on the side. I was starting to drool.

Out of the deep fryer, I watched him whisk out three tiny, doughy balls. He rolled them in cinnamon, drizzled caramel sauce and nuts over the top, garnishing the donuts with a single strawberry.

He dinged on the bell and the waitress returned, balancing the three small dishes on her arms. She sat them down in front of me.

The saliva in my mouth was viscous and ready to receive.

I could not wait for the cloudburst of euphoria that would accompany each bite, wiping the misery of today into the hereafter.

Then I realised.

I’d forgotten my insulin.

 

By Sarah ©2017



* immure (verb.) to enclose within walls. to shut in; seclude or confine. to imprison. to build into or entomb in a wall.

^Galimatias (noun.) A secret that must be kept on pain of death.

Prompt: Mindlovemisery’s Menagerie, Wordle #161. Use at least 10 of the words to create a story or poem. The words can appear in an alternate form.

Words used: insulin, posture, shake, suffer, cloudburst, immure*, hereafter, slovenly, radiate, gladiola, restaurant, galimatias^

Stories by Sarah

The Minutiae of Stars

She pushed the plate of food in my direction.

“Here’s your dinner,” she informed me, gruffly.

I sniffed at it surreptitiously and it was just as I’d suspected. Lamb casserole again. I shuddered inwardly. Oh no, what had I done to deserve this? I thought. 

Through clenched teeth, I gave her a thankful smile; looked at her appreciatively and took a bite.

Blergh! And it was cold too! I continued to smile, hoping she wouldn’t notice my displeasure. She was clearly in a mood and I certainly didn’t want to make it worse.

Without waiting for further interaction, she stomped out of the room, leaving me to finish my meal in forced solitude. I wondered sadly, When was the last time we had eaten together? I racked my brain, but could not recall.
I finished my meal and padded gingerly into the lounge room, trying to gauge her demeanour. She had changed out of her work clothes and into her favourite track pants and a sweater that was more holes than clothing. I hated it when she wore that sweater. After all, it belonged to him – one final keepsake of a relationship she just couldn’t seem to part with. She was watching TV, totally absorbed in some inane reality show and oblivious to my presence.

I hesitated; watching her for just a moment before I entered her space. Her sweet smelling, ash-blonde hair was curled softly around her face. She hadn’t straightened it today. Her mouth, usually relaxed and smiling, was drawn and showed a rigidness that belied her casual appearance. Her light blue eyes, usually sparkling with mischief, as if she knew a secret, were dull and cloudy. 

However, none of this did anything to diminish her. She was beautiful, and I knew I loved her far more than she could ever love me.

I tentatively approached and nestled in beside her on the couch. I rested my head against her warm body. I sat with her, saying nothing, waiting for her to engage. She squirmed and pushed me away. Sighing, I decided to go to bed.

* * * * *

The next morning was not much better. She was up early, well before me. Looking at her hopefully, I held up the dog lead, suggesting a walk. But she just shook her head and said, “Not today.”

I ate my breakfast and followed her outside to where she was hanging out some clothes, attempting again, to draw her out of herself. It was a stunning day – a blue, cloudless sky; the autumn leaves crimson and gold; falling slowly like burnt snow to the ground. I could smell winter in the air. I turned to see if she was enjoying the sunshine too when I noticed she had gone back inside. 

As I tried to re-enter the house, I discovered I had been locked out. Accidentally, I hoped.

“Amanda? Amanda!!” I barked angrily, banging on the glass sliding door. I put my ear to the door and heard water running. She must be in the shower. Great. 

It was a full 25 minutes before her damp figure, wrapped in a towel, appeared at the door.

I was so furious I couldn’t even look at her as I loped crankily past her and into the lounge room. 

“Sorry! I didn’t realise you were out there!” she explained.

What, so I was invisible now too! I steamed.

Sensing her apology was inadequate, she tried again.

“I apologise for being so distracted lately. I know I haven’t been paying you the attention you deserve.”

Well, I thought smugly, this was more like it! 

Still refusing to make eye contact with her, she continued.

“I’m so sorry, come here!” she said, bundling me up and wrapping me in her arms.

Aw shucks! I couldn’t be mad at her now!

“You’re always there for me Sammy! You’re my super star. You’re the only boy I need. Such a good boy. Good boy!” she cooed, scratching me behind my ears, just where I liked it.

She was back! 

I smiled and licked her face wildly, as she laughed and laughed.

To you, my life may be no more than minutiae, but to me, it is my world. 

She is my world.


By Sarah ©2017


Prompt: Mindlovemisery’s Menagerie, Writing Prompt #213 “It’s All In The Title”

Poetry by Sarah, Haiku

The Lot

Image credit TJ Paris

my love loves flowers.
nothing brings her so much joy
as their sweet perfume.


a lippy tulip,
roses of red, pink, yellow,
purple hued violets,


sunny gerberas,
delicate gypsophila,
perfect proteas,


cheeky daffodils,
full rainbows of carnations,
sassy snapdragons,


queenly hydrangas,
a daisy just makes her day.
to market I went


to buy her bouquet.
I just couldn’t decide so
I bought the whole lot!

Prompt: TJ’s Household Haiku, Words: perfume, joy

Free Verse, Poetry by Sarah

Stop A While


Image credit Eden Hills

My wings stretched out
I soar the open skies
The wind beneath my feathers
And carrying my cries

I squawk to my friend
Signalling stop for a while
I land upon a fence line
And listen with a smile

I hear the breeze rustling
The long grass at my side
The crickets they are chirruping
I hear them far and wide

The metal on the fence post
Makes a lightly scratching sound
Faintly echoes the howl
Of some far off mournful hound

Beside me runs a river
Though slow, the water flows
There’s the sensual slosh of liquid
As over the rocks it goes

Out of the corner of my eye
I see a snake slither and hiss
Time to go, lest he makes me his meal
I take off; blow a farewell kiss

Beep beep beep beep
I awake in confusion
It’s just my alarm clock
Shattering the illusion

By Sarah ©2017

Prompt: Mindlovemisery’s Menagerie, Saturday’s Mix – 24 June 2017 and Daily Post Daily Prompt, Word: illusion 


Free Verse, Poetry by Sarah

Mausoleum 

My parents are not generous, with money or affection. 

Telling me I have to find my way; my own direction.

But insisting nonetheless, on absolute perfection.

For me, this was akin to the ultimate rejection.

 So instead I found love, in a needle and injection.

Addiction fuelled, my body now coursed with infection.

Eventually finding myself in a state of abjection.

An overdose; the verdict of my meagre dissection.

Finally, my parents now seeking a connection.

Have honoured me in death with an ostentatious erection.

That is found taking up most of the cemetery’s east section.

It would seem upon more scrutinous inspection 

My parents are not generous, with money or affection. 

Until it is 

Too.

Late.

By Sarah ©2017


Prompt: Mindlovemisery’s Menagerie, First Line Friday – June 23rd 2017

Scribblings by Sarah, Stories by Sarah

Bright Side


Photo by Christian Widell via Unsplash

He hung his head in shame, feeling disappointed he had missed the winning goal – all due to the sun shining in his eyes as he’d made the deciding penalty kick.

The other players had left the field; the winning team whooping and cheering; his teammates tutting and casting him dirty looks.

As he stood alone, the same offending sunlight caught the shine of a $2 coin on the grass near his feet, and he thought to himself, At least I’ve had one win today.


By Sarah ©2017
Prompt: Three Line Tales, Week 73

Daily Post Weekly Challenge

Mullinmurr

Story: Uncle Freddie Dowling, Artist: Anderson Hunt

This is a sculpture along the Bullawah Cultural Trail telling the creation story of the platypus. Platypus (Mullinmurr) was born of mismatched love of Widjul (black duck) and Nunjarri (water rat), who were forced into a nomadic life due to their union. The Mullinmurr story explores the playful side of relationships and the dangers of forbidden love.

You can watch the story and learn more by watching this video:

Prompt: Daily Post Weekly Photo Challenge, Word: transient

Scribblings by Sarah, Stories by Sarah

Second Opinion

Image credit Geran de Klerk via Unsplash

The doctor looked through the microscope. Shook his head and checked again. He couldn’t be sure but…it really did seem like it was true.

I’d better get a second opinion, he thought.

“Hey Charles, come over here and tell me what you think” he said to his colleague, who was busy working on a rather nasty looking Petri dish.

Charles put his eye hard up against the looking glass and gave a startled cry, confirming what he’d thought. The girl had sunk so deeply into her depression, she’d become an island. 

Now, how to connect her back to the mainland…

By Sarah ©2017

Prompt: Bikurgurl, 100 Word Wednesday – Week 24
Word count: 100

Haibun

Summer Solstice 


fertile religion
honouring the pagan gods
in lengths of sunshine

Cast a circle; consecrate your space; call the quarters. Prepare your wooden pyre and watch it burn. Honour the earth as the Ancients did – surrounded by trees, connecting feet with dirt and raising hands to the wind, as one. It is time for celebrating, for today is Litha; Alban Heruin; Midsummer; known by all your names. Tomorrow, the light will fade into the dark, rich soil, in which life began and will return, when your fire burns out.

the wheel of the year
has turned once more
turning ever on

By Sarah ©2017


Prompt: Mindlovemisery’s Menagerie, Heeding Haiku with Chèvrefueille
Summer Solstice Haibun, 100 words

Author’s Note: Acknowledgements to ThoughtCo for their information on How To Hold a Midsummer Night’s Fire Ritual.

Haiku, Scribblings by Sarah

In My Dreams

Sometimes when I write, I’m not sure where it comes from. I see a photo / read a word / analyse a prompt and suddenly; there it is. The idea arrives like a beam of light into my brain, sent from goodness-knows-where, and the writing just flows…usually! 

When I first started blogging, I used to overthink things. I tried too hard to anticipate my reader’s response and worried about making. Every. Piece. Amazing. It was exhausting. 

Now I’ve let it go, I find writing easier and the quality of my work has improved – I hope you agree! I am also more motivated to write, which has in turn, increased my quantity too! 

In fact, I’ve become so obsessed with writing, I cannot wait to arrive home from work, catch up on my favourite blogs via my WordPress Reader and start attacking whatever challenge in the universe has taken my fancy/ies today! I am even dreaming in Haiku and just to prove it, here’s one I wrote in my dreams last night…


nothing’s more divine

than hanging with friends of mine

and making char wine


Now, I have no idea what ‘char wine’ is – I looked it up on Google and apparently barrel char levels are a thing (how much barrels are charred on the inside before fermenting bourbon whisky)…so I guess my friends and I were making homemade whisky (never mind that in my dream we were also dressed as pirates and this Haiku was written on a flag)

At the very least, I’m impressed:

  1. that the Haiku makes sense
  2. it follows the correct 5/7/5 structure
  3. I managed to make it rhyme

Imagine what I could do when I’m conscious…

😜😝😜


This week’s photo is by Axcy @ Deviantart.
You can find details of Nekneeraj’s weekly challenge here: https://wordpress.com/read/feeds/19271780/posts/1500603771

Prompt: Mindlovemisery’s Menagerie, Photo Challenge #170

Photos by Sarah, Tuesday Photo Challenge

Air Guitar

This is one of my favourite photos of my beloved hubby! Taken at a NYE party a few years back, the DJ clearly put on a favourite song! I love his total absorption in the music and how he’s rocking that air guitar 🎸 🤘🏻

Prompt: Dutch Goes the Photo, Tuesday Photo Challenge – Week 62, Music

Haibun, Haiku, Poetry by Sarah

Truth Fairy

on wings of whimsy
and magic, the fairy turns
ancient bone to gold

I lay in bed, barely able to contain my excitement. I squeezed my eyes shut, willing myself to sleep so that she may come! I pictured in my mind, a delicate pixie; fine-boned with pointed face. Her eyes would glitter with mischief and delight as she paid her clandestine visit. She wore cloth spun with gold thread and grew tiny gypsophila flowers in her hair.  I wondered if she brought with her a tiny pouch lined with velvet to carry away the old and leave her gift of gold.  I dreamed of all the ways I would spend my treasure. I heard the door open and pretended to be asleep. I squinted one eye to reveal a sliver; a glimpse of her true being. But what I saw instead was a monster. It was my mother’s hand reaching for the tooth and slipping a coin in its place.

magic has dissolved
as fairy wings turned to dust
the truth now exposed

By Sarah ©2017


Prompt: Colleen’s Weekly Poetry Challenge, #35 fairy & magic