In The Middle Of The Night I Woke To Write But I Need A Tissue



So I did that first. Write, write, write, write… a good kickoff, no? Not. Here I am reading it over and over without an inspirational thought to continue on with. I’d thought maybe the morning or if not I’d check back with it at different times throughout the day and now the sun’s setting – still nothing. There’s a strange light in the distance, you know, over the balcony and the view of the trees. Could be pollution or a small planet. A ship? A specter? Huh. I’m not going to stand here like a fool watching as it gets too close like a Hollywood scene. But what is it? And it is moving. Son of a gun.


Which reminds me of that restaurant again…


How did I get home? I woke up in bed but the last thing I actually remember was being in the painting watching the flames devour the dining room feeling I was beginning to melt with the colors. It was such a brilliant morning.


Guess I’d better make sure her social security checks stop coming to me. At least get that right. Things’ll work out somehow.



Nary A Hippodumpling But Human Beans Methinks


He seemed transparent, not like men she’d known… No time for that. She watched him tear down the street his feet not touching the ground. She crossed to offer help but he was gone. She saw him again but this time stood in front of him as he was barreling in her direction. “This’ll get his attention – I hope he doesn’t knock me out of the way.” Bracing herself he ran right at her, through her and kept running leaving her tingling like circulation returning.


Jen shot up in bed. “I know that street! I’ve got to find him.”








Prompt: “…mix a dream for someone. Think about their character and what sort of dream you would like them to have. What happens when they wake up?”



Celebrating 100 years of Roald Dahl – the amazing wordsmith! 100WCGU#189

See You In September



“I’ve always loved September, in fact, this whole trimester” Dominique thought as she lay gazing up at ancient etching in silver, pure silver, so delicate. “It was my birthday, well still is technically. Leaves changing, weather cooling, Halloween, Thanksgiving, Christmas, Persephone going to the underworld but will live again like I will. Mother Nature was telling me something when she allowed this change. No one needs to fear it.” A thrill shot through her as she thought of her maker, his elegance, so refined. “Oh, his passion…” A thud on her coffin lid distracted her from her thoughts.

She smiled.





The Prompt: “…Mother Nature was telling me something…”


What do turning leaves mean to you? 100wcgu #188