A Break-up

An Unfinished Story

Hello Busyness,

I just wanted to tell you that I do not appreciate how not so busy you’ve kept me these past few weeks. I hate to break it you, but this thing, you and I, isn’t working for me. I’m not getting anything done. You know the last chapter we wrote, chapter nine I think, or was it ten? Well, it’s been so long that I don’t recall. I showed up at different hours of the day and night to create, but you, you were nowhere in sight. You have not met up with me for months. That’s why I’ve stopped writing.

Someone took your place. Do you recall, Nothing, that strange fellow that looks like Rip Van Winkle? You know, the one who sits at the corner? Well, he brought me coffee and kept me company as I waited for you. It doesn’t feel good to be abandoned like this. I’m beginning to think it’s my fault. But I know better. Yet questions swim in my head. Why did you leave? Did I do something wrong? What did I not do? Where have you gone? Will you return?

Anyway, since you haven’t been present in my world, my unwanted lost friend, Procrastination, moved in. To be perfectly truthful and you can tell her if you like, I don’t care for her style, not at all. She comes in saying, “We’ll have so much fun now that your boyfriend hasn’t come around.” We played games, watched movies, looked up friends in social media. Rabbit Trail and Intrigued come over and hang out with us. When they show up, hours pass like minutes. 

It isn’t that I didn’t have fun but it’s not giving me anymore of that thrill it did in the beginning. I’ve been telling Procrastination that my guy friend, Fitness, who needs a project subject, invited me to help him out. I’ve been working on being punctual on a regular basis to this job, but even that is not long lasting. It just a bunch of bull-sweat. 

So therefore, I’m writing this note to tell you, that I’m leaving you for good. I’m going to be calling on my   friend, Reliance, who pushes me off cliffs. Which I seem to be on one right now. I need to jump off and fly. I need to arrive at my aunt’s, Accomplishment’s place to finish my story. Or I’m afraid, I’ll find myself going back and asking Procrastination for advice on how to join her new favorite miniseries, Tic-Tok. At least I’ll start something new.

For now, I’ll sip my coffee and keep Nothing company as we share this moment of nothingness.

Good-bye Busyness, it was sweet while it lasted. 

Your X-girlfriend, Unaccomplished 

Advertisement

Hungry for Pizza and a Relationship – Flash Fiction

IPhoto by Christian Mackie on Unsplash

Hungry for food and a relationship, I sat in my car holding a piece of wet paper with the words, come to dinner. I studied the note. Strange, there’s no name. I don’t recognize the handwriting. Could it be the new neighbor down the hall from me?

A tap on my window startled me. I looked up. A man bent over motion for me to roll the window down. My heart seemed to beat out of my chest. It’s him. I cracked the window opened.

“Did you get my note? “The new neighbor asked.

Entranced by his lite brown eyes, I lifted the yellow paper and nodded my head.

“I didn’t see you at my party and realized I had forgotten to put time and place. Will you join me? Or do you need to go somewhere?”

“Pizza. Have craving for pizza.” The words slipped from my mouth.

“From Antonio’s?”

“Yes.”

“I ordered some. Save your bucks and come.” His smiled.

I rolled up the window. We both ran inside the building. I shook the rain off my raincoat before entering his apartment. The aroma of basil, cheese and tomatoes, my favorite pizza, made my stomach grumbled.

With an empty plate, I stood by the table waiting my turn. I looked for him. He hung my coat next to his. Hope entered my heart. I reached for a slice of pizza. Is this his favorite too?

Thin fingers took the piece, I had my eyes on.

 “By the way, I’m Mat and this is my girlfriend, Unzi.” He towered her small frame.

Deflated, I took a slice of pizza then said, “Unzi, you took the one, I had my eyes on.”

“We must have the same taste,” Unzi responded.

Gazing at Mat I said, “Apparently we do.”

Written for Roger Shipp’s Flash Fiction for the Purposeful Practitioner challenge 31st August. 299 words

Maybe Tomorrow Knows

Maybe Tomorrow Knows

Writing prints thoughts, feelings, ideas, dreams.

Some thoughts I rather keep to myself never to be read or heard, then they’ll never be known.

Some feelings I stuff in a hole of my heart vanishing from my blood not seeing the light of white paper.

Some ideas do ignite only to be blown away by my insecurities before the image been typed, given no breath to be.

Some dreams I rather never dream again, even less giving them an identity for they have no right to form before me.

Yet they return at the sight of the sunset hoping to escape through a phrase, a poem, a story to touch a wordless soul letting them know they are not alone.

I am in control of my reality, so I think, therefore I put them all in my pocket till the glow of the sunset is gone for I know they will fall asleep within me.

I wonder, will these thoughts, feelings, ideas, dreams will actually exist to see the dawn of day?

Maybe Tomorrow knows.

Oh How I Miss My Artist Friends

20190427_212726-PANO.jpgAs the Ocean

would be dry

without the sea,

that’s how

I find

myself

without you,

the poet, the storyteller,

the artist, the reporter.

the thinker, the dreamer

 

Life captured me

took me from you

I’ve returned

now and then

But, only for a glimpse

Maybe, just maybe

this time

I’ll stay a bit longer

Maybe, just maybe

the chains

of inferiority

incompetent

imperfection

won’t pull me

away again

 

Enslaving feelings

keep me in the dark

corner of my soul

Away from you

Oh, how I missed

your printed words

your rhythmic sound

Your unique ideas

Your provoking art

Your rainbow heart

 

You, my friends

are  the missing

colors of my

creative playtime

Your unique art

gives me a key to

become an ocean

filled with a sea,

rejuvenating ideas

deep inside of me

 

 

 

Daily Prompt ~ Partake

At a restaurant, downtown Seattle, I frozen like a pillar. I stood by a small table which had a hand-size cake, a rose and a candle. A thought crossed my mind, If only he could join me.

“Please sit. Let me take your coat. Go ahead, take a plate and serve yourself a slice.  The red velvet cake is luscious, melting at the close of your lips. I will return with coffee.” I followed the instructions from the soft-spoken server, whose eyes never met mine.

Low melodious piano music played in the background. I looked behind me. White doors swung. The only other person in the restaurant was gone.

In a room filled with white cloth-covered tables, I sat alone, waiting only on myself to enjoy an exquisite moment of my favorite dessert. The single red rose and a small flicker candle in a Crystal glass accompanied my order. Shadows from the candle dance on the cloth to the rhythm of the hope in my heart. One day, he, who loves me, would join me here.

Without a thought, I slid my fork in the velvet cake, took a bite and closed my eyes. The cake did melt at the closing of my lips.

Slowly I opened my eyes. Then I realized, a moose stood in my backyard and my coffee was yet to be brewed.  I took a bite of my sliced toasted, buttered, rye bread in my hand and my daydream melted like snow on a warm spring day.

I thought to myself, one can always partake of a dream and escape the ordinary Alaska life.

Fictional Story

20180420_073426.jpg

 

Frozen Paths of Creativity

20180411_160056.jpg

Fears

Freeze ideas

Like

River paths

 

Uncharted

And Unexplored

They

Remain unseen

 

Along

Spring comes

Melting

Angst away

 

Trickling

Melodious Music

flow

Awakening wonder

 

Imagination

Sees possibilities

Giving

Details life

 

Ideas

Discharge scenarios

Blooming

Dreams alive

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Conversing With Self

Hurry! Go.  My soul whispered.

I rushed to where the fire danced and popped. It seemed unreal. Mesmerized, I squatted. In my mind, I stepped into the cozy hot coals. The bitter winter cold vanished even though the ruby-red flames contrasted against the grand gray snowy mountains around me.

Sounds from people, family and friend diminished. Mesmerized by the fluorescent red coals, I existed alone. While the fire burned, I listened within myself.

20171230_141545.jpg

Self: “It’s beautiful, isn’t it?”

Me: Yes, like a ruby melting and reforming. If only I could stay here and write.

Self: “What would you write about?”

Me: “I’m not sure, for I haven’t been able to continue writing my stories. Silent, they hang on the tips of the roof of my mind like ice-cycles. I’m afraid they will melt and vanish one day. I will be left with the knowledge that I once had unfinished stories.”

Self: “Why do you suppose, they are no longer speaking to you?”

Me: “Not sure. Many times, I’ve quiet myself and sat in front of my lap top and nothing, not one peep. The only sound I hear is of an unseen ocean with my beating heart out there drifting on a boat.”

Self: “Why have you distance your heart from your stories? What are you afraid of?”

Me: “I’ve not distant my heart, wait, do you think I did this? No, I didn’t place my heart out in the ocean.”

Self: “Lidia, be real. Be truthful. See, your heart. You are the only one who can place your heart out in the ocean. Look out there for the boat. Don’t look away. Your fear could be telling you truth. You are afraid of truth. That’s why you allowed your heart to drift from your stories.”

Me: “Fear lies.”

Self: “Not all fear lies. This fear of yours is true. You’re not a good writer. Yet you are a good story-teller. Focus on the story, Lidia, just like your friends tell you.”

Me: “I’m tired of not writing well. I want to have a well written story, but my enthusiasm dies too soon after I get started.”

Self: “You have to learn to keep writing when the energy of the idea runs out. Don’t allow your story to become foreign to your own heart. Keep it close to you, pluck scenarios, story lines, details, thoughts and feelings of the character even if they may never make into the story. You have to keep the story alive. That’s your job. It’s your baby. If you don’t feed it, it will vanish. Now, start the fire and allow your story ice-cycles to melt and flow again. You have been given a gift to tell stories like no one else. Write and let someone else correct your errors. You will not create a perfect story. No one can, not alone. But you can crank on your generator.”

Me: “But, my fingers won’t move.”

Self: “Yes, your finger and thoughts will be stiff because of the cold of not being perfect. But, in no time the heat will get going and your thoughts will flow the story will breath and pump red blood again. Once it thaws out, details will drop into your mind as the ice-cycle melts. Get the page ready to catch the ideas. Remember, as you keep telling stories, your writing will become stronger.”

Me: “Thank you, for the talk.”

Self: “Don’t worry, I will remind you again, when I see that you’ve removed your heart for your stories. You are not just writing for others, but for me, self.”

Footsteps crunched the snow behind me. I came back to my surroundings. I heard my husband distant voice, “Are you coming and sledding or are you staying.”

With a smile, I answered, “I’m coming.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~

I started this blog back in December, and it wasn’t until today that I was able to finish it. It’s a major accomplishment for me. I’ve struggled with my writing for over a year. There are at least twelve unfinished stories on my files and I can’t seem to finish any one of them. From this self-reflection, I’ve learned that it wasn’t fear that kept me from my stories, instead it was truth.

Writing my blog posts, have been a great exercise to build my confidence and improve my writing skills. With short entries, I have less misspell words, less grammar errors and less wrong word usage. I still get wordy, but my skills are improving alongside my belief in my abilities to give what’s in my heart a voice.

To write a book, it’s much more challenging and difficult than a blog. But, if I can treat each couple of pages as a blog post, I might get myself going again and finish my next book. Now which of the twelve stories should I start constructing again?

Maybe, I will blog about my journey as I write my next book.

To be continued . . .

 

 

 

 

From: night garden — MYMonkey MIND ( MYMM)

Think in the morning. Act in the noon. Eat in the evening. Sleep in the night. William Blake

via night garden — MYMonkey MIND ( MYMM)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

MYMonkey MIND’s posts send my creativity to a place where fictional story clips come alive. Here’s a flash fiction story which developed from the painting above.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

On a dark and gray day, she entered my coffee shop refreshing the atmosphere like a spring bouquet. Her brown hair framed her oval face and her marble light brown eyes shined with delight. She didn’t appeared any older than twenty-nine.

With every move she made, strokes of blush, silky rose printed on my black, mourning heart.

She placed her order, medium, coconut milk latte.

The cup I held shook. I cleared my throught, then asked. “Your name?”

With a smile and her right eye-brow raised she said, “Margie.”

As I wrote on the cup, I thought, have I met her before?

With her coffee in hand she made her way to the door, stopped and took a sip. A soft yellow light enter my shop. Her silhouette defined  her curves.

A shiver came over me as if wet snow had splashes on my bare chest. There for a second, her frame reminded  me of my lat wife, gone for a year.

Margie turned around, tilted her head and said, “I’ll return tomorrow, same time for the same latte order.”

My heart fluttered like a bird inside my chest. Life pump back into my thirty-five year old body as if I was a teen again. A desire see Margie tomorrow caused my hands to sweat. The longing for my high-school sweetheart diminished as the stranger walked away.

Foggy Morning in December

 

Bewildered, I roamed

In the mystifying beauty

Of the fog by the sea

My soul began to hunger

For a cryptic imaginative story

But, the fog quickly fled

With the change of the wind

And the warmth of the sun

Suddenly, the story vaporized

Leaving my heart with an ache

From an appetite for more

Secretive and ambiguous scenarios

Which only the fog can bring

20171208_093125.jpg20171208_093303.jpg

20171208_092929.jpg

20171208_093011.jpg

20171215_073401.jpg

20171208_093759.jpg

20171208_094410.jpg

20171208_094149.jpg

20171208_093912-EFFECTS.jpg

Weekly photo challenge with the topic of fog from Tourmaline’s Blog

Dr. Hide and His Play Mate

20171230_143017.jpg

(Fictional Story)

He sneezed on our hamburgers and fries.

I handed him a napkin and pushed my food aside.

He placed the scrunched napkin on the table and passed me a note.

I read, while he finished his rosemary flavored fries.

I’m breaking up with you. My therapist confirmed, my allergies worsen since I met you. Your hypersensitivity gave me an uncontrollable itch and a rash that will not go away. You know where. Without moving my head, I glance at him.

He slurped his drink, sniffled and wipe his mouth with the back of his hand.

I reposition my body, faced away from him and continued to read, Your moodiness has left me susceptible to loneliness which has given me sleepless nights and my performance at work has declined.

He stretched his arm and yawned as he tilted back his chair.

I kept reading. Your need to bathe at night and shower in the morning, daily, has wiped my immune system with every illness known by my mother. Therefore, you must move out, then I can heal from your weirdness and get healthy again.

Carefully, I folded the note in the same way he had it, gave it to him, pushed myself away from the table, took out my hand sanitizer and stared at his pale face. Yes, I am a bit OCD. It worsen on my first year of practicing medicine. Which happened to be the same time I began to work with Dr. Hide. He kept asking me out and I kept letting him down easy. He was uptight in the surgery room and way too loose outside the OR for me.

With my arms folded, I said, “Stephen, I’ve put up with you long enough. Playing along with your fantasy world has gone to far. I agree to have lunch with you because, we are both professional adults.” I stood up and handed him my notice.

He opened the letter, read it, then screamed, “What? You can’t leave me. I’m moving out. Didn’t you read my note?”

The hospital cafeteria went numbly silent.

With a poised and calmed voice, I said, “Dr. Hide, I want to make it perfectly clear. We, never lived together only worked in the same room while I played along with your fictional plots. Now, you have to find another anesthesiologist who will play along with your make-believe stories. Maybe your therapist or your mother can help you find the one who can cure you from all the diseases I caused you.” I turn around and left my letter of resignation with the chief brain surgeon. Whom, I had actually fallen very fond of and his quirky games.

As I walked down the hallway, I felt a gentle touch on my shoulder. I glanced behind me. Stephen knelt on the floor.

I faced him.

With both hands behind him, he said, “Marissa, please, don’t leave me. You have been my favorite play mate.”

I dashed to him. “Dr. Please get up. You are embarrassing me.” I felt sweat beats forming on my forehead.

On one knee, he brought before him a blown up glove and said, “Will you marry me?”

A ring hung from the glove. Nurses, doctors and patients watched with elated expressions. Oos and awes seem to synchronized with the beeping heart monitor.

I said, “What took you so long.”

He stood up.

We hugged.

He whispered, “So, you will stay?”

With a smile I responded. “I never was going away.”

“Oh, you got me. You got me good. I was scared that you were truly leaving me to face my unorthodox behavior all alone.” He chuckled and turned beat read.

“Never, as  long as I can start bathing at night and showering in the morning.”

“Can I join you?”

We kissed.

Everyone laughed and applauded.