Father of the Year - in 160

Carrying precious cargo
he strained under the load
of his most important
charge.

Face peeking up
at what loomed above
the twin on the right thinking
“Is that for me?”

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Backstory: Sitting and waiting for a table at a bustling brewpub in the Pearl District yesterday, my dinner partner and I were enjoying watching the humanity of a crowd - when a dad did the following. I WISH I'd taken a photo but I was so in awe of his behavior, I didn't act fast enough.

Father walks in with 2 small babies in car seats. Isn't that awesome, he's doing everything he can to protect them... when suddenly I realized the baby on the right was staring up at an empty Growler, hovering just inches above it's head. Um, what?

Worse yet, I could just picture this devoted dad carrying the FULL growler (with 64 ounces of his favorite brew), also perched precariously on one finger above one of his little bundles of joy. Yep, nothing but one finger holding on to that heavy glass jar.

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Monkey Man writes a story in 160. Can you do it? If you dare, visit him HERE and leave him a trail of crumbs. Oatmeal cookies are purportedly his favorite so crumbs of those ilk will get instant attention.

Fear - in 55

Wandering aimlessly,

The sound of sorrow overcomes her.

She pauses, frozen in place

Waiting for the wailing to stop.

Every fiber of her being

Is tense, on alert.

She hesitates, hoping her fears

Are all in her head.

Dread fills her as she realizes it’s all over…

...she stepped on the stupid dog’s tail – again.

Feeling like joining the party? Visit G-Man, leave him a message (and be NICE, people), and he'll come visit - and send lots of new friends your way.

This is a Friday Flash Fiction 55. Noir is appreciated, adherence to the rules is expected, and having fun is the goal. Go play.



Mist

Things I had forgotten

lay hidden in the mist

Quietude and poison

await a brand new tryst

Afraid I seek

a kind embrace

and slowly slink away,

Amassed our worlds

our troubling

at night and in the day.

I wake to find you wandering

alone and troubled still

a soft goodbye is all you get

I hope it brings a thrill.

Tomorrow

paths will lead us

through fields and forests past

Today I find

an open mind

Embracing what can't last.

Things misunderstood

What is it

that makes one

cry out for attention

when it's right in front of your face?

What makes one

need, crave, aspire

such adoration

and never see

what exists inside four walls?

Nothing.

You

You see

only things you want

and need

and you give

absolutely

nothing in return.

Nothing

unless, of course

it serves you well.

Make haste to find

worshipful sighs

in others

before it withers away

due to boredom

or malaise.

Roll your eyes at me

and say everything

without uttering

a word.

Starvation breeds

contempt

and the painful wounds

you manufacture

in your fantasy

only prove your

depth. Or lack

thereof.

Go forth and build

your life

as a lie

and continue

to be

all the things

before. 

When you failed.

Truth or fiction

your lies

uncovered

you.

Tiptoe

She dances down the halls
giggling as she goes
awakening in all of us
a longing
for what's
safe
familiar
home.

I left my home
when I was young
and spent
so many years
building new ones
out of ashes
of dreams
that turned to flame.

Wishing for a new home,
forever wandering
and waiting
for its appearance
in the headlights,
across the park -
or in the rearview mirror.

I wake
to find it
HERE
as it always was.
Home is where YOU are
home is not the walls
or the view
it's not the couch
or the photos on the wall.

If everything left in
a flood of flame
you
would be
the only
thing
I save.

OK, maybe the dog, too.
He's kinda cute.

In situ - 160

She’s running late

seems scattered

a little too chatty.

Suddenly,

this two hour overview

stretches to 3 hours -
torture
and a writing assignment.
Red Asphalt, anyone?

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It was parent's day/orientation at driver's training.

Having spent over 60 hours in the passenger seat with the boy,

I'm pretty confident that he'll do very well.

Until, that is, we sit through 3 VERY long hours of content

and stories plus videos with lots of blood.
And there's more to come - 45 hours worth!

If not for texting back and forth with my partner in boredom,

I might have had to kill someone. With my car.

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Monkey Man
writes themes in 160 characters, including spaces.
It's probably all that texting across the classroom that inspires him.

Visit him and give it a go, if you're brave enough - it's not as easy as it looks!