Winning the rat race

Drops of rain lingered on the pine boughs, simmering diamonds among emerald filigree.

A rich, earthy petrichor, created by a pre-dawn shower, sweetened the air. A cooling mist rose from the warm ground, giving the forest an ethereal feel. As she walked down a worn path beneath the interwoven canopy of tree limbs, she expected to stumble upon a fairy ring.

Inhaling the fragrant air, she felt her stress ease out with every breath. All around her, the music of the forest rose in crescendo, drowning out the city noise that had settled in her mind.

Pedantic and sedentary, her friends rejected all offers to join her ambles through the woods. They didn’t appreciate the healing powers of fresh air, and an unhurried pace. They always needed a destination, an itinerary, to feel productive.

She tried to share with them how she found redemption on these trips. That being alone with your thoughts, with no interruptions or distractions, could be very freeing. You have space to actually think. The only worries are having enough bug spray and water. Her friends could never imagine that she developed her best ideas on these hikes.

Maybe it was good that they didn’t come with her. Some invigorating downtime was one thing, winning the corporate rat race, was something all together different. She didn’t need to encourage the competition.

*I have to go out of town later this week, and I didn’t want to miss all the fun, so… I tried to combine a few prompts into one piece. I hope it doesn’t appear too forced, and that I managed to weave all three themes into one flowing fabric.

The Trifecta challenge this week is: Pedantic [adj. \pi-ˈdan-tik\] 3: unimaginative,  pedestrian

Week 21: Inspired by “Petrichor“

This week’s Studio30 Plus prompt is “Redemption“

Sweet as honey

Lies, sweet as honey,
Drip from her sanguine lips.
Lies that loop through your brain
Like a bad love song,
To finally lodge, heavy as a stone,
Underneath your heart,
Cold and immovable.

The Trifextra challenge this weekend is: 33 words, 30 of your own and three of the following: topple, paradigm, underneath, nerve, honey and/or loop

This end up

The others were making her do this. Said it was time, well past time. As if there was a time limit on grief. That after a set number of days, or weeks, months or even years, you could turn off the sadness like a light switch. A simple click and all sorrow and pain is gone, and your life can resume undisturbed.

It wasn’t like that. Nothing could take away that pain. Packing up all his belongings, wiping away all evidence of his life, could never erase his memory either.

They said they would help sort through everything with her, but they didn’t know what to do with any of it. They wanted to donate it, just give it away like so much junk. They might as well throw it all in black trash bags and dump it at the curb for the garbage trucks to haul off.

No, she would give his memories the respect they deserved.

Shutting the door behind her, she locked it so the others would leave her in peace. Boxes and wrapping tissue were laid out on the bed. A step stool stood in one corner so she could reach all the treasures lined up just so along the plate rail that encircled the room.

The desk where she worked was barren, bereft of textbooks and college rule paper. One by one she carefully packed academic trophies and certificates, tiny figurines of baseball bears and Christmas snow globes, photographs of happier days, and heirloom toy trucks. Each act deliberate, meticulous in its economy of motion. Slowly turning them over in her hands, imagining they were still warm from his touch.

As she placed each item in a box, reliving precious snippets of a glorious life, it was like burying him anew.

The last boxed filled, she unlocked the bedroom door and walked out. Leaving a life unfulfilled, packed away in four cardboard cartons.

A mother should never outlive her child.

The Trifecta challenge this week is: Deliberate [adj. \di-ˈlib-rət\] 3: slow, unhurried, and steady as though allowing time for decision on each individual action involved

Week 77

Battle stations

Angry mosquitoes whizz past my head like a sniper’s bullets. Squadrons strafe exposed and tasty flesh with military precision. A sting! Slap! Bright red droplets of blood… I’ve been hit! Send in reinforcements.

The Trifextra challenge this weekend is: 33 words (exactly) that include among them at least one example of onomatopoeia

*Photo info: This image is of a dragonfly swarm at Big Lagoon State Park near Pensacola. While mosquitoes here on the Gulf Coast may feel like they are as big as dragonflies, they are indeed, much smaller.

Non compos mentis

There is nothing to writing. All you do is sit down at a typewriter and bleed.” ~ Ernest Hemingway

We aren’t the typical family. We don’t share familial blood reaching back generations, but we do suffer from a shared madness. Our family curse, non compos mentis, brings us together to chew over our afflictions, to swap outlines and plots.

We hear voices. Voices telling us tales that we are compelled to recount. We see faces. Imaginary people who live, and die according to our pen, according to our words.

A collective mania settles in the fringes of our awareness, leading us into darkness, carrying us along in a torrent of emotions, sometimes tragic, often joyful. Swirling around in our consciousness, struggling to break free, once unfettered, these characters, these entities, are as real, as mortal as we are.

No 12-step support group, instead a conspiracy. What is the best way to poison an unfaithful lover? Should our youthful heroine marry her elitist paramour, or runaway with her working class soul mate?

We won’t know until we finally sit down, open a vein, and bleed out our stories.

The Trifecta challenge this week is: Blood [noun \ˈbləd\] 3d : persons related through common descent : kindred

In the out door

I’ve always hated that expression, “when one door closes, another one opens.”

What the hell is that supposed to mean? Is it an exit or entrance? Which room does it open on – bedroom, kitchen, bathroom? That would suck.

What if you have to walk backward through it, or are trying to be nice by holding the door for everyone else, does your new opportunity go to them instead?

It’s a stupid saying…

For all I know it’s a revolving door that spits me out right where I started, while still thinking I’m in a better place.

It’s just ridiculous, all this talk about doors.

Now, if they’re talking about making your own door, that’s something else entirely. Hand me that hammer and nails, this is going to take some time and hard work.

The Trifecta challenge this week is: Door [noun \ˈdȯr\] 3: a means of access or participation : opportunity

This week’s Studio30 Plus prompt is “Backward,” and/or “Perce-neige.”

*Photo venue: French Quarter, New Orleans

Doretha

Her bless-your-heart benedictions are her southern way of saying, “you’re addled, child.” Her mothball-scented hugs mean she loves you anyways. Come sit on the veranda, and have some sweet tea, you’ll feel better.

The Trifextra challenge this weekend is: 33 words about anything, but must include at least one hyphenated compound modifier.