Bravest Moment

on the day when her grandchildren will be sitting on her lap asking for the bravest thing she has done, she will be looking back at this moment.

she’s in no danger. no noise. no death-defying acts. but with peaceful tree-whistles, lullaby-like bird-tunes, embrace-like forest air. and her heart and mind who were both dauntless enough to walk out of a life in the concrete jungle and be with the one she prefers, a simpler, slower life.

she will tell them, for only the brave knows living is not owning. living is making each breath counts. with money or without.

Word count: 100
©2017 Rosemawrites@A Reading Writer. All Rights Reserved.
Photo credit: Pamela Canepa

For Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers (FFfAW) June 06. 2017. 🙂

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The Painting

I asked my mom this morning about the almost burnt painting I saw last week in our attic. Its main subject is a woman dressed in glamor and elegance. She looked like me and my mommy but I am quite sure she is not my granny.

To my surprise, mom turned pale and then sad and then angry. “I thought I was able to throw it. Don’t touch it again,” she said.

I stared and waited for more. Sighing, she continued.

“She’s your granny’s mom. The man and the girl were your granny’s dad and sister. She burned their house and killed all including herself because of jealousy. Your granny and that painting are the only survivors of that fire.”

Word count: 120
©2017 Rosemawrites@A Reading Writer. All Rights Reserved.
Photo credit: The Storyteller’s Abode

For Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers (FFfAW) March 28, 2017. 🙂

The Bathroom Pianist

I was three when curiosity was born inside me. I remember the first thing I asked my mom was about the grand piano covered and silenced inside her room’s bathroom.

I grew old asking why it’s hidden. She has offered me nothing but a teary smile, until today. With the same nostalgic yet melancholic look, she said, “Your dad proposed to me with a song he composed inside his house’s bathroom with this piano.”

“Everyday I wait for him to get this back or to play for me again. I placed it here so he knows where to find it.”

Note: The tiled wall looks bathroom to me. 😀
Word count: 100
©2016 Rosemawrites@A Reading Writer. All Rights Reserved.
Photo credit: Mike Vore

For Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers (FFfAW) March 07, 2017. 🙂 Glad to be back dear PJ! ❤

Spring Bud

I smell how the supposed sweet, summer aroma turned into a chilling winter scent as I watch how her soft, smooth skin turns from blushed pink to lifeless violet. I listen to her frail heartbeats, silently begging, pleading, helpless against her quite incoming death.

With a tear-stained face, my mouth utters its own prayer as I hold my almost dying newborn sister. With my shaking arms, I wrap her little body and hope my warmth can give life to thee like the spring sun’s kiss to a frozen naked tree.

My little spring bud
is now a blooming flower.
Death, love can conquer.

02.07.2017
©2017 Rosemawrites@A Reading Writer. All Rights Reserved.
Photo credit: Unsplash

In response to dVerse‘s Haibun Monday Ekphrasis and Haiga by Björn Rudberg (brudberg).
Today I would like you to write a haibun on any subject that you like. but you should illustrate it with one picture, and let picture prose and haiku complement each other.

P.S. This haibun is a recollection of a scene which happened six years ago when I held my almost dying sister. Today is her 6th birthday and she is still with us. ❤

dverse

A Mother’s Heart

8

I almost dropped the two full paper bags when I saw the familiar blue car parked in front of our home. So they are back after a month.

Seated in front of my husband, my daughter and her rugged boyfriend sat in full-of-fear silence. I walked in without looking at them. I might not be able to stop myself from hugging my stubborn child who loves to escape with the “love of her life”.

“I’m pregnant,” her shaky voice revealed before she finally broke into tears.

“We’re not surprised,” I said as I gripped my husband’s shoulder.

I looked at my fragile 16-year old girl with an aching mother’s heart. What have I done wrong? I’m afraid I’ll never know.

Word count: 120
©2016 Rosemawrites@A Reading Writer. All Rights Reserved.
Photo credit:Yinglan 🙂

In response to Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers (FFfAW) October 25, 2016.

Rules:

  • a flash fiction challenge (stories in 100-175 words or less)
  • each story should have a beginning, a middle, and an end
  • no serial (continuation) stories
  • include a pingback to the challenge post

Thank you for hosting this awesome prompt, Priceless Joy! ❤ 

Read more short stories here:

Book Review: Inside the O’Briens by Lisa Genova

Inside the O'Briens

“Reality depends on perspective, on what is paid attention to.”

43rd – Inside the O’Briens by Lisa Genova

 Rating: ❤❤❤❤ (Good read, definitely)

What is it about: Joe O’Brien is a forty-four-year-old police officer from the Irish Catholic neighborhood of Charlestown, Massachusetts. A devoted husband, proud father of four children in their twenties, and respected officer, Joe begins experiencing bouts of disorganized thinking, uncharacteristic temper outbursts, and strange, involuntary movements. He initially attributes these episodes to the stress of his job, but as these symptoms worsen, he agrees to see a neurologist and is handed a diagnosis that will change his and his family’s lives forever: Huntington’s Disease.

Huntington’s is a lethal neurodegenerative disease with no treatment and no cure. Each of Joe’s four children has a 50 percent chance of inheriting their father’s disease, and a simple blood test can reveal their genetic fate. While watching her potential future in her father’s escalating symptoms, twenty-one-year-old daughter Katie struggles with the questions this test imposes on her young adult life. Does she want to know? What if she’s gene positive? Can she live with the constant anxiety of not knowing?

As Joe’s symptoms worsen and he’s eventually stripped of his badge and more, Joe struggles to maintain hope and a sense of purpose, while Katie and her siblings must find the courage to either live a life “at risk” or learn their fate.

What I Love: How the story unfolds.

The explanatory prelude.

The suspense.

The rawness of the characters and their individuality.

The lovely picture of a family battling a hard disease with strength, love and hope.

What I Don’t Love Much: None. 4 stars rating is because I love Lisa Genova’s Love Anthony and Still Alice more. 🙂

Wise Words: “Once you can imagine these things, you can’t unimagine them.”

“Every breath is a risk. Love is why we breathe.” –Katie

©2016 Rosemawrites@A Reading Writer. All Rights Reserved.
Photo and Story Summary: Goodreads and Unsplash

Father’s Dilemma

6

What will make a teenager feel better after a sudden breakup? Maybe good food?

I stared at our almost full kitchen cabinet pondering what to cook for my daughter with a broken heart. I can feel mine throbbing too. If only her mom was still here, maybe she can say the right healing words to her.

What can an old man do to make her lovely daughter forget her not-so-good-looking ex-boyfriend?

I heard her almost silent sobs again.  I don’t have her mother’s words, but I do have a father’s warm and tight hug. Maybe it will do for now.

Word count: 100
©2016 Rosemawrites@A Reading Writer. All Rights Reserved.
Photo credit: my dearie Maria of Doodles and Scribbles ❤

In response to Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers (FFfAW) October 11, 2016.

Rules:

  • a flash fiction challenge (stories in 100-175 words or less)
  • each story should have a beginning, a middle, and an end
  • no serial (continuation) stories
  • include a pingback to the challenge post

Thank you for hosting this awesome prompt, Priceless Joy! ❤ 

Read more short stories here:

Seasons’ Winds

Almost four months from now, I’ll be turning 25. It recently dawned on me, oh, what have I done with my life? I’ve studied hard and earned honors, but my ultimate dream still feels too far. I’m working hard but monetary state remains harsh.Yet looking back, I know my family and I are already far from where we’ve been. I believe the coming years hold a promising future that’s still unseen.

There’s a valiant tree
undressing with seasons’ winds.
Change doesn’t mean death.

©2016 Rosemawrites@A Reading Writer. All Rights Reserved.
Photo credit: Unsplash

In response to dVerse‘s Haibun Monday:Winds of Change by Toni of kanzensakura who also wrote about change here!

Thank you for the lovely haibun prompts, Toni! I maybe a newbie in dVerse but I really admire your warmth as a person and your talent as a poetess. I wish you a lovely hiatus.

dverse

Please write for me a one paragraph haibun about change. End it with a nature-based haiku.

First Prayer

A chain smoker. A decade-long drug addict. An abusive and unfaithful husband. An irresponsible father.

Yes. That’s me.

It is surely surprising for you to see me here. Seating in the middle of your holy house.

Honestly, I never planned to go to you. I have never went to you, in fact. Maybe the first and the last time that I stepped into your sacred home was when I was christened. And then just a day after that you killed my mom. Then my abusive and irresponsible dad, well, like father like son, left me too.

That’s how unfair you have been to me!

I learned to steal food to survive, even when I’m just three. I have evolved to a full-blown criminal with gangs as the family that you never let me have. I never get married, I have loved one woman only, but that doesn’t mean I was a good partner.

You cannot blame me, though. Because you’ve been unfair to me. Until now… you’re unfair to me.

So why the hell am I here?

For her, the only person that loved me despite my dark side.

For the first time and for the last time, I am begging you to please let her live.

I will not blame you, though I really badly want to curse you because you’ve been unfair to me! But for the sake of my five-year-old granddaughter, I am down on bended knees, please let her live.

She is the reason why my daughter let me live with them. She is the reason why her mom accepted me. It’s because of her, why I am now with my family after so many years.

She’s the only person who talks to me. She’s the only kid who considers me as a family. Her smiles are like sun rays. Her laughter are like chimes from heaven. She is my joy, she is my light.

And… she’s so young.

You can take me because my life has been wasted ever since. So come on! Take me!

But please… oh Lord… let my granddaughter live.

11.20.2015
©2016 Rosemawrites@A Reading Writer

Photo credit: Unsplash
Originally written for Blogging University’s WRITING 101 Day 15 Assignment.

Endings

I have to see her before the day ends.

I have to do it before the sun sets.

I am shaking inside as I slowly twisted the smooth metal door knob.

The smell of disinfectant welcomed me. My wrinkled skin quickly felt the cold and sterile atmosphere of the room.

I can hear nothing but the continuous ‘beep’ of the machine that I cannot really look at, yet.

I gaze around and took my time in perusing the benign prints painted with uplifting colors. No matter how many minutes I look at them, they remain ineffective.

I stared down at the almost-white and completely dustless floor.

My heart is racing. I don’t know if I am ready to take a few more step.

Inhale. Exhale. Deeply. Again.

As I went near, the smell changed. I know I am now near you because the sweet vanilla scent is now within my nose’s reach.

Oh, you smelled that way since I first saw you, 50 years ago.

I stopped at the edge of your bed.

Your mattress looks comfortable. But I know you still prefer to lay on the bed that we shared until that fateful day when your sick brain nerves snatched you from me.

I finally seat on the stainless stool beside you without looking up, yet.

Inhale. Exhale. Again.

I slowly raise by heavy head and finally see your face. You are not as young as before but your look will always be the loveliest in my eyes.

Age has never worn out your beauty, but those tubes somehow distracts me.

I stare at your face as my old hand search for yours.

I hold your always soft but now cold hand. I squeezed it with all my remaining strength wishing that your eyes will open when you feel my warmth.

I looked at you for a second, a minute, an hour. You never moved. You remained still.

I knew that the fiery red sun is now slowly sinking beneath the horizon as the orange and red streaks of light illuminate your lovely but emotionless face.

I kissed your hand and whispered ‘I love you’, for one last time.

I reached for the machine’s button.

The beeps stopped. The sun sets. My hope ends.

09.24.2015
©2016 Rosemawrites@A Reading Writer

Photo credit: Unsplash
Originally written for Blogging University’s WRITING 101 Day 14 Assignment.