Cherry Lips

Our old cherry tree is pregnant again with its plump, bloody, cheerful fruits,
which always remind me of your red lips as soft as the sound of the flute—
until that wintry day came and turned them so blue and oh, so cold.

©2016 Rosemawrites@A Reading Writer. All Rights Reserved.

Photo credit: Inma Ibáñez 


I miss three-lining! ❤

In response to Sonya of Only 100 Words‘ Three Line Tales Week Twenty-Seven.

If you want to join, here are the simple rules:

  • Write three lines inspired by the photo prompt.
  • Link back to this post.
  • Tag your post with 3LineTales (so we can find you in the Reader).
  • Read and comment on other TLT participants’ lines.
  • Have fun.

About Him

She left me with nothing but two torn pages
scrawled softly with her sweet, subtle white lies
about him.

©2016 Rosemawrites@A Reading Writer. All Rights Reserved.

Photo credit: Ronny Garcia Moron


In response to Mindlovemisery MenageriePhoto Challenge #124

1

Homecoming

Copyright - Douglas M. MacIlroy

I’m back home to cook lunch when I heard my girls’ delighted squeals. I missed hearing them. I never thought I’ll hear their warm giggles again after their dad left us, for no known reason. There’s no farewell nor goodbye. He just stopped coming home.

I quietly went up to sneak a peak and was stunned to see he’s back, my husband. He removed his weird-looking helmet, looked at me with chilling intensity.

“I know where you’ve been,” he said coldly.

I want to run back to my lover’s arms but my husband’s gaze showed escape wouldn’t stand a chance.

Word count: 100 words

©2016 Rosemawrites@A Reading Writer. All Rights Reserved.

Photo credit: Douglas Macllroy


In response to Friday Fictioneers prompt for 10 June 2016.

Friday Fictioneers is a weekly writing challenge hosted by the generous Fairy Blog-Mother Rochelle Wisoff-Fields, where a photo is used as a prompt for a piece of fiction.

Read more great 100-word short stories here:

The Fallen

No one wanted to go down, so I volunteered. I’ve been here for three days only but I now know why my friends begged me to think twice. I have helped random people thrice. I never got a “thank you” even once.

I helped an old man cross the street, he stared at my face and gave a mischievous grin before he left. I helped a mother pick her baby’s fallen rattle. She hurriedly grabbed it and whispered with disgust, “snatcher”. My last try was with a teenage boy whose lifting a humongous box. He just laughed and let me lift it on my own.

With three failed tries, I am now stoned. Broken and armless. Yet my heart’s in full bliss. I’ve fallen from heaven to earth to show humans little kindness. Three have showed ungratefulness.

But they are just a small percent of these beings I still love and believed in, and I’m not giving up on them.

Word count: 160

©2016 Rosemawrites@A Reading Writer. All Rights Reserved.

Photo credit: Phylor


NOTE: My mind’s churning something gruesome and dark when I saw this photo but I’ve posted a lot of sad pieces recently so… I showed this photo to my Dearest and asked what could be written out of an armless statue. So.. voila! 😀

In response to Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers (FFfAW) June 07, 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:

Nowhere

I thought
you are
my heart’s compass
yet
you did
nothing
but lead me
n
o
w
h
e
r
e.

©2016 Rosemawrites@A Reading Writer. All Rights Reserved.

Photo credit: Deviantart


In response to Mindlovemisery MenageriePhoto Challenge #116

MLM 1

Read more awesome poems here:

I Remember

I remember how the wind comb your long black hair as we climb our favourite hill. I remember how your eyes brighten up as I give you wild flowers— your happy pills.

I remember our favourite tree. It stood firm and proud. While our young love’s too mute to be loud. I remember our spot. I’d lean my back against the wooden bark. You’d lay your head on my soft lap. You’d look up and seek my eyes. I’d stare back and realize— words aren’t needed, our singing eyes are enough.

I remember them all while you forgot them all.

Word count: 100

©2016 Rosemawrites@A Reading Writer. All Rights Reserved.

Photo credit: Sunday Photo Fiction


In response to Sunday Photo Fiction for June 05, 2016.

159 06 June 5th 2016

Sunday Photo Fiction is a weekly writing challenge hosted by Alastair Forbes where a photo is used as a prompt for a piece of fiction using around 200 words. The piece doesn’t have to center around exactly what the photo is, it can be just used as a basis for a story.

Enjoy more awesome stories here:

The Last Letter

“As long as the waves still kiss the rock-shore, 
surely as I can still love you more,
certain as the sun sets and rises,
I promise I’ll be back, dearest.”

His seven-year-old letter turned my heart as cold as the ocean breeze. I’m done hoping. I’m done believing. I crumpled his words, balled it up with my shaking fist, ready to throw, let go.

Then I heard his voice, followed by rushed steps, then a hug from the back. I tasted salty tears, of joy or of anger, I’m not sure. But I’m sure he smells and feels like this.

Word count: 100 words

©2016 Rosemawrites@A Reading Writer. All Rights Reserved.

Photo credit: Rochelle Wisoff-Fields


In response to Friday Fictioneers prompt for 20 May 2016.

Friday Fictioneers is a weekly writing challenge hosted by the generous Fairy Blog-Mother Rochelle Wisoff-Fields, where a photo is used as a prompt for a piece of fiction.

Read more great 100-word short stories here:

Tied Tight

Tied Tight

Tied inside your tight love,
imprisoned in your intense passion,
you took my soul away from its home.

©2016 Rosemawrites@A Reading Writer. All Rights Reserved.

Photo credit: Wynand von Poortvliet


In response to Sonya of Only 100 Words‘ Three Line Tales Week Seventeen.

If you want to join, here are the simple rules:

  • Write three lines inspired by the photo prompt.
  • Link back to this post.
  • Tag your post with 3LineTales (so we can find you in the Reader).
  • Read and comment on other TLT participants’ lines.
  • Have fun.

The Heart You Left

The Heart You Left

Our children, our great grandchildren, and our great great grand-kids wanted to have a big centenarian birthday bash for me. I refused. I am too old for a party. I can’t even do jiggly jives any more. All I want for my 100th birthday is to be with you. That’s why we’re all here.

While our children’s eyes admire the grandiose Dôme des Invalides’ ceiling, I slowly closed mine and let my soul feel the dead heart you left— interred inside the vaults of Les Invades.

Time was not able to take my pain away. I still long for your body, your probably-mutilated-body left undiscovered. Most of all, I still wish your heart is still beating with mine today.

Word count: 120

©2016 Rosemawrites@A Reading Writer. All Rights Reserved.

Photo credit: TJ Paris


NOTE: This is a work of fiction inspired by a non-fiction detail. There are real tombs and vaults in Les Invalides. While the most notable is Napoleon Bonaparte’s remain, there are French soldiers, now considered military heroes, whose only their hearts’ remains lie inside Les Invalides’ vaults.

In response to Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers (FFfAW) May 24, 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 the breathtaking prompt, Priceless Joy! ❤ 

Read more short stories here:

The Colours of the Flag

Surrounded by bright almost blinding camera flashes, carpet as red as fresh human blood, bodies in ensemble more expensive than my house, I felt overwhelmed and lost at the same time.

I am an indie actress with a promising film nominated in Cannes Film Festival. This is big. Bigger than my dreams as a kid.

As the world waits for the show to start, my eyes widely surveys the festive scene. Then I saw the blue, the yellow and the red drinks— the colours of my country’s flag.

They took me home. Away from the limelight and shimmering cinematic sight. Near my beloved yet almost hungry-all-the-time children. 

If only my eyes can swallow all they see, I will take them all and free my children from the prison called poverty.

Word count: 130

©2016 Rosemawrites@A Reading Writer. All Rights Reserved.

Photo credit: Sunday Photo Fiction


NOTE: The three wine glasses have the colours of my country’s flag. 🙂

In response to Sunday Photo Fiction for May 22, 2016.

Sunday Photo Fiction is a weekly writing challenge hosted by Alastair Forbes where a photo is used as a prompt for a piece of fiction using around 200 words. The piece doesn’t have to center around exactly what the photo is, it can be just used as a basis for a story.

Enjoy more awesome stories here: