Literary Lion Writing Prompt: Boys

After much time  I am back, and we’ll see how long my presence lasts this time, working on a piece for the Literary Lion Writing Prompt: Boys.

This one is clearly being sourced out of my own life right now…


 

Boys

A copious collection of extravagant glass and crystal perfume bottles lined glass shelving in the window. Between the sun during the day and the neon sign across the street at night, some source of rainbows always painted the white grimy walls.

The police were looking through lace and frills from floor to ceiling looking for anything that might be out of place. They questioned the outrageously decorated tenant while things and people shuffled about.

A sharp crack sounded, an officer yelped, and part of the closet came off in his hand and an old skeleton fell out of the closet.

Words: 100

Literary Lion Writing Prompt: Pool

 

Trying my hand at Pool, the latest prompt from Laura Feasey’s Literary Lion Writing Prompts.


The Dying Pool

 

The beauty was gone.

We had thought he was special, my sister and I.

He wove magic with his words by the big fire. The cacophony had quieted for him and his passion had born infant oceans from those who listened.

We had thought he was born of the sea.

 

He came to us, gazed in and truly saw us.

We thought he was returning to the sea.

He was not magic. He was not of the sea. He thrashed and churned our home with his panic.

We let him float away when he was still.

 

Word Count: 96

Literary Lion Writing Prompt: Star

Then the labyrinth lost it’s way. 

 


The literary lion is in mourning, and so this fortnight’s challenge is Bowie inspired… and rather scarily, the chosen word – Star – seems so very apt. It was F Scott Fitzgerald that dared to tell the great Hemingway that he couldn’t write a story in six words. Hemingway delivered a literary KO with “For sale, […]

http://ismithwords.com/2016/01/14/literary-lion-six-words/

Literary Lion Writing Prompt: Fall

Another belated attempt for the Literary Lion’s writing prompts. In 400 words or less here is my work for Fall.

 

Falling For Heroism

There it was again–the pull of a world that had shifted and fallen apart beneath his feat, the cost of heroism that everyone romanticizes with pretty nurses and massages the lead to happy endings.

He pushed back up, the pain blurring his eyes with tears as he fought back against the pain and failure lurking behind his efforts.

He had been trained for worse than this, to withstand the elements, torture, full and complete abandonment by humanity. How was it that standing seemed so insurmountable?

The pull back down to  shattered futures brought him crashing down again. He pushed up onto an elbow and panted, sweat trickling down his forehead and washed out of his eyes, dripping to the floor as a singular drop of dreams and toxins.

His buddies had hauled him up, had impeded their progress with their field kit turnikits and slung him upon their shoulders. They’d have dragged him between them if his body had reached to the ground.

He’d found the device by stepping on it if memory served. They told him thank you for his selflessness, for yelling to stay back as he jerked his head out of his helmet and slammed it down, falling on it as if his desire to save those behind him was weight enough to contain the explosion.

He’d saved his lives and lost his legs… some other parts, too.

He reached up to the parallel bars, with one arm and then the other, granting with the effort and exhaustion.

He would not let that fall nor this one define him.

Words: 263

Literary Lion Writing Prompt: Edge

The Literary Lion bestowed his Edge writing prompt upon his pride quite a while ago, but I’m just now getting around to it. So, here’s my contribution in 400 words or less. 🙂


The Edge of Art

The palette knife was nothing special to anyone but the painter. The palette was covered with globs and smears and swirls as the painter worked. There was something calming about mixing the colors before the application. He took his time, slicing a bit of color from this shade and that, mixing them together slowly and gently till it matched his mind’s eye just so.

The ingredients with this particular medium were tricky, there were so many variables to consider when cultivating it. Event the best of colors could go bad. You had to work quickly and with strong strokes before it dried or died. Living mediums were like that.

This latest piece was a sunset. His own life was coming to a close soon. It was a hazard of this line of work. Life his father before him, and his grandmother before that, he worked to perfect his craft, to uphold his family’s legacy. They had all been artists and with each generation they tried to improve upon the last.

He had been the first to truly utilize the resources at his disposal, making and mixing more than one color for a pice of work. This had been commissioned by the grand museum in town. It had to be perfect. He didn’t know how much longer he would be able to work once his work was publicized to that extent. It was a risk, but one worth taking.

He walked to one of the steel slabs, Table A, examine the blue veins of color. He took his knife and pressed its tip against an azure line. The liquid needed to the surface, a lighter red then he was looking for. He turned to the next table and traced the veins on a younger limb. He took the palette knife to it, revealing a darker, richer blend. That was better.

He made a mental note to add more iron to the lines for Table A. There must be a nutritionally deficiency forming.

He worked with the knife, forming the sea cliffs, sharp jagged, and dark against the fading light of the sun. He had to work quickly, slanting with the thinnest part of the blade. This pigment was younger and clotted faster.

Words: 371

Literary Lion Writing Prompt: Gamble

Here is my entry for Laura’s Literary Lion Prompt, Gamble, in 400 words or less. Many thanks to her and her amazing creativity for these prompts!


 

Fly Away

They keep telling me what I can’t do. They keep telling me I have to be careful. To be safe. I’m sick. I’m fragile. I can’t be like other kids. I can’t jump and run. My teacher says to be patient, that maybe I’ll be stronger when I get to first grade.

I’m mad.

It’s not fair.

I’ve been swinging as high as I can go, the wind helps me feel better…

But the tears still hurt.

I need to get higher, even as the swing hiccups and snaps, I want to go higher. I want to get away.

Maybe… if I get higher enough… I can let go… and jump into the sky… Or… they could be right…

 

Word Count: 114