Muse – June 28: Flash Fiction Challenge

Jan Malique writes a portrait of an artist and his muse.

strangegoingsonintheshed

working-template-for-ff-challenges36June 28, 2018, prompt: In 99 words (no more, no less) write a story that is a sketch or about a sketch. It can be “A Sketch of a Romance” or “The Sketch of Aunt Tillie.” Go where the prompt leads you to scribble. Respond by July 3, 2018.

Rules are here.

My offering for Charli’s challenge this week. It’s a sketch of a special Muse. That’s all I’m saying…

The artist’s model sat on the chair, her face reflecting a series of emotions. The sketch was infused with pathos and great delicacy. He had captured her sense of sadness, the yearning to be her true self. His hand had traced the lines of her face with such artistry and, love.

Love, what a loaded word. They always seemed to fall in love with her. She was Galatea to the their Pygmalion. A dream glimpsed in marble and…

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part 2

Another installment of mystery from Samantha Lucero

samantha lucero

NEW ORLEANS:

Morning rose and the wallowing sun divulged trace litters of a lady’s’ under things and a stringy rip of shredded denim. The evidence was fixed up in a concrete drainage ditch by a humid water line, with alien pale rocks that jutted out circling it like delegates from the moon and carefully placed on top the tatters to keep them from disturbance.

When the nutria scattered after having nibbled at coagulated blood spots dry and sweet to them like hard candy, they’d arrived. A set of shadows, which frowned and overlooked the mystery pile like mourners hovering over a peeled casket.

But where’s the body, one asked, yellow lettering dramatically over the heart of her windbreaker spelled out the words S-T-A-T-E and P-O-L-I-C-E. She shifted and bent her knees to crouch and lean over it thoughtfully, making the chunky coat swish and her arthritic knees click. She grimaced…

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One

TheFeatheredSleep – An only child, seeking

TheFeatheredSleep

Out of the smallness that is me

Not you

I don’t know how you stumble through this world

Or glide, shine, explode, trip

Out of the smallness that is me

Is the only point of reference

I’m no empath

Can’t speak for you, choose colors for walls or swatch of fabric

You may stand beside me all our lives

Rubbing shoulders, sharing scraps thrown

By the hedgemony

Still I am me and you are you

You born in a family of four

Eight, three, six

Me, born in zero

A concept that is Indian

As my concept is reduced

Shrunken, made to fit a narrow lens

Just me

Till this world strokes her end

On my wick

And kissing me bon nuit

Extinguishes the tick tock tick

Out of the smallness that is me

To some an ordinary, downright boring set of genes

We are not that much more to…

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What You Kill, Kills You- Sohini Chatterjee

Sohini Chatterjee comes to Blood Into Ink, spelling T.R.A.U.M.A

Blood Into Ink

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At ten past two at night I push

sorrow out of ashen tongue, cigarette burnt lips,

stained sweater of blood, injury and sweat,

and spell T.R.A.U.M.A in hundred different

ways.

The mother commands homicide

of naked blisters and turgid wounds

before the stench of guilt reaches the shore

and screams breathless; I acquiesce.

Now every third Sunday after seven

satin sashes hide hidden sores

so that fine wine and finer lies can turn antidote again

So

I laugh ten times four every third minute

and count till five to stab at the heart twice

and pull out one strand after another

of hair lost to laughter lost to pain

and pull regret out of my skin

and hold it close,

until I choke.

And then at ten past two at night

demon slaying pills birth acrid truths

hold me by the neck

and force me to spell T.R.A.U.M.A

again.


Sohini Chatterjee…

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Resistance

Christine Ray – Silence and Shame rejected

Brave & Reckless


Silence
is the boon companion
of shame
I am tired
so very
very tired
of silence
of shame
weighing me down
pulling at
my shoulders
dragging me
to my knees
I will not feed them anymore
I reject
silence
I reject
shame
They do not serve me
In this brave and reckless life

© 2017 Christine Elizabeth Ray – All rights Reserved

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Come Sit With Me And Share My Offering

Jan Malique – An invitation

strangegoingsonintheshed

home-front-241577__480 JanneG, Pixabay

Come sit with me and share my offering,

Visions of verdant green and honey tinged stone,

Of palaces hidden in plain view,

And sighs of wonder.

Come quickly, pass through the door,

Our Time is fleeting.

peacock-1000629__480 taniadimas, Pixabay

Come sit with me and share my offering,

Of secret worlds coming unbidden,

And Bejewelled birds sweeping by,

Singing praise of a Peacock Angel,

‘Melek Taus come forward’,

So do they cry triumphant.

mocha-2111932_1280 Amuljar, Pixabay

Come sit with me and share my offering,

Golden roasted beans of sublime perfume,

And dark nectar mellow on the tongue.

Sip slowly friend of my friend,

Savour the time I have gifted,

Precious and filled with memories elusive.

oriental-garden-1680993__480 reverent, Pixabay

Come walk with me and share my offering,

Pass through perfumed halls and sacred portals,

All holding whispers and pictures of beauty.

Speak softly of life and death,

And utter words drenched in happiness…

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Sorry, Trump supporter, I can’t be your friend anymore.

LuckyOtter – Unfriending Trump supporters, it’s about something more basic than political labels and opinions.

Lucky Otters Haven

bobandsally

Cartoon Credit: Unknown.

A few days ago, I unfriended an old Facebook friend because I couldn’t handle her constant pro-Trump memes and posts anymore.  Later, she asked me why I unfriended her.  I decided to be honest.  She replied that she thought I was being silly for unfriending people over something as shallow as politics.

But she missed the point.   I didn’t unfriend her because I didn’t agree with her politics.  Because it’s not about mere politics.  It’s not about Democrat vs. Republican.   It’s not about liberal vs. conservative.   It’s not about right vs. left.

It’s about good vs. evil.

It’s about whether you’re on the side of the bullies and sociopaths and applaud their scorched earth terrorist tactics vs.  being a decent fucking human being.  It’s about whether you’re on the side of a wealthy group of selfish criminals vs.  the average Joes and Janes just trying to get…

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Important announcement about ‘Confessions of a Prodigal Daughter’

Beth Caplin renames one of her books.

Sarahbeth Caplin

confessions-of-a-prodigal-daughterebookI often joke that it was a bad idea to publish a memoir at the age of 22 because the shiny, child-like faith I had back then is now frozen in time. I’ve evolved quite a bit since, but only those who know me personally are aware of that. My readers are not.

If I were to read Confessions of a Prodigal Daughter today, after having deconstructed my faith several times over the last few years, I would be very disappointed by the ending. It’s not neatly wrapped in a bow or anything, but it oozes a great deal of “With God, all things are possible!” platitudes.

It doesn’t convey the ongoing difficulties of living life as a Jew-ish Episcopalian – nor does it even go into how I discovered the Episcopal church, which is a very critical part of the journey.

It also doesn’t include my experiences at seminary…

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