Flash fiction - An Open Window

After two months I've happily found a little space and time to write today as the snow falls, not so softly, past my window on the river. Baby sleeps and chirps to himself alongside the pitter patter of my typing. I've linked up this week with Julia's Place and her 100WCGU write. The prompt is ... the suitcase lay open ... Thanks for reading. Comments welcome! 

An Open Window

The suitcase lay open, like an invitation. Like a white flag. 

How could he possibly choose between what to take and what to leave behind? Everything in the room was meaningless. His heart lurched as he grabbed at clothes and books. His hands touched his things, but he felt nothing stuffing them into the tiny space his whole word had become. 

He knew they were coming, but the bangs on the door startled him anyway. He sprang towards the window, stuffing himself through with his case, his foot knocking the photo of Dora, her face forever etched on his heart. 

100 words

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Haikus - Dandelions

In the early morning when my baby just wants to play by himself and laugh at the fact his hands are attached to him and can find things, I sit half asleep and write some lines for the writers' posse over at Studio 30 Plus. Ideas pour, but I am tired, so I will just leave these two poems, using one of the prompts this week: dandelions. View more by others by clicking on the icon below. Thanks for reading.

Soldiers

They stand poised but burnt,
Like old dandelions, war
Scarred in a new world.

Untrodden

A summer moon hangs
On fields of dandelions
Where no one has stepped.

The flag on the floor

It's a picture prompt this week for the 100WCGU writing challenge at Julia's Place. As soon as I saw it, certain words came to my head. They are not my words and I have never written them down before.

They were written by a boy in my GCSE history class in 1995. We were studying the First World War and were given the task of writing a short poem. He read this out loud to the class and I have always remembered it. I can't remember if he gave it a title or not, so I have taken liberty with that.

In the wired and connected world we live in, I am not interested in using his words to connect with him again, so he will remain anonymous. I wonder if he even remembers what he wrote. If he does, and ever stumbles here, let him know those words touched me when I was fifteen and still do today, especially on this day of remembrance.

The Flag on the Floor

When the standing berry gets shot,
We pick it up and march on.
But we didn't today.

We left the flag on the floor.


Read more at Julia's Place HERE