Sunday, September 21, 2014

A Three-Uncle Job


It was a three-uncle job.

The first when she was a scrawny preteen, hunkered tightly over a football, having insisted naively she could play with the neighborhood boys who were older, beefier, infinitely careless about her person.

“Uncle,” she squealed, and he pulled them off her, yanking and tugging at the other boys’ belts and jackets until he reached her, sniffling at the bottom of the heap.

The second when she lost the last of her week’s worth of gas money at cards, never having mastered euchre, the secret of signaling to her partner, or the requisite game face.

“Uncle,” as she slammed the cards on the table with tinny bravura, before he graciously offered to give her a lift to school and work until payday because she was on his way and he liked the company during his commute.

The third when her tiny, sharp knuckles hit the back of the pub table after one, two, too-many tequilas slammed during his going-away party prompted arm wrestling dares.

“Uncle,” she cried, no, really cried, tears dribbling weakly down her cheeks, mistaken for symptoms of physical pain as she rubbed her bruised hand against her heart.

Three-uncles, and the job was done.

He loved her and he couldn't leave without her, wouldn't live without her.

_____
Copyright 2014 Femme Malheureuse
Submission to Revolver magazine online | WANTED flash fiction contest 
Prompt: First line mandatory; Rules: 300 words or less.
[Photo: Original by Will Foster (mazakar) via Flickr, modified for size and color]

Friday, August 8, 2014

L'eclipse amoureuse


If I lean out far enough off this balcony near the Champs-Élysées, I can see the Arc de Triomphe. It does not inspire a sensation of victory, though. Its carved limestone excess leaves me cold.

Across the street is a cafe where I can sit comfortably for hours, undisturbed by paparazzi. I take mild pleasure in this, until the waitstaff cast a Gallic eye upon me, a hint to be gone.

The streets feel like they do anywhere else in Europe, the signs are as cryptic as the people, though gutters are swept clean. Nowhere else will possess the same golden afternoon light, or a similar blend of fresh bread and bitter espresso in the morning.

A change of venue should have freed me to write as it has in the past. Paris’ scenery has inspired countless artists over a thousand years. But I struggle to do more than play my old standards, pulling them reluctantly from my guitar. No new words or notes emerge from my fingertips. I haven’t been able to write for months now.

Nights are worse. Roaming anonymously in the dark through the crowds in the Latin Quarter, lost at the base of Mont Michel, or watching the bateaux mouche slip by along the moonlit Seine, I am as blank as the empty linens flung back on my bed.

On the way to the theatre where I am booked, I find street art. I can make out the artists’ intent with my meager French. Praise here, a complaint there, and the acerbic commentary sketched in spray paint where the police were not some night past.

And there, scrawled in Parisian hand, worn by traffic,
Pour atteindre la lune,
il faut viser le soleil dans le nuit
mais "le soleil ni la lune ne peuvent se regarder en face."
Voila l'eclipse amoureuse.
Words are missing or distorted, and my interpretation of the remainder is weak at best. Some snippet from a Greek or French philosopher, I cannot say. Revelation lies in these broken bits like shards among an archaeological dig. Discovery dawns, blinding, as I reach for a pen and paper, and then my guitar.
The truth I found in Paris
You are my sun and moon.
You are my bliss.
Without you, I am in shadow.
A life in eclipse
Without you, I am hollow
It’s this I couldn’t face.
This truth I found in Paris
It’s you I miss.
If only I could sing to you tonight, ma chère. I will settle for tomorrow, before my flight aims home to you.
___________
Copyright 2014 Femme Malheureuse
AngstPlay FlashFic - Prompt 02-AUG-2014
Graphic: Unknown, via AngstPlay

Wednesday, April 30, 2014

Alpha Aleph Omega Tav



Alpha, aleph
almighty appear.

Arise and activate
acquire, accept,
attend and
begin.

Commence creation
defending drafts.
Effects edited,
forging form from
gimels generated
however hatched.

Induced inflection;
just jump,
knacker kappa-kaphs
like lightning,
moving manic
nimbly named.

Other options
pulled, pushed
quickly quilled
redacted, removed.

Schemed seamed
text together,
underlined underneath.
Very vexing
wily words
Xacto-ed,
yet yielded
zenith.

Omega, tav,
the end.

_____
Copyright 2014 Femme Malheureuse
@ApparatusMag #NaPoMo 2014 Prompt 30
Graphic: Markus Spiering via Flickr

Tuesday, April 29, 2014

Storytime

Beneath a moonless midnight sky we sat
around this primal fire, lit
for the purposes of scorching
sugary fluff pierced on sticks and
held over coals until desired
warmness and browness have been achieved
as part of a curious seasonal ritual:
the sacrifice of marshmallows to
the gods of summer.

Little voices clamored for a tale
insisting only I can tell them well
though they based their opinions of my skill
upon sweet stories told at bedtime
Fables knit of tiny bunnies separated
from longing rabbit mothers
or more angst-filled, old, and bitter yarns
of dead queens and orphan daughters,
and wicked stepmothers intent on the worst
evil not spelled out for tender ears.

Embers cooled, their warm light fading,
as faintest whispers of smoke
wafted up to heaven like spirits
freed from the maple trees in which
they once were trapped.
Stars emerged above, winking
as little heads nod to and fro
fresh air and sunshine having
broken their grasp on wakefulness.

Adults cuddled the drowsy bodies
of their babes fighting sleep
with sand-gritty eyes, asking for me
to tell the stories which
their wee ones begged me to spin.
I know very few, surely someone else
must know more or better tales
to recount around a campfire,
but they badgered me until I yielded
to their scary story demands.

Very well, I said, I'll thread the one
I know the best, the one about
the woman in white who lives nearby
adored by children for her fabulous myths
spun next to hearths while stirring hearts
to pound more fiercely as flames fly high.
Upon which I poked the fire more firmly
checking mesmerized wide dark eyes
before I gently floated away
into the twilit mist over their heads.

Don't ask me for another story
I murmured, the dew's fall upon
their shocked foreheads, their brows
in their hairlines raised by surprise.
I'm afraid this narrative is a bit
difficult to follow with another better.
Perhaps next summer solstice
you can ask me again,
ply me with burnt sugar offerings
and childish supplication.

_____
Copyright 2014 Femme Malheureuse
@ApparatusMag #NaPoMo 2014 Prompt 29

Monday, April 28, 2014

Isabel's Lesson



I was not much older than my daughter
is now, a mere twenty-something girl
who thought she knew much about the world
jaded by all she had already seen
and experienced in her short life.

The book was magical, I thought
as I read it, wondering as I plowed
through deep and shallow fields
of fertile text whether the work
relied upon the silvery Latin tongue
of its beautiful authoress,
or if its perfumed prose owed its
charms to the work of translation.

One line read then was a throw-away,
an old man's passing observation of
women's role in his life.

As a young feminist fed up
with older males pestering me
for a taste, a bite,
some part of my youth
to restore their own vigor
as if I was a talisman,
a magic peach imbued with youth,
I discounted the author's voice
speaking through
the old man who used women.

Now I am an older woman myself
long paired to a now-older man
who both loved women and
utilized them in this life, gifted with a
daughter who has dealt likewise met
men asking for a bit of herself
to ward off the inevitable.
She was less jaded, better prepared
by our long, late night chats
about the nature of hungry men
and their tasty but harried mates.

I will not tell her what I have
finally realized these long years later
about the magical words depicting
the old man who used and loved
the women in his life.
She will learn for herself what
I know is not magic but truth:
The man who loves her far into the future
will rely upon her generosity
to remain the man he yet believes
himself to be.
Her kindness will be magic.

_____
Copyright 2014 Femme Malheureuse
@ApparatusMag #NaPoMo 2014 Prompt 28
Graphic: Martin Gommel via Flickr

Sunday, April 27, 2014

Communion



Wood smoke incense hovers
above the cooling water
lapping at the still-warm beach

Oak leaf mould perfumes
the heavy air beneath the trees
surrounding the cottage

Heavy woolen blanket covers
the sand underneath
an altar on which I lie

Stars overhead thicken
as the last of summer sun
dwindles to palest shadow

Moonlit clouds drift across
trailing faintly like waves
mirroring those on the lake

Midnight passes by
on falling stars' tails
that swim through the blue

Mosquitoes whine threats
landing now and again
their bites a sacrifice

This brief but faithful beauty
a sanctuary of season
in which I worship.

_____
Copyright 2014 Femme Malheureuse
@ApparatusMag #NaPoMo 2014 Prompt 27
Graphic: Ashley Williams via Flickr

Saturday, April 26, 2014

My Covert Sin



This dirty habit
brown bag wrapped
tucked in the car's trunk

This shameful sneak
collected furtively
purchased with cash

This wretched defect
spirited silently
stashed in the basement

This stealthy pleasure
clandestine creeping
down the rear staircase

This illicit booty
midnights opened
beneath green-shaded lights

This suppressed passion
family discouraged
insomniac indulgence

My secret weakness
enjoyed eagerly
musty antique books

_____
Copyright 2014 Femme Malheureuse
@ApparatusMag #NaPoMo 2014 Prompt 26
Graphic: Josh Self via Flickr

Friday, April 25, 2014

In Jest



It's not all fun
this life in colors
It's not a game
this chortle-filled career

My face aches with the torture
a grin permanently forced
in the presence of others

My self-esteem is withered
as painful pratfalls
and messy mockeries
undermine my identity

My redemption is meager
only your happiness
revealed in smiles
salvages my soul

Yet I beg deities' aide
for the hour when laughter
leaves us both for tears
and my worth is but a sneer.

_____
Copyright 2014 Femme Malheureuse
@ApparatusMag #NaPoMo 2014 Prompt 25
Graphic: The Court Jester (p. 34), illus. by Margaret Ely Webb, c. 1906 (color by author)

Thursday, April 24, 2014

La Fourche Paris

Worn out by Paris
shoe leather thinned
by ancient cobbles
nerves hectored
by strained tongues

We nested in the quiet
of a sitting room
hidden from avenues
and myriad bistros
calling our names

The destination arrived
at by way of hard work
lucky dart throws
age benchmarks
and the winds' blow

We pondered the questions
who are we
what are we to do
the philosophy of life
crystallized in decisions

Or merely one choice
not many

When coming upon
the fork in the road
recall this:

il n'ya pas de cuillère

there is no spoon.

_____
Copyright 2014 Femme Malheureuse
@ApparatusMag #NaPoMo 2014 Prompt 24
Graphic: Bobby Acree via Flickr

Wednesday, April 23, 2014

Something Funny

Elements of humor
are wanted here

But they are rare earth
when requested

Funny only happens
out of context

When one slams the door
not in a face as expected
but on their own foot

Perhaps that's the secret
of producing comedy
on demand
Upend the context

Like missing the step
was no painful accident
merely an invested pratfall

_____
Copyright 2014 Femme Malheureuse
@ApparatusMag #NaPoMo 2014 Prompt 23
Graphic: zhouxuan12345678 via Flickr (cropped)




Tuesday, April 22, 2014

Gichigami



This water is heaven on earth
the place where my soul is washed
dipped in its coolness
cleansed of the city
scourged free of urbanity

This fluid is life
the well of my sanity
my body nourished
wherein toxins release
while my thirsts are quenched

I am baptized again
restored to wholeness
If only this liquid power
could do the same for all

But this font of healing spirit
can only work its magic
when we do for it
what it has done for us

We are born of this sea, our mother
as her children we must bear her, too
To save our sorcerous solvent
her potency and purity must be assured.

_____
Copyright 2014 Femme Malheureuse
@ApparatusMag #NaPoMo 2014 Prompt 22 Earth Day
Graphic: Julie Falk via Flickr

Monday, April 21, 2014

Destination



This place is familiar
like the flesh on my arm
run over the bone
flush under with blood

This smell is intimate
like the sheets on my bed
worn with night bodies
warm like my home

This sight is precious
like the family cottage
sweet with relief
arrival after long road

This sound is pleasure
like hymns by choir
pulsing with heartbeat
slowed by the moon

_____
Copyright 2014 Femme Malheureuse
@ApparatusMag #NaPoMo 2014 Prompt 21
Graphic: jrparaguaya via Flickr

Sunday, April 20, 2014

Inversion



Hair untamed
Schoolwork unsatisfactory
Chores incomplete
Dates jerks

Job unspecified
Aspirations empty
Apartment messy
Boyfriend dork

Work worse
Married moron
Stepchild idiot
House dump

Pregnancy stupid
Child insipid
Career ridiculous
Family absurd

Never accepted
Utter disappointment
Always surprised
Called first

_____
Copyright 2014 Femme Malheureuse
@ApparatusMag #NaPoMo 2014 Prompt 20
Graphic: briteside913 via Flickr

Saturday, April 19, 2014

Moving Day



Part of my life
compartmentalized

more so than in reality
when phone calls from friends
interrupt intimacy
and parents' guilt trips
squash truth's response

Part of my life
stuffed in these boxes

more so than I realized
when I have not thought of them
in months and years
when I have long-dried petals
bookmarking sand-flecked pages

Part of my life
outside this container

more than detritus
when not worth a tag in a yard sale
or a passing pang of regret
over a debris field
caught in cardboard

Part of my life
jettisoned at the curb

_____
Copyright 2014 Femme Malheureuse
@ApparatusMag #NaPoMo 2014 Prompt 19
Graphic: Cyril Caton via Flickr

Friday, April 18, 2014

Fame



They argue as I if knew them
all their concerns
something I shared

The worries of feminism
and classism, elitism
all heat and light, everywhere

Women from 'round the world
no matter the country
all know me, my works

Men still sneer at me
but that's hardly news
some things don't change, do they?

All I know is that
I had time on my hands
and something to say

A sharpened pen point
an equally sharp wit
and paper on which to acquit

Myself of the bounds
and bonds of this plane
wherein I was merely
a sister named Jane.

_____
Copyright 2014 Femme Malheureuse
@ApparatusMag #NaPoMo 2014 Prompt 18
Graphic: Jane Austen as drawn by Cassandra Austen via Wikipedia



Thursday, April 17, 2014

Deformation



No preferred melody
comes to mind
Only rare earworms
infest the space
where a tune belongs

I gave up the notion
of favorite songs
when I gave up
the naive ideal
that love would stay

Memory resides instead
where a love once rested
Only the impression left
like detached notes recalled
from a long ago day

But unlike my mind
which feels merely empty
without favored music
my heart is a cripple
forever shaped around its loss

_____
Copyright 2014 Femme Malheureuse
@ApparatusMag #NaPoMo 2014 Prompt 17
Graphic: missteee via Flickr (cropped)

Wednesday, April 16, 2014

Oystercatcher

A sea of mystery
dark depths
silent secrets

In salty tears swim
patent pains
familiar fears

He stroked abreast
fixed firm
resolute rigor

The oyster's pearl
quaked, quivering
soft, slick

Its beard split wide
obscure opened
plush plundered

Ocean's rebus resolved
mystic mastered
saline sweet

_____
Copyright 2014 Femme Malheureuse
@ApparatusMag #NaPoMo 2014 Prompt 16
Graphic: Grey Line with Black, Blue and Yellow by Georgia O'Keefe (1923) via Wikipaintings

Tuesday, April 15, 2014

Strong Female Characters



Strong female characters are too few
shows the box office data
leading women who kick ass
outnumbered nine to one
by leading men who annoy
by virtue of their ubiquity
in so-called entertainment

Strong female characters are tropes
say others
the concept overused
due to feminism's mainstreaming
the concept inflated
merely a stock item
in so-called popular culture

Strong female characters are too few
in reality
when looking in the corner offices
of corporate crystal palaces
when looking in the administration
of academia's ivory towers
when looking for a name
of feminine nature on a science or technology panel

Strong female characters abound
in truth
when one looks hard
with new eyes in their own home
when observers consider differently
given humanity's origin
when one recognizes
without women's sacrifice and risk
facing inevitable pain and possible death
in birthing us
wiping our asses and noses
guiding our paths to adulthood

there'd be no characters at all.

_____
Copyright 2014 Femme Malheureuse
@ApparatusMag #NaPoMo 2014 Prompt 15
Graphic: Photo of mural depicting Isis via Wikipedia

Monday, April 14, 2014

Earthrise



Overhead scales the moon
its light brightening the road ahead
though pallid compared to its warmer brother
and inconstant as observed through time
leaving us for nights in the dark alone

Why are we left with even dimmer companions
much farther away
to light our path home?

We asked ourselves this question for millenia
fighting over conjectures about gods and myths
unsatisfied with evidence about space and physics

While we turn our eyes to the heavens
aiming our lenses upon celestial objects near and far
questions remain unanswered posed as hypotheses and theories

Why are we here on this blue fleck
looking at reflections
cast upon our dwelling?

And who looks back upon this tiny marble
asking for companionship
on their way home?

_____
Copyright 2014 Femme Malheureuse
@ApparatusMag #NaPoMo 2014 Prompt 14
Graphic: Earthrise by NASA Apollo 8 astronaut William Anders via Wikipedia

Sunday, April 13, 2014

Le Cauchemar



Moonlit blankets
abed
child tossed

Too-warm sheeting
strewn
youth stressed

Rapid panting
breathed
girl lost

Frozen members
limp
limbs stilled

Night terror
only
not a ghost

_____
Copyright 2014 Femme Malheureuse
@ApparatusMag #NaPoMo 2014 Prompt 13
Graphic: The Nightmare by J H Fuseli via Wikipedia

Saturday, April 12, 2014

Without

You ask me
what I cannot live without.

Trite answers filter up
but the truth revealed
upon examination
is that I can live
without most things
and without most people.

I am a product of having gone without.

What I am today is
strength born
of weak moments
when no one helped me to my feet.

Determination created
of graceless times
when others told me failure was mine.

Honesty honed
by faithless fires
when loved ones yielded to their demons.

I cannot imagine
what I would be
had I not been tried
by the things and people
that once had me
that I have since done without.

The better question is
what cannot live without me.

_____
Copyright 2014 Femme Malheureuse
@ApparatusMag #NaPoMo 2014 Prompt 12
Graphic: David Singleton via Flickr

Friday, April 11, 2014

Le Rêve



Before a mirror
naked
Without context
exposed

Wrapped around me
arms
Grasped my belly
hands

Pressed upon me
man
Warmth from behind
breath

Fecund.

One word alone
whispered
into my ear

What could it mean?

So shocking
it woke me
rousing from torpor
jolting awake
like lightning
in my soul

No more babes to come
it meant not this
My flesh would be slack
ever empty

But what would be birthed?

A decade later
I know the truth

Not all my bearing
is done in labor

Not all my fruits
are born
from my hips

_____
Copyright 2014 Femme Malheureuse
@ApparatusMag #NaPoMo 2014 Prompt 11
Graphic: babymellowdee via Flickr

Thursday, April 10, 2014

Green Death

Innocuous, leafy,
tendrils like young girls' curls
tease among the stems

Golden, silky,
Blooms like brass trumpets
announce a change to come

Verdant, greenery,
fruits like fingers stretching
hide beneath the leaves

Enormous, deadly,
enclosed like a bomb's bay
zucchinis in brown bags

The neighbors will never know
what hit them
when they open the payload
left silently in the dark
at their door

_____
Copyright 2014 Femme Malheureuse
@ApparatusMag #NaPoMo 2014 Prompt 10

Wednesday, April 9, 2014

Schooled



Yellow vest, orange straps, service cap, whistle poised between pursed lips

We're late again, security nonsense corralling too many cars, too much traffic

Sorry, mom (unconvincing)

First row a dozen deep, unmoving

Gloved arms wave, futile overkill like a wind mill in a gale

Second row half dozen stacked, stalled

Arms flop in resignation while the angry whistle blows, wind wound up by waving

Grim black set with pale blue lights, clock on the dashboard whittles down to bell's ring

Throw the dice with the spin of the wheel

Taking the empty third row and all the glares that come with ducking the masses

They'll watch for me tomorrow and harass me, get up on time instead

Yes, mom (unpersuasive)

He jumps from the car and runs as the whistle and gloves are aimed at us

Secure this, I think as I pull away into traffic beneath a fresh green light

Damned kid

We'll do this dance again, too soon

We haven't learned

_____
Copyright 2014 Femme Malheureuse
@ApparatusMag #NaPoMo 2014 Prompt 9
Graphic: Leo Reynolds via Flickr

Tuesday, April 8, 2014

Time Traveler



The machine built
Calculations made
Dials spun
He sent her forward
His most trusted friend
His life's mate

The machine shook
Computer churned
Travel done
She had come backward
His helpful partner
His new wife

What did she observe
He asked her, excited
Hoping for news
Of the future's marvels

You're still quite selfish
She noted, discouraged
But worse, data shows
Our sons are, too.

_____
Copyright 2014 Femme Malheureuse
@ApparatusMag #NaPoMo 2014 Prompt 8
Graphic: CityGypsyII via Flickr

Monday, April 7, 2014

Facts



That April began
With a plane's crash
Hundreds of thousands dead
Somewhat fewer killers

That July ended
Such pathetic reaction
A stunned world's witness
In ridiculous silence

This April marks
With sad resignation
Twenty years of
Inaction and ignorance

These facts are
Stubborn things

_____
Copyright 2014 Femme Malheureuse
@ApparatusMag #NaPoMo 2014 Prompt 7
Inspiration: Speech by Robert Kagame on Rwandan Massacre's 20th anniversary
"...[L]es faits sont têtus."
Graphic: washuugenius via Flickr (modified)

Sunday, April 6, 2014

Nyx and Eos

Laurel rimmed
Glossy darkness
Limns dusk descending
Fading
Night's fall

Womb dark
Warmly embraces
Blanketing, time's pall
Sleeping
'Til dawn

Saffron led
Rosy lightness
Brightens light rousing
Waking
Day's song

_____
Copyright 2014 Femme Malheureuse
@ApparatusMag #NaPoMo 2014 Prompt 6
Graphic: Femme Malheureuse

Saturday, April 5, 2014

Allez Chanson



It's okay, it'll be all right
I chanted once
after a bad dream

It's okay, it'll be all right
I panted twice
during a birthing

It's okay, it'll be all right
I counted thrice
because they left me

It might not be true
I may be alone
Can't count on you
So mote it be
Thy will be done
Prayers and pleading
Fail me

But I keep my head down
Grit my teeth hard
Believe in myself
I'll see it through.

It's okay, it'll be all right
I screamed once
after a bum scene

It's okay, it'll be all right
I shouted once
during a day dream

It's okay, it'll be all right
Going like hell
I see the light's green

_____
Copyright 2014 Femme Malheureuse
@ApparatusMag #NaPoMo 2014 Prompt 5
Graphic: Leo Reynolds via Flickr

Friday, April 4, 2014

Gratia



Soprano woven beauty
spun on
magic emerged
round and round
over and over

Sang to me
a lullabye
offering childish joy
and comfort

How was I to know
it was a portent
a promise that hailed
far into the future?

And now backward
beauty reaches
past reminder
future lost
but grace discovered
in farewell
sung for you

_____
Copyright 2014 Femme Malheureuse
@ApparatusMag #NaPoMo 2014 Prompt 4
Inspiration: Schubert's Ave Maria (Latin)
Graphic: zeldman via Flickr - modified

Thursday, April 3, 2014

Scion



Winging here and there
he is bright light
a golden presence
fleeting

Only once and caught
he was slack shadow
a hidden herald
moving

Kicking thus and slow
he was sleep's wake
a potent promise
waiting

Birthed once and out
he is wild whim
a distracted angel
crying

Stealing mine and more
he is great glee
a soul thief
offspring

_____
Copyright 2014 Femme Malheureuse
@ApparatusMag #NaPoMo 2014 Prompt 3
Inspiration: Page 22, House of the Spirits, by Isabel Allende
Graphic: shazbot via Flickr

Wednesday, April 2, 2014

Unregrettable

The lure was sweet
Sensual
Seductive

The scent was hellish
Heady
Heavenly

The texture was unctuous
Unearthly
Unrelenting

The taste was rich
Romantic
Releasing

Please understand
I could not help myself
Caving in like a
Broken lawn chair
I'm so sorry
For breaching
Your faith in me

But I don't regret
Eating your chocolate

_____
Copyright 2014 Femme Malheureuse
@ApparatusMag #NaPoMo 2014 Prompt 2
Graphic: sarahxic via Flickr

Tuesday, April 1, 2014

Taken



It takes years
of empty evenings

It takes decades
of unanswered calls

It takes dozens
of counseling sessions

It takes many
too many explanations

It takes one
but one lucid moment

To realize
the single lonely truth

It takes little
to realize

You've taken it
all of it with you.

_____
Copyright 2014 Femme Malheureuse
@ApparatusMag #NaPoMo 2014 Prompt 1

Saturday, February 22, 2014

Saturday


Her face was a question unvoiced, an eyebrow cocked as she passed the black-and-white image to her mother.

"Oh. He was a friend."

"Was?"

Silence pressed for an answer that reason wouldn't offer. The photo fluttered between clenched fingers as an answer formed.

"He died in an accident later the same later the same night—morning, really.”

“You remember this night? Ah—I probably wouldn’t forget a friend with such crazy hair.”

“He was a friend, and he died that night. That was the last picture of him, taken by my boyfriend on a Saturday evening at a favorite hangout.”

She took the photo back from her mother, on whose face some unnamed emotion lingered.

Only a knot between her greying brows hinted at more than neutral disinterest. The older woman adjusted her reading glasses, her face resuming placidity as she fingered through the shoebox of photos.

A cellphone chimed, causing her daughter to leap up to take the call in another room. Faint laughter suggested the younger woman was adequately preoccupied, allowing a hand graced with age spots to pull that one photo out of the box.

Those cheekbones, those lips—so like her daughter’s. How could she ever forget him?
__________
Copyright © 2014 Femme Malheureuse 
Words: 199
Originally submitted to Flash Fiction - Madi Merek dd. 22-FEB-2014
Word Prompt: Saturday | Photo prompt: origin unknown

Sunday, February 9, 2014

Valentine



“I screwed up. I’m sorry.”

“That’s the last thing I expected from you, when you said you wanted to meet me after all this time.”

“The look in your eyes and in his that night has haunted me for so long.”

“How so? I don’t recall him at all from that night.”

“He was there when I answered the door to you, standing there with those lovely pink blooms and a Valentine’s Day card. He heard heard me turn you down.”

“Oh.”

“I never told you because I didn’t want to hurt your pride any more than I already had. We never really spoke openly again.”

“It’s okay, it’s been water over the dam. Others hurt me far more after that night.”

“We’ve all been hurt by life if we truly lived. My pain began that night.”

“Your profile suggested you weren’t with him any longer.”

“We’ve been done a long time. That night he looked so smug, arrogant, like he’d won at a game. It should have told me everything. I should have shown him the door.”

“And now?”

“I won’t screw up this Valentine’s Day. Come on over to my place.”

“My eyes look happy this time, yes?”
__________
Copyright © 2014 Femme Malheureuse 
Words: 200
Originally submitted to Rebecca Grace Allen's Sinful Sunday Flash Fiction - Valentine's Day Edition 09-FEB-2014
Word Prompt: Valentine | Photo prompt: origin unknown

Monday, January 27, 2014

Obsession



“No way. You need a few more degrees rotation,” Bob said with authority, pointing to the picture.

Ben shrugged dejectedly. “Tried that. Just shuddered, wouldn’t turn over. Like she was close, but no joy.”

“Wait. Maybe it’s the oxygen level. She’s getting enough air?” Could have expected that feedback from Cameron; he was a runner and always aware of his lungs.

“Hmm—” Ben’s brow remained frozen with concern, unconvinced.

Tom was persuaded. “Yeah, I’m with Cam. Maybe more air, but maintain current rotation.”

“Hey, maybe increase pressure here, too. Easy, though. Too much and you’ll kill her progress,” said Stevie, gesturing lower with his finger. He’d been around the block a few times; he might actually know what he was talking about.

David, the gang’s youngest member, just nodded his head vigorously, like the fake dog in the car’s back window during a turn.

“Got it. Hold this position, more air, increase pressure slightly.” Ben’s face slowly resolved into firm resignation as he stood straight and tall, rolling up the glossy magazine they’d been pouring over.

Bob patted his back. “It’ll be okay, Ben, trust me. Don’t let this become an obsession. Eventually you’ll give Evie an orgasm.”

__________
Copyright © 2014 Femme Malheureuse 
Words: 198
Originally submitted to Flash Fiction - Madi Merek dd. 26-JAN-2014
Word Prompt: obsession | Photo prompt: origin unknown