Tag Archives: WritePhoto

Yearning – #writephoto – #shortstory

30 Thursday May 2019

Posted by in short story, WritePhoto

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I hit a rough patch of water in my journey toward the sun. Perhaps, this was as far as I should go, and yet I had a yearning to go farther, to meet the sea, and travel beyond this piece of land I called home. The shore was so close, but without my boat, I wouldn’t be able to go on.

The land around me was still bathed in darkness, as the sun was just beginning its rise over the horizon. I contemplated getting out of my boat and walking to the shore, to greet the morning, but thought otherwise, as I did not know if I was alone.

For years I had heard stories of the First Lighters, they who only appeared at dawn. I was told they nestled themselves into the bushes, trees and grass that led up to the ocean, lying in wait for whomever happened along their way. I never did find out what happened to people once they found them. No one ever wanted to talk about that part, but it was enough to pique my curiosity. After all, I was never one who listened to the warnings from the elders. It got me into more trouble than I wish to remember.

Climbing out of the boat, trying to be as quiet as possible, as to not upset the natives, or whatever, I found my footing and began my walk to the water. An occasional crunch under my feet made me stop, just long enough to listen for sounds, other than my own. So far I was doing okay. It wasn’t long before I reached the shoreline, the sun a bit higher, and gleaming a golden path, over the ocean. It was then I realized why the elders were so frightened.

I felt a tugging at my heart as I walked back to my boat, dragging it onto the land, and carrying it to the shore. Gently pushing it into the water, I hopped in, and using my oar, I made my way into the ocean, following the path of the sun as it climbed into the sky. I said my silent goodbyes, and never looked back. Now, I too, had become a First Lighter.

 

Photo via Sue Vincent’s #writephoto prompt – Yearning
©2019 Dorinda Duclos All Rights Reserved

Between the Courtyard – #writephoto – #shortstory

25 Saturday May 2019

Posted by in short story, WritePhoto

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I stand in the courtyard of my mother’s gardens. Always well-manicured, I was never allowed to play in them, but I spent many of my childhood days reading, and just thinking. Being surrounded by lush green grass, and the occasional flower tends to let one’s mind wander to places it should not.

My old home is in ruin now. Time has not allowed a kind transition. Vines have replaced the pristine white facade, and the old oaken door is warped shut. So many memories are held in that small house. How I wish they were all kind ones. I distinctly remember mother telling us we were not to bother old lady Werth. She was the woman who lived directly across from us, her door facing the courtyard, same as ours. It was never open, and we questioned if someone actually lived there. She must have been a hundred years old.

Curiosity got the better of me, one day I decided to knock on her door. The other kids ran to hide, afraid of who or what might answer. But no one did. I knocked again. I was a persistent pain in the butt when it came to getting answers. Sadly, after the fourth time knocking, I gave up. I remember telling my friends, “You big babies, I told you there was nothing to be afraid of! She’s probably long gone by now. She was so old!” They agreed, slowly coming out of their hiding places.

Today, I stand looking at the old house, once again. For laughs, I decide to knock on Werth’s door one more time. I make my way up the steps and upon reaching the dark wooden door, raise my hand to knock. Before I can complete this task, the doors open by themselves. I check, but there is no wind to cause this. Perhaps there is a new family living there, and they saw my approach. However, an eerie sensation comes over me, and I hesitate to go any further.

A frail voice beckons me to come in, and as I do, the dark doors behind me close, with a loud thud. I have made my own transition, no longer in the glory of my mother’s grandest accomplishment, but in the confines of an old house, now prisoner of the old witch who still lives…

Photo via Sue Vincent’s #writephoto prompt – Transition

©2019 Dorinda Duclos All Rights Reserved

The Sisters – #writephoto – #shortstory

16 Thursday May 2019

Posted by in short story, WritePhoto

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They danced, among the shadows of the grass, as one with the earth they stood upon. Arms stretched out, hands clasped, one to the other, not wanting to break the chain. But something was missing. The circle was not complete. Still, they tried, reaching for their lost sister, hoping to, somehow, get her back.

~~~~~~

Four sisters would always gather in the clearing of a large meadow, overlooking a small town. It was their safe haven, where they could dance, chant, and be one with the spirits. Each midday, they stood in a circle, hand to hand, and prayed to the goddesses. Each had a different goddess, each willing the other three should also be so blessed. Until that one day…

Three sisters showed up at the usual time, but number four was nowhere to be seen. They waited, becoming concerned, and impatient. Finally, one said, “We should just start without her.” The other sisters shook their heads, claiming it wouldn’t be right to begin without her. They waited. As the day grew shorter, the shadows crept in.

The scenery was changing. What was once lush green grass and blue sky was no longer. All color had faded to monochrome. And the shadows grew deeper around them. It was then they decided to join hands and hope their sister could hear them and perhaps join them. Though the sisters remained incomplete, the shadows cast a perfect circle.

“My eyes are playing tricks!” said sister one.

“As are mine!” said sister three.

Sister two said nothing. Turning toward her, they asked, “Do you not see the changes, dear sister? Are your eyes not the same as ours?”

“I see no change about me,” she cried. “I see two sisters grieving over a sister who will never return, perhaps she is part of the shadow world.” She sneered at them, and their blood turned cold. Realizing she must be the reason a sister was missing, they tried to break the triad. Their hands would not come undone. They pulled, and pulled, to no avail.

The seasons changed, the winter came, and the grass had died, as did the sisters, who remained attached to each other, for all eternity. There stands three figures, wicker-like, as if someone sculpted them.  Should you come upon them, standing in the clearing, take heed. While three may be seen, there is a fourth, lurking, in the shadows of immortality.

 

Photo via Sue Vincent’s #writephoto prompt – Wicker

©2019 Dorinda Duclos All Rights Reserved

Monochrome Life – #writephoto – #poeticprose – #poetry

07 Tuesday May 2019

Posted by in Poetic Prose, Poetry, WritePhoto

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Colors taken from my eyes, black and white before me; memories sway under clouded skies, how I long for this to restore me. Amazed by how it still stands there, tall, though bowed in the middle, such grace; I’m pretty sure eventually, I’ll fall, while this house still stands in its place. Structured to last throughout the storms, its life perseveres, timeless; my only hope is to me, it warms, so I may cling to its fortitude, with kindness.

*****

To follow the path of the once, so grand, the home where I grew, I return to; I no longer own this land, although, truly, I desperately yearn to. Instead, I walk the grounds at night, afraid of the light of day; tis why my world is in black and white, and how it will forever stay. Now only spirit, no mortal being, I wander throughout this home, knowing there is no one seeing, I am free to be me…and roam.

 

Photo via Sue Vincent’s #writephoto prompt – Monochrome

©2019 Dorinda Duclos All Rights Reserved

Her Name was Elle – #NaPoWriMo – #AprilWriting – #poetry

30 Tuesday Apr 2019

Posted by in #NaPoWriMo, April Writing, Poetry

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A candle lit by the window, burned

She stood there, in contemplation

In the only place, she knew so well

Locked away, she was seeking salvation

From those, who chastised, for naught

She fought hard in the very beginning

Alas, she dared not fight them anymore

There was never a chance of her winning

Where she remained, alone, in her beauty

Kept inside, what they called, a living hell

Most had forgotten why she was there

But, she’d never let them forget, her name was Elle

 

April Writing Prompts – Her name was Elle – Day 30/30 – Hard to believe another month is gone, not only for Michelle’s prompts, but this is also the end of National Poetry Month.  Here’s to looking ahead!!

©2019 Dorinda Duclos All Rights Reserved
Photo Via Pixabay