Photo credit: Flora Borsi
Gwendolyn Anders was being deconstructed. No one else could tell the forty-five year old divorced woman was falling apart. She couldn’t afford to let anyone know. She had to keep moving, go to work each day, make sure her two kids got to and from school, did their homework, ate healthy meals, made it to soccer practice.
She did her best to adhere to the “supermom” stereotype, and as far as the rest of the world was concerned, she was successful.
Inside where no one could see, she was bleeding to death.
© Nicolas Bruno
“I think we’re going to make it, Peter. Both our pods are headed toward Sanctuary.”
“It seems that way, Elsa, but it’s a big planet, and we have no manual guidance control. Each of our onboard computers will handle the descent, but for all we know, we’ll land thousands of kilometers apart.”
The Colony Ship Frazier had done its job admirably. 3,268 colonists made it 99.9999 percent of the way from Earth to the new planet code-named Sanctuary. Then, on orbital approach, the Langstrom-Edwards fusion drive experienced a catastrophic malfunction, resulting in the destruction of the majority of the crew and passenger sections. Only 512 people made it into their one-person lifepods and safely evacuated the Frazier, but as far as Peter and Elsa knew, they were the only two headed for the new planet. The rest of the ship’s complement were most likely lost in space.
“Keep talking, Peter. I feel so alone in this metal bubble.”
James – St George Utah – April 2017
Actors are so good at changing their faces, their voices, even their bodies as they leap from one role to the other, but you can never tell what’s really going on behind their eyes.
What is a portrait? A photo? A drawing? It certainly isn’t an image of the soul. They say the eyes are the windows to the soul, but I’m not buying it. First off, it’s a gross misinterpretation of Matthew 6:22-24, and beyond that, you can’t really look into someone’s eyes and tell anything significant about them.
Well, maybe if you know them really well, but certainly not a stranger.
That’s what we are to each other…strangers. Oh, we read each other’s stories and comment about how we perceive them, but internet contact is not the same as face-to-face human contact. Even Skype doesn’t fully communicate the full impact of being in the physical presence of another person.
Photo credit: Google images – found at Mindlovemisery’s Menagerie
“If your parents find out about this, they’ll kill us.”
“They won’t find out. Besides, I’m not a little cub anymore. I’m a big bear.”
“I fell in love with you the second I saw you. Maybe even before that.”
“I know, Goldie. You’ve told me before. You ate my porridge, sat in my chair, even *ahem* even slept in my bed.”
“I was a little girl then, Babe.”
“And I was a little cub who didn’t know the ways of the world, but look at us now.”
“We still have to keep this our little secret. If Mum and Da ever saw us together, they’d freak.”
“I’ve seen your Da’s gun. He even tried to hunt Papa once, but fortunately he missed.”
“It’s not just my parents we have to worry about, there’s yours as well.”
Photo credit: Google images – found at Mindlovemisery’s Menagerie
Catherine and Vincent were in love, but cursed by the evil Bishop of Aquila to forever be apart. She had spurned his blasphemous advances, and though thought to be the faithful servant of the Holy Pope, he in fact was in league with dark and sinister forces.
He discovered her affair with Vincent, Captain of the King’s Guard, a relationship forbade her due to her royal blood, and so with His Majesty’s blessings, a powerful spell born in Hell forever changed the man Vincent was into a huge, ferocious beast.
“Oh, sure. You want it now. Can’t you wait until we get to the cabin? In case you haven’t noticed, its freezing.”
Come on, Baby. Don’t be like that. You’re just mad because I was hibernating with those other bears.”
“I noticed how you had your eye on the large female.”
Lover and the wild @ deviantart
Eva had lost count of how many men she’d slept with, but then this was never about keeping score. She rarely encountered Asmodius, her own seducer, the master incubus who launched her on this sad and lonely path of revenge, since she had fallen so deep into her own abyss, she required little encouragement to continue the descent.
She didn’t travel alone, however. There were a trail of formerly virtuous, noble, and even holy men left in her wake, spiraling down into Hell with her. She never felt sorry for them, no matter how piteously they pleaded with her, how they would lose everything, their wives, their children, their careers. It didn’t matter.
The seductress wasn’t responsible for them falling into her trap, only for setting herself out as the bait. She was the temptation, but the sins were on them.
© Igor Morski
“I’ll get it.”
Ron Moore, his wife Layna, and their almost three-year-old daughter Emily had just moved into the new house in the suburbs the week before, but this was the first time anyone had come to visit.
“Hi. May I help you?”
“Seth Kennedy. I’m your next door neighbor. Just thought I’d drop by and say…”
Little Emily grabbed onto her Mommy’s leg and started crying hysterically. She looked up in terror at the man at the door, and then buried her face again.
“I’m sorry. She doesn’t usually do this.”
“What?” The neighbor cupped his hand around his ear.
Ron looked back at his wife.
“I’ll take her into the other room.”
Photo credit: Alpha Coders
“It’s got to be around here somewhere, Jamie. Maybe on the other side.”
“No, I’m positive that we put it on this side, Dex.”
“You’d be positive that the sky is green and grass is blue, but that wouldn’t make you right.”
“How would you know, you loser? You haven’t done right by me since the day we got married.”
“A problem I’d be all too happy to fix…oh, here it is.”
“See? I told you it was on this side.”
“Shut up and hand me the bolt cutters.”
Photo credit: Vincent Bourilhon
“They’re gaining, Tomas. We need more lift. Hurry.”
“I’m trying Irma. It’s easy to imagine more balloons but hard to make them pull us up.”
Twelve-year-old Irma Ruiz was mimicking the motions of her Papa, remembering how he drove his antediluvian Rambler, putting her hands at the ten and two o’ clock positions on the wheel to steer it. The wheel was wet because of her sweaty palms and every time she looked in the rear view mirror, she saw them getting closer.
“I’m hurrying! I’m hurrying!” Her ten-year-old brother couldn’t afford to look behind them. His head was stuck out the passenger door window looking up, concentrating on visualizing an ever-growing bouquet of helium-filled balloons, red, white, yellow, green, blue, all the colors of the rainbow. He could feel the car continue to climb but they had to go faster and higher.
Photo credit: Ryn-Sweet-Surreal
She remembered looking at her reflection in a tidal pool. Her eyes were green, like the color of the seaweed coves. She had dark red hair and her “polka dots” (what Papa called her freckles) punctuated her face like the lakes and ponds in the Verdant Hills to the north. Merilyn dressed in clothes the color of her eyes.
She had only been six years old and lived in a village on a river near an estuary to the ocean. The ocean sustained them in so many ways. Some of the men and a few of the women fished on the long boats. Others managed the seaweed farms. A lot of the older kids worked on the desalination units, each of which stood out of the water like solitary and noble sentries, yet provided fresh water to be sold to the desert provinces and the Negev city of Quebracho.
Merilyn knew they were all necessary but none of them were exciting, not like pearl diving.