Rush of turbulent waves
overtake the sandy bits
I am a mere grain
hidden in the drifts
One who sees beyond
how does He know
the deeps where I lay
His love never shifts
for treasure digging deep
it’s hard for us to grasp
open empty hands
filled with love at last
Photo: “Art in the Sand” ©moondustdesigns 2019
She couldn’t believe it – his concertina. “I wonder if it can still play?” Her talented great-uncle had taught her to play a few simple songs. She wiped dust off playbills even an old lp still in its cardboard jacket laying atop the instrument.
Lost in the magical moment, she sat in the dusty repository on her knees. No one could see the effulgent expression as her fingers stumbled over the buttons.
Her thoughts went back to her uncle’s disappearance. Some said on a journey through the taiga. Her family was shocked at the calumnious statements made by locals even some of his friends had bandied about inflammatory comments. Yes he was a voluble character but in the friendliest way. “What had they hoped for uncle?” she fumbled some more. She finally managed one of the tunes. Her eyes grew wide as his portmanteau opened as if released by familiar notes…
***
I used all but two of the words this week so I am aiming at the over-achiever.
Thanks to Concertina Music.com for the picture of the Patek Standart Concertina – a beauty. for more information about the concertina please check out their website.
With sleight of hand
you entrance young and old
with your tricks
***
With your tricks
your hands deftly move the cards
confounding my mind
***
Confounding my mind
not able to catch the start
before the trick’s end
Today Carpe Diem’s prompt is the magician. A very good friend is a magician never were we able to learn his sleight his wife told us once the mystery is unfolded it is not as enjoyable.
The great photograph comes from Merchant of Magic Check out their blog for lots of magic tricks and info.
She had spoken her dying wish into that delicate symbol of timelessness. As I cradled it, I hoped to hear her voice. I did…
It came each Christmas Eve just at the moment she died; I would hear a small chime and then her voice. Then the next morning we would awake to presents under the tree and another dead family member. I began to fear the cold touch of the gold pocket watch that glowed when I opened it. I tried to refrain the next Christmas Eve, but the pull of it and her were too strong.
I started asking questions, it seemed no one alive knew the answer.
… and the time ticked forward to another Christmas Eve. There were beautiful initials, C. B., engraved on the gold case. They were not my grandmother’s. Her mother’s? I wondered…
Then I found it. A box of pictures. They were daguerreotypes of women mostly, but a few men as well. One picture stood out. The woman was beautiful! I recognized the writing on the back; it said “My grandmother – Crystalle Beaurent 1870.”
“It’s my great-grandmother’s watch” I exhaled.
She was born in 1845 based on a baby picture. She would have been a southern belle during the civil war. “What a belle she must have been,” I mused. Then there was a wedding picture “Mother and Father April 1870.” I realized the tiny numbers in the watch case indicated their wedding day. One thing I do recall my grandmother sayin, “They got in a wagon and rode as far away from Georgia as they could.”
“Why grandmother? Why?I started having nightmares. “The picture must have set them off.” I rationalized. There was a beautiful young woman, and a man in black. I could never see his face, but I could see claws where hands should have been. My grandmother came to me in a dream; I asked her. “That man was a devil. He wanted her, if he couldn’t then he vowed no man would. She and papa tried to run away, but the demons from her past could not release her to a new life. Mama drowned on Christmas Eve when I was but four. No one knew what happened,” I heard a sob.
“Damned scalawag,” I woke up to a woman’s southern drawl, and the scene of a man’s face being blown off with a purse size derringer. A young woman was dragged off by two men into the shadows as the lifeblood of a woman in mourning was spilt.
It was always the same dream. But tonight, on Christmas Eves Eve, the dream was different. Dancers spun around the floor room, women were dressed in their finest silks, it was Christmas Eve – a long time ago. A hand gently pulled on my own. I stood in a blue satin dress, my ringleted hair was bound in a ribbon, a young man was offering his hand for a dance. “But I don’t know how,” I said in my mind. Yet, there I was spinning on the dance floor with the others. Then he was gone, I heard gunshot far off, I covered my ears as I crouched in a corner with fear. The cook found me and told me “there, there honey chile. Your daddy would never allow you or your mama to be hurt.” She placed a small mince meat tart in my hands. “Merry Christmas precus chile.” I closed my eyes and stroked the gold case but nothing happened. “It has to be a nightmare,” I said with little confidence in my situation. I heard her scream “Damned Scalawag!”
“You are not going to take her,” I shook my fist at the two men dragging her off. She was beautiful. I grabbed a club and swung at the head of one man who slumped to the ground. The other let go of her and went after me. She was smart though and caused him to get stuck in a bramble. I raised the club, but she urged me to put it down.
“He will get you – both of you!” the man sneered.
“I don’t think so,” I said tauntingly in his face, “I’m not from around here. ”
“Neither is he. He will find you. You took his prize from him. You cannot run far enough away.”
“Ha,” I challenged those evil eyes, “We shall see about that!”
When I awoke, it was Christmas Eve, but things were different. I didn’t know why, I could just feel it. I opened the watch and went to wind it. I heard my great-grandmother’s voice, “You must protect yourself. He is coming for you tonight. He could not get me so he has promised to hurt you. Please hide and protect yourself.”
“What?” but the voice was gone as was the life in the pocket watch “What am I to do? It’s Christmas Eve and someone is coming to kill me or …” and then I knew, “He will capture me and replace what he had lost.”
There was only one I could think of. ” I must go to my older brother.” He would think I was crazy, but he would help me. He thought it was a game. “Yes it will be a game; a hunt to be exact. How am I to hide from a specter from the past?”
“Great- grandfather’s cloak and dagger,” he exclaimed quite confidently. “Grandfather told me a story in confidence. “If ever there is a time, your sister is in danger; the only thing that will protect her is this… If you don’t succeed in protecting her, this family will be no more. Your great-grandmother would have died before she had your grandmamma.”
I wondered then if my younger brother or sister had been given anything by our grandparents.
“Just this” my sister said as though she were still a small child. It was one of those old-fashioned puzzles where you have to roll the balls into the holes. There was no message with it.
“I want what he gave me back though,” my younger brother said possessively. It was a lady’s derringer. I had seen it blow off the face of a man in another era.
I set all the items on a table: the watch, the cloak, the dagger, the gun, the puzzle. I warmed the gold on the pocket watch. It opened by itself and the sweet voice of my grandmother greeted each of us.” It was my grandmother’s failing to aim at his face rather than at the heart. You must aim her gun at his heart.”
“What about the puzzle and the cloak and the dagger?”
“Put the cloak on grand-daughter; it will protect you. The dagger must cut his heart out after he has fallen. The puzzle will mesmerize him as you cut his heart. ”
“Are we all to take part?” my brother asked.
“No! The one who saved my mother is the only one who can defeat the beast. Once he has fallen, the heart must be taken to the place where he pushed my mother into the rushing stream. Her spirit will do the rest.”
***
Part Two will be posted on Christmas Eve
How had i gotten here
To the place of my dreams
i have been here before
In my childhood it seems
***
A meaningless game
Of chairs and of song
My chair it is missing
From the play i am gone
***
i am found in a field
An ominous place
Empty chairs everywhere
Not a single Child’s face
***
i have been here before
My chair it is missing
Not a single Child’s face
there is No One who is listening
Thanks to Tess Kincaid for the weekly prompts on Magpie Tales / This one has many great words without a single sound
In the midst of a perfect dream the phone rang.
“Who’s calling at 2 in the morning? I yawned.
“Hello. What? Where are you honey?”
“My car broke down. I ‘m stranded at a phone booth on Hillcrest.”
“Ok honey let me call the police, stay there, and I will come get you.”
“Noooo…” I heard my daughter’s frantic scream on the other end of the line.
“Honey, HONEYYYYY….Help is coming!!!”
I left the phone line open.
After pounding on the third neighbor’s door, I rushed in and called the police.
“The number you have reached is no longer in service.”
“There is no one there maam…”
Thanks to Jenny the gracious hostess at Centus Saturday. This week’s prompt: “The number you have reached is no longer in service” ~ Enjoy!
“Last call for United flight 4571”
She hefted her carry-on into the overhead compartment
“I believe that is my seat 22B.”
“Yes mine is the window.”
She settled in for the flight with a magazine – not a flight magazine but it looked interesting.
“She was seated on the aircraft Lieutenant. We lost her somewhere in- flight.”
***
This is just one of a host of flash fiction in 55 shared with G-Man for Friday Flash Fiction
Thanks to Sean Memon for the Photograph http://www.flickr.com/photos/smemon/4820389847/
I look at you in the looking glass
It’s the image portrayed for me
mesmerizing and witty too
but something missing
I just can’t see
*
I keep looking
hoping for more
time will surely reveal
your heart, your mind
what’s behind those closed doors
*
Grabbing at the frame
do I even know your name?
what are you?
who are you?
Are you Real???
*
As I look at your image
a tear mirrors
the one falling down my cheek
no more words
that I can speak
*
Alas I turn away
I love the face
the mind
the heart
but I can’t get past the frame
“You found what?” Stewart said to the young man working the loading dock.
“A 10 or 12 inch bowie-knife wedged in the sidewall of your rear tire, Sir.”
He held back the profanity that was creeping to the surface. Stewart stomped off to his late-model, pearl white Lexus. “I didn’t need this today.”
“A doozy of a fight with Amanda and now this, ” he said under his breath. “What else can go wrong?”
The bowie was wedged perfectly to render the tire irreparable. “Great!” He wanted to kick the tire but there wasn’t enough air. Foul language spewed forth with pounds per square inch intensity.
“Here Donny ya want the knife?” he said pulling the knife from the tire.
“Sure sir.” Donny, knowing the blade was razor-sharp, wrapped it in a cloth he had in his back pocket . He waved as he walked back to the dock.
With his hand on his hip in disgust, Stu dialed AAA. He knew the number by heart. He walked around the car to see if there was any other evidence of vandalism.
“Yeah I came out to my car at work and someone has crammed a knife into my tire. Can you send someone to change the tire. I would change it myself but I’m in my Armani suit. Armani just doesn’t go to well with oil and grime .
“Certainly Mr. Cristoph. I can send someone over in the next half hour.”
“Thanks Brenda. I’m hoping this will be the last call for a while. Not used to having so many flats.”
“It’s fine – that’s what your AAA service is for.” He knew the smile in her voice as she hung up.
She had been a great couple month affair. “Too bad she met a nice, unmarried guy.” Stu was thinking. “Ah well.” His thoughts momentarily shifted to Valerie; an old girlfriend from long-ago.
***
He got the call from his secretary that the guy had come for his keys and was changing the tire. Stewart was peering out of his window, as he heard the repairman let out a scream.
“Now what?” Stewart wanted to bellow.
As the repairman turned to Stewart, he looked white as a sheet.
“What is … ” His voice caught as he saw the bloody body in the trunk. He recognized the clothing but that was all that was recognizable. He ran to the bushes and lost his breakfast. He started to tremble and fell to his knees. A crowd formed around the trunk.
Stewart heard a voice at the end of a tunnel. “Get back to your offices. Now!”
He recognized the stentorian voice. It was his partner Randy. He felt a strong hand clasp his shoulder. He hadn’t heard Randy whisper to the secretary -” please call the police.”
“Let’s get you to the office, Stu.”
“I don’t understand, I just don’t understand…” Stewart mumbled over and over. “I just saw her in the kitchen before I left this morning. She was going to work out and we talked about where we were going to have dinner.”
Randy kept him talking until he got to a chair. Stewart slumped into a despondent heap.
“Here drink this,” Tracy tenderly placed a cup of water in his hands.
“What is it? What is this? What is happening? What…”
“Sir, we are here for you. Please just rest.”
“There was a knife. What was the knife doing in the tire? What is my wife doing in my car. She’s supposed to be at the gym. Maybe that isn’t her. Call the gym, ask for Amanda Christoph. They all know her.” Stewart said babbling incoherently. “That’s right it’s someone else. It doesn’t look like her. Not at all. It only looks like her running shoes and pink work out top.”
Stewart looked with the glazed eyes of a madman. “It didn’t look like her did it Randy?”
“No Stu. You are right didn’t look like Amanda at all.”
He wasn’t lying. The body may have resembled any thirty year old woman. The head had been jaggedly cut off below the neck. It wasn’t with the body. A mangled, bloody mess was lying in the trunk of Stu’s Lexus. Randy felt like being sick as he thought about Amanda’s body.
“Tracy, get my wife on the phone and contact the gym for Stewart.”
“Yes sir,” Tracy wasn’t looking too well either.
Stewart looked up and saw flashing lights circling his Lexus. “Oh good,” he thought “someone has finally come to take care of the flat tire.” His head fell to the side.
Join The Tenth Daughter of Memory for many great stories as we try to write according to the prompt “Below Then Neck.”
Thanks to: A Fonticiella for that beautiful handled Bowie
*http://www.flickr.com/photos/afonticiella/4296416224/sizes/z/in/photostream/
My eyes lingered upon her face
intrigued by her smile
rare beguiling inner glow
I could take in her beauty for hours
That face – radiant and pure
reflecting some mystery of the ages
the luminescence of her gaze
made my heart tremble
She was so steady and sure
though she changed with the days
her emotions never showed
the intensity of her heart
I will always recall
a night I fell asleep
beneath the glow of the moon
dreams of her loving gaze upon me
Thanks for the photo to Eye of Einstein
Learning to live by the indwelling life of Christ.
Gud skaper noko nytt ved sitt Ord og sin Ande, vi kan ta imot det i tru og få oppleve at han gjer sitt verk med oss. Hans skaparkraft verkar konstuktivt i våre liv og skaper noko som er verdifullt for oss. Naturkreftene verkar nedebrytande, i fylgje entropilova, men Gud er Ånd og det som er født av hans Ande består. Jesu frelsesverk er fullbrakt og fullkome. Han er den siste Adam, som er ifrå himmelen og som for oss har vorte ei livgjevande ånd. Han gjev oss den Heilage Ande frå himmelen av berre nåde. Han gjev oss det evige livet.
Looking ahead, without looking back (too often)
Thanks for following a cowgirl on her crazy life journey.
Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there, wondering, fearing, doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before. - Edgar Allan Poe
Hoping to make the world more beautiful
Books by author Diana Coombes
With previous posting of "Our World" on Blogger
my humanity in written form
Experiments in Creative Writing, and more ....
Poetry by Mich
FOR READERS AND ASPIRING WRITERS
Everyday musings ....Life as I see it.......my space, my reflections and thoughts !!
From Board Books to Clean YA
Cherishing the Past while Celebrating the Present
FROM ONE PARENT TO ANOTHER
Living life with dissociative identity disorder and complex ptsd
penned in moon dust 