TLT Week 100: sweet deceit

Photo Prompt by Manu Sanchez

safer with guns
is the lie they tell to ensure that your manufactured saccharine happiness
remains wholly undisturbed

Three Line Tales, Week One Hundred


The Wait.

An icy wind blows quietly through the thicket, gently stirring the bare branches overhead. She crouches even lower against the brush, holding her position steady, beanie pulled down low over her ears. She flexes her fingers and cups them, blowing hot air into her bare hands. She clenches her jaw to prevent her teeth from chattering. Snow lightly feathers her parka and eyelashes. 6 hours have numbed her core.


A crisp chill settles over the frost-covered forest. Her senses remain vigilant as a shadow finally emerges into sight, not far from where she’s carefully tracked prints. The four-hoofed beast stands majestically against the rays of the setting sun. Its brown coat a stunning contrast to the surrounding snow. Antlers arc gracefully towards the sky. The wait is over.


She bites her lip and doesn’t dare breathe whilst slowly shifting her weight down onto her right knee and reaches to grab an arrow from the worn quiver strapped snug against her back. Her eyes never leaving the target, she nocks the arrow without hesitation. Waiting until the whitetail takes a single step forward, exposing its vitals, she swiftly pulls her bow to a full draw.


The creature cocks its ears and turns its head, alerted to any movement, but doesn’t flee. Seizing the opportunity, she briefly anchors the string into holding – string to nose, fingers to jaw. Aiming low and inhaling lightly, she looses the arrow.


The wind stops, freezing the moment before defeat. As predicted, the animal jumps to life at the snap of release, milliseconds too late. The arrow buries itself into its broadside. She waits patiently and watches as it runs another 200 yards into the woods. Closing her eyes, she quietly whispers a prayer under her breath, finishing just as a defeated thud echoes in the distance. She rises from her crouched position, stretching her spine and stiff limbs and brushing the ice from her hefty clothes. Swallows hard and gritting her teeth, she trails after her fallen prey. Survival is a painful game.


The Daily Post Daily Prompt: Silent


on the other side of the street

on the other side of the street
there is no pride, only humility
the kind that strips her of dignity
so naked
she bears her life on the cold, dirty pavement
every possession
for everyone to see
worth measured by hasty, shame-filled glances of passers-by

on the other side of the street
there is no humility, only pride
the kind that hastens his pace
so fast
he walks with his head held high
every possession
for everyone to see
worth measured by the change he refuses to part with

from where I stand
the only separation between the two
is an extended hand

The Beast

the beast that dwells within us all
chained inside against cerebral wall
it claws at flesh and bares its teeth
simply waiting for release

the voice that whispers, never speaks
reminds us when it’s time to feed
this primal hunger gnaws and lusts
defies the lies of social construct

with gruesome form and haunting eyes
it’s starving to be pacified
to acquiesce is not defeat
but awareness of where fear breeds

it bumps and rattles, and shakes our core
perpetually yearning for something more
cannot be broken, silenced, or tamed
only placated where hope remains

caution release, for the thin line it walks
borders the entrance to Pandora’s box
to ignore the yearning could incite the unthinkable
as humanity rests just above hell’s pinnacle

this is the beast that dwells within

that struggles for power amidst the din

that awakens to reality, paper thin

startling truth of ephemeral being ‘neath corporeal skin

of returning to a place we’ve already been

the weight of sagacity – in ending where we begin

anatomy of you

I see you
the eyes of your soul
the smile in your eyes
the light in your smile
lightly tracing
every inch of you
curvature of skin
skin to skin
interlaced fingers
hand to hold
lips to back
the small of your back
the back of your neck
every bump and scar
crease and fold

I have memorized them all

I know you
familiar warmth
gravitational pull
comfortable silence
the laugh
the whisper
the promise
the voice that calls me home

Fiction Scribbling #2

“Trust me,” she whispered, “if you concentrate hard enough, I know you can do it too.”

“Why do I have to wear this stupid helmet?” Lex asked pointedly.

“‘Cause you’ve never done this before, and I don’t wanna be responsible for your head cracking open should you re-materialize incorrectly” Corey retorted, brushing Lex’s bangs aside and pulling her chin strap tight. Her voice softened,”I’ll talk you through it though, don’t worry. Just listen and do as I say.”

Corey’s fingers lingered a second longer beside Lex’s cheek as she looked into her eyes assuringly. “I won’t let anything happen to you.”

Lex returned her gaze and smiled, closing her eyes to hone in on Corey’s voice. She concentrated hard, focused only on her breath and being. As she let more and more of herself go, she felt a numbness then a wave of cold wash over her, from outward in, simultaneous with the diffusion of her molecules. Already her material form had more than half dispersed and she could feel herself intermingling easily with the buzz of other particles swirling in the air. It felt so… freeing. She quickly lunged forward, catching Corey by surprise, and pressed her lips softly against Corey’s. A half-smirk lingered as her particles completely dematerialized into the cool air.

The last words Lex heard were, “Let go…”