Posts Tagged ‘collaborative’

ShannonOldroyd Orange Skies Of New Jersey

What is the purpose of your art?

Time to share.

A friend from years past made a social media posting that essentially stated ‘The first five people who respond to this post will receive a free piece of my art.’ I was instantly struck by her generosity. The gist was that the recipients should then bare the responsibility to pay it forward, and so on.

The great ripple effect had begin.

My problem was I wasn’t one of the five. Story of my life. I responded anyway. I mean, why not? I risked nothing in doing so. In fact, by even giving my response I was letting her know her reach and influence was broader than she anticipated. She soon responded back that I too could participate.

That was a few weeks ago, the pact was nearly forgotten, until I heard the sound of dogs barking, which is the sound that accompanies the approaching mailman each day. Wise as he is, he walks the neighborhood with a pocket full of dog treats.

Who knew this day would not be like each other? It sounded very much the same.

Hanging from the mouth of the mailbox just outside my front door was a special delivery. Enclosed inside the cushioned mailer pouch was a 3 inch square painted canvas mounted on a wooden frame and, something from a lost era, a handwritten note. These blessings arrived yesterday.

I am completely moved by the thought, the effort, the freely shared energy, the connection.

Being who I am and having the limited gifts that I do, I was motivated to write a flash of fiction based on her art, and then share with all of you and invite you to perhaps continue her experiment in some fashion.

In a complete abuse of the #FridayFictioneers I’ve tagged and linked (and hope Rochelle appreciates and understands; the story does however fit with this weeks prompt) so that you all might take this gem and toss your own art-sharing-pebble.

After all, what are we striving for anyway?

The copyright on this art belongs to S.O.

So, here we go. My contribution:

Where The Crow Roosts

Soft footfalls upon layered molderings, careless boney whispers between leafless trees, these the witnesses to the broken man’s burden as he trudged, ever onward, driven by a need for simple answers, for self discovery and a truth of his own, or perhaps for something broader, more absolute.

And a key; not something crafted of iron, but an understanding.

A rusted throaty utterance halted his progression, interrupted his brooding. Refocused, he immediately recalled this place and what he had done. And as an iridescent form settled among the boughs above, he understood this place would hold importance for him yet again.

jKb



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FlashFiction Prompt lamps

Thank you to Rochelle Wisoff-Fields for all her work and organization. You can visit her site and read through the other Flash Fiction Friday postings at:

http://rochellewisofffields.wordpress.com/2013/03/27/29-march-2013/

For those who are new, Rochelle shares a photo prompt to which several #FridayFictioneers compose a 100-word flash of fiction. Come, the flame can only linger a short while.

Here’s my contribution:

According To Plan

The thing about magic,” Sophie shared while setting two oil lamps upon the table. She produced a lighter, brought life to one and repositioned the hurricane glass.

…not the slight-of-hand stuff, I mean the real thing…” She exhaled a kiss against the glass and the flame shimmered. “Pay attention.” Sophie began to blow and the flame quivered, then, simply snuffed out.

With a finger snap another flame licked to life in the second vessel, only this conjured tongue cast thick shadows.

…it doesn’t always go according to plan.”

The shadows melded.

And sometimes, it does.”

jKb



FlashFictionFriday Lillies-City Prompt

Thank you to Rochelle Wisoff-Fields for all her work and organization. You can visit her site and read through the other Flash Fiction Friday postings at:

http://rochellewisofffields.wordpress.com/2013/03/13/15-march-2013/

For those who are new, Rochelle shares a photo prompt to which several #FridayFictioneers compose a 100-word flash of fiction. Come, I have a message for you.

Here’s my contribution:

Well Wishes

“I was never good at confrontation, my love.” His voice was firm and unwavering. “My heart races, my palms sweat. Thoughts leave my head… So I came here to your new lover’s home. It is so comfortable. I brought your favorite, stole them from your dead mother’s front walk, the very same you watched bloom each spring, yes? Do you like them? I never cared much for flowers. They wilt. They die. Like love some would say.  Like your new love, destined to wither to dust. Fair well, love. Ah, yes. One other gift awaits you in the en suite.”

jKb

 



Quick words. I apologize for my inattention. I will return.

Please visit the #FridayFictioneer page here:

http://rochellewisofffields.wordpress.com/2012/11/07/9-november-2012/

Here’s my contribution, written in the time it takes a drip of coffee to spoil a fresh white table cloth:

Promises Kept

An aged wooden chair, entombed in blankets, he awaited. Without reserve to roll forward nor back, without momentum whatever, having forsaken and been. This life’s winter, upon grave reflection he only fathomed despair, anger, regret.

Where was family, love, life worth sharing, and with whom?

How he’d squandered his last grains awaiting a kiss that would not come. Promises so stale, bitterly missing the original intoxication, now dust.

Lacking all, not even a tear had visited.

Then one came. A black veil lifted, revealed Her. Lovely. Beautiful. Youthful. She leaned in, her lips moist. She harvested his last breath.

jKb

My mind’s been elsewhere. I wonder if when my mind travels, when I leave out on these magnificent adventures, is it just a whimsical fantasy, some lingering adolescent drivel? I believe no. Such is the language of the naysayers, and to them I ask: Is something not real because it escapes another’s sense of tangibility?

Evolve. Open your heart and open your mind.

If I journal the events and another reads and now two have shared the experience, and then a third and another, how can it be said that the dream is not real? You live how you wish, freely restricted, within your self-imposed walls of delusion. I will travel down the rabbit hole and there I shall meet others like me, again and again, for we are brothers and sisters and what we share is nothing less than magical.

Poof.

Thank you again to MadisonWoods for all her work and organization. You can visit her site and read through the other Flash Fiction Friday postings at:

http://www.madison-woods.com/index-of-stories/100512-2/

For those who are new, MadisonWoods shares a photo prompt to which several #FridayFictioneers will compose a 100-word flash of fiction. Now the pitch. Go ahead. Choose the red one.

My contribution:

For Love

He dreamed it would be done here. Eventually. In this safe harbor of peace and union; where their family nurtured their bodies as well as their souls; where struggles were confronted and solutions devised, together.

Here, a pact was forged; another bled.

She sought a love. Other than that which arose beside her each morning, labored daily to provide comfort, fed and bathed her when sick, which kept her true, only, contained within his walls.

In this room, upon this shared table she stretched before the other, revealed her passion, explored places all together new and unknown.

But, for what?

jKb



Thank you again to MadisonWoods for all her work and organization. You can visit her site and read through the other Flash Fiction Friday postings at:

http://madison-woods.com/

For those who are new, MadisonWoods shares a photo prompt to which several #FridayFictioneers will compose a 100-word flash of fiction. Settle upon this wicked wind and stay a while, won’t you?

Here is my contribution:

harbinger

as does the Monarch from flower to flower flutter,

spreading gentle caresses,

lapping sweet nectar,

unfolding delicate petals,

drinking her coming pollen,

such lovely succulence,

such glorious intoxication,

so does the harbinger from flesh to ripening flesh venture,

tantalized by noxious perfumes,

indulging upon sweetest necrosis,

shearing pleasures,

tearing delights.

glutted in the undoing yet not sated,

she rises from death’s bed,

from such rapturous ecstasy,

to dry her quills.

she shrills her victor’s song,

sagely remaining vigilant,

such magnificent poise,

awaiting the devouring of another lover.

jKb



Thank you again to MadisonWoods for all her work and organization. You can visit her site and read through the other Flash Fiction Friday postings at:

http://madison-woods.com/flash-fiction/forbidden-100-words/

For those who are new, MadisonWoods shares a photo prompt to which several #FridayFictioneers will compose a 100-word flash of fiction. Come and play, won’t you?

Here is my contribution:

Hallowed Ground

Kindness glimmered in her cloudy eyes as she handed them severed milk jugs, stained purple, and sent the little Indians to hunt fat berries. They stalked through wooded glen with feathered hair and reaped their fruit. Returning, they found her bent, rolling crust upon floured board. Grandmother smiled as she washed and sugared the berries, mounded them, blanketed them. She sang songs with a tongue they did not know. At a pop-up table they ate cob corn and barbecued chicken, drank bug juice, devoured sloppy mountains of black-cap pie, told old stories, never once noticing the burden of your reservation.

jKb



Thank you again to MadisonWoods for all her work and organization. You can visit her site and read through the other Flash Fiction Friday postings as  http://madison-woods.com/flash-fiction/damsel-fly/

Please note, that’s a new website for MadisonWoods.

For those who are new, MadisonWoods shares a photo prompt to which several #FridayFictioneers will compose a 100-word flash of fiction. Get on your horse and ride!

Here is my contribution:

Shearing Placid

Austin struck a match and drew breath. The hand-rolled cannabis tip glowed. “Nothin’ betta.” He chuffed then offered to Samuel who was soaking in the pleasantly burbling brook.

How’d ya find this place? Ain’t on the map.”

Nope. Came across the fence while jacking deer; had a sign said ‘Do Not Enter,’ so I killed it and climbed over.”

Taylor’s land, you think?”

Nah. Probably government. Fence goes miles.”

A shimmering dragonfly scissored along, settled upon a tumbled rock, gossamer wings shearing placid stillness, mesmerizing Samuel.

Look there.”

Another.

Then, several more.

Too many.

jKb



Thank you again to MadisonWoods for all her work and organization. You can visit her site and read through the other Flash Fiction Friday postings at http://madisonwoods.wordpress.com/flash-fiction/pathways/

For those who are new, MadisonWoods shares a photo prompt to which several #FridayFictioneers will compose a 100-word flash of fiction. It’s great fun and an excellent exercise for organizing thoughts and improving word choice. Give it a go.

This week, as my eyes glazed over, I contemplated the prompt. In the distance came something familiar, ‘and now you’re just somebody that I used to know — somebody.’ Then, like a virus, this thought infected my mind:

Letting Go

“Follow the white trail.”

This, a weekend adventure into Appalachia before school resumed. Backpacks strapped, boots laced, they plodded along a remote path terminating atop a fifty-foot cascade. All Justin’s idea, yet Damon led, as he always did. Justin followed, as he always had.

“It’s beautiful,” said Damon.

“See the pool below?”

“Where?”

“Look from here.” Justin’s supportive hand grasped Damon’s as he stretched past the edge peering down.

No slippage, just an opening release.

“Good-bye, friend.”

Arms whirled beyond reach.

Below, listless lips muttered wordlessly as life’s light abandoned languid eyes opaquing in summerly laze.

jKb

Thank you again to MadisonWoods for all her work and organization. You can visit her site and read through the other Flash Fiction Friday postings at http://madisonwoods.wordpress.com/flash-fiction/moths-at-the-drive-through/

For those who are new, MadisonWoods shares a photo prompt to which several #FridayFictioneers will compose a 100-word flash of fiction. Come and play, won’t you?

Here is my contribution:

Dust

The facility far beneath the vacant cinder-block structure had been closed two years, a defunct burger front above. This reticent spicule of urban sprawl on the edge of Harrisonburg forever unsuspecting.  Experiments, cries for mercy, now ghostly whispers wafting up twelve stories of cement throat, echoing into deserted prep zones once deploying manipulated strains of polyunsaturated fat. Something new flitted from the depths; like burnt smolders of paper, seething, came the vectors. Such lovely moths. Beautiful metamorphosis married biochemistry. Paralytic liquid secreted as wings unfurled, dried to dust, dispersed during gyroscopic flight.

Nearby, recess bells marked the beginning.

jKb