The moon illuminates the woman entering the stone bridge, seeming to reflect upon her sadness. A roll of tears sweep down her cheek, visceral feelings obvious in the dimmed light. A few lotus blossoms grace the dark water and the woman thought it fitting as she would soon join them. A bicycle rider on his way home from work spies the woman, sensing her intent and began pressing his phone to call 911 and then flicked the small bell on his handlebars. He couldn’t reach her in time but hoped to cause a distraction till help arrived.
Plans began with finding a cabin in the middle of nowhere where a loud noise would not bother anyone. The location supposedly for a rebirth of their relationship was perfect. When she drugged his wine last night to make sure he slept soundly, she fixed the deathly device.
Her footsteps carefully quiet, and using his flashlight, she found the shelf. He was many things, but always consistent. She placed the small part of C-4 under the shelf holding the chainsaw. Rigging a pressure plate fuse so as soon as the saw was lifted it would explode, was easy. If somehow it did fail to explode, she had a wifi link on her computer to ensure it would go off. Thinking it was a bit extreme even for her, she was practiced and ready. He had broken her heart like all the others and now he would pay; marriage number four.
She sat back, laptop open and ready just in case. She knew this morning he would use the chainsaw to cut up the fallen tree. The storm and heavy rain had knocked down the old tree out front and that’s when she got the chainsaw idea. It was easy this time.
The vision is not as clear as you might expect. There is still time to fight the good fight. Not every person standing on a podium is corrupt as media outlets profess. Seek out your local choices and give support. Write letters, make phone calls, talk to influencers. We all need to take part.
Because of the fire, bright flames caused them to be temporarily blind. Trapped in a tunnel with fire closing the only way out, there was no escape. He pressed his lips against her forehead and felt her body fall against him. They would forever lose each other here and he asked the stars why they had not pitied them and let them find a way out. Clinging to each other they were silent as glass shattered and burning flames surrounded.
Your Friday prompt for Stream of Consciousness Saturday is: “create.” Use it any way you’d like. Enjoy!
On this Veteran’s day while we remember those who fought for their country, their family and their fellow soldiers, let us think on what we as a people, can do to stop war.
“If, as they often say in politics, demographics is destiny, the social, economic and political power of veterans is about to fall off a cliff.
The attention of the world is now focused on global conflicts in Ukraine and Israel – and America’s wars in Iraq and Afghanistan feel long gone. The unfortunate reality that veterans understand is that the overall power and importance of Veterans Day is fading fast.”
The bustle of the train station caused a fever of jostling and pushing as every person wanted to be first in a seat of their choice. It was a test of how far they would go in their emphatic quest to be in front of everyone else.
Once settled in a seat with bags planted on either side to indicate she wanted to be alone, Madam Blithewhite pulled her large hat further down on her head.
The sudden odor of a disgustingly smokey cigar hit her nostrils. There was nothing to be done except sit where she was, ignoring the man sitting across from her. The scene reminded her of her husband’s rudeness with his deplorable menthol cigarettes.
She retrieved two handkerchiefs from her purse and put them up to her nose, hopefully making a point. The man chuckled and blew out a larger breath.
Snow kept falling, and even his furry face from lack of shaving couldn’t keep his cheeks warm. It was an enormous effort to swallow the bit left in the canteen. Eating the last of the jerky nights ago took over an hour for his jaws working hard and slow, biting the dried meat. He thought back to why he had taken this path, no longer visible under wafts of white. He knew he would die here, deserved it, arrogant in his choice. Taking out a pencil, he scribed an apology to family, and drifted into the waiting iciness.
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