Today, let’s reflect on moving! Write a haibun that alludes to moving, any way you conceive of it.
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Moving on it’s called, as if anyone can truly move on to something new while mourning loved ones? The memories linger, as they should, but accompanied by tears.
distance sensed
summer doldrums felt
grief remains
***
http://dversepoets.com/2023/07/31/haibun-monday-7-31-23-moving/
Is it sporting to rely on destiny to maintain a connection to the magical sandman, or should we be robust and demand our wishes on the mortal coil? A teenage wizard’s ramble in a secret spell may cause terminal harm, or simply cause the surprising installation of a meatloaf at dinner. A practiced wizardry will provide an accurate rendition, so as the adage goes…practice makes perfect.
Seven women rising, floating above the main line, aided by strong arms of practiced male ballet dancers, bodies strengthened and honed to perfection. Privacy granted, but at risk by their willing participation in a beloved art form. The beauty is learned and muscles of both genders build to their highest peak. Named as a dance, but the precision and poise in their creation suggests more.
Wordle 602
The autumn chill descended over the town and with it came rot and ruin. “Yeah, that’s what my dad says every year at this time” Hildegard replied to her friend Mona. Hildy and Mona had been best friends since the age of three. Inseparable until high school, when the difference of one year put them in different schools. Today they happened to have a free Saturday and met at the old cemetery.
It was Friday the 13th after all, and the yearly excursion into the cemetery was a must. They walked along, trying to spook each other with tales of what really happened to old Mr. Gronky or Miss Eliza Whittaker, whose gravestones were prominent, but had no quotes or information on them. The two friends always paused by the small embedded markers of infants who passed away at birth or soon after. It was sad they had no chance at life.
The girls tried to avoid the newer mounds, which gave them the creeps. However, the old familiar ones were almost friendly after all this time. The newly mounded dirt gave them a strange feeling as it felt too real, not like the older grassy indentations.
Suddenly, Hildy grabbed her friend’s arm. “Oh. . . look at that!” She pointed to a new mound under a scraggly tree where a temporary cross had fallen over. They cautiously walked over to set the marker straight, trying to avoid direct eye contact with the heaped dirt itself. Mona lifted the broken wooden sticks and righted it while reading the written words.
“Here lies Thomas Tripper, murderer, hung by the neck on October 13, 1792.” The girls looked at each other realizing what it actually said. . .1792. “That was almost two hundred years ago! Oh goodness, Hildy! The grave looks new, but it can’t be! The cross is broken, what could have happened here?”
“I’ll tell you what you want to know…” the voice came as a surprise to the girls, and they looked up to see a dirty, ragged form hanging from the tree.
***
Rules of the hop:
Write 6 Sentences. No more. No less.
Use the current week’s prompt word.
Link up at Wednesday’s post. Link goes live at 6:00 pm through Saturday late…
Spread the word and put in a good one to your fellow writers.
PROMPT WORD: TOAST
The wedding party gathers round. The bride and groom separate as the best man approaches. Everyone has eyes on the groom’s best friend as he sets down his glass of champagne. “I have the privilege of giving a toast to my former best friend and my former girlfriend.” Suddenly he pulls a gun and shoots them both. The crowd is shocked and run out of the building screaming.
Sunday’s Six Sentence Story Word Prompt!
Weekend Writing Prompt #322 – Flutter
The Friday Reminder and Prompt for #SoCS July 29, 2023
He looked back, no one there. He thought he could feel someone, of course that was just wishful thinking; he wanted it so much. But no one will come, or care, to save me. I made the decision, I’m never going back.
Earlier, after cleaning up after supper, he sat down to the table to finish his homework. Another stupid assignment. He couldn’t wait for this year to be over. School was just a waste of time, he’d never go to college. With his dad gone and mom working two shifts a day just to get by, he felt there was no future for him. No going to college, joining the other guys, drinking beer at the frat parties. None of that was in his future. He didn’t know if he even wanted that life. It didn’t matter anyway, not possible.
I’ll get a diploma if I’m lucky and start work at the factory, just like all the other losers. I hate my life, hate this house. I’m always alone here, hardly a home. A real home would have a dad, and a mom who cooked you dinner and laughed with you, watching funny tv shows.
It was getting colder, he looked around again. Stop thinking someone’s coming, they’re not. You made your choice, so keep moving. You only have the thirty dollars from mom’s bureau, you can’t afford to stop till the train comes.
He had heard of people jumping into train cars, but never tried it. Tonight was the night. If he didn’t make it, that would be okay too. He was sick of everything. All he wanted was to get away, away from everything he knew, and start over. He didn’t even care where or what it was, just something different. It couldn’t be worse than this.
He felt the vibration through his shoes. Then he heard the train whistle, getting ready to slow down for the stop ahead. He could do this.
http://fivedotoh.com/2023/07/28/fandangos-flashback-friday-july-28th/
http://cyranny.com/2023/07/26/july-26th-1minfiction-challenge/
The Bag Lady 
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