Decease and desist – Trifecta Post

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His halted steps were deliberate.   He had no physical ailment restraining him but the heaviness in his heart seemed to impede his movement.  The church steps spanned his peripheral vision and the large wooden doors loomed ahead making him feel small, almost minuscule.   He had to cross the threshold.  He knew that as sure as he knew he needed to breathe the air that now seemed viscous and ready to choke him with his next inhalation.

One foot found its place in front of the other and his hand reached for the over-sized handle.  The door groaned its argument about being forced open but he moved forward, knowing what waited for him on the other side.  He knew the faces he would see would seem vaguely familiar but he could not focus on them.  Today was about something much deeper.  Today was about death.

He had recited the eulogy aloud over and over until the words had etched themselves into his brain.  The crowd fell silent as he made his way to the front of the room.  He furtively glanced at the collection of people gathered within the confines of the church walls and collected every ounce of strength that remained in his sorrow-filled body.

The many trial runs in the mirror made it easier and the words seem to spill from his lips.  ”My name is Ray, and I am an alcoholic.  Somewhere along the way, the person I was died and this is his funeral.”

“Hi, Ray.”

~

This post was written for the Trifecta Post:
DELIBERATE
1: characterized by or resulting from careful and thorough consideration <a deliberate decision>
2: characterized by awareness of the consequences<deliberate falsehood>
3: slow, unhurried, and steady as though allowing time for decision on each individual action involved

Remember:
  • Your response must be between 33 and 333 words.
  • You must use the 3rd definition of the given word in your post.
  • The word itself needs to be included in your response.
  • You may not use a variation of the word; it needs to be exactly as stated above.
  • Only one entry per writer.
  • If your post doesn’t meet our requirements, please leave your link in the comments section, not in the linkz.
  • Trifecta is open to everyone. Please join us.

When conversation flows…..

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It is rare to find those people who you can just talk to….about anything.  Words seem to just flow and nothing you say is awkward or judged.  There is no pause in the natural ebb of the conversation and there is no deflection to inane topics like the weather.   The connection exists on so many levels that no topic is off-limits.

Those people are hard to come by and each time you find yourself encapsulated in their presence, the synergy grows.  The things you anticipated would generate a look of surprise become predicted and that person peels back the skin of the onion that is you, exposing another layer and getting closer to the core of your existence.  Sometimes that onion will cause some tears along the way, but the true essence of its flavor will far outweigh the arbitrary drops of saline along the way.

onion

(image credit: flickr.com)

Words can be weapons, but words can also be gateways into a meaningful friendship that is based on a true appreciation of what the other person represents in our lives.  Whether it is pre-destined chemistry or a new development a true affection for what is hidden beneath the shroud of the skin of that onion, the words that are uttered truly matter.  They are not said to fill a block of time.  They are spoken because of a shared interest in what is being said.  They are expressed in moments of affinity.

When conversation flows, it flows because of an unspoken bond.  It flows because two people feel a level of comfort that is achieved by honesty and a genuine interest in what the other person has to say.  It flows because they care about the words being said.

When conversation flows, minutes turn into moments and those moments linger through time.  Those moments repeat themselves and the conversation flows on a repeated loop that becomes etched in our memory.

When conversation flows, our lives are changed forever.

Words for the wordies

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I have been working on a novel for a few years. Time that should have been spent writing to get it finished during those years seems to have been interrupted by reality, but I will never give up the dream of seeing it through to its completion, hopefully by the end of this year.

As writers tend to do, I always second guess the salability of the story…..and this, dear friends and readers, is where you come in. The following is the beginning of the book and I would love to get some feedback….positive and negative. From perspective comes growth.

The Waking Hours

Jack Brandon looked at himself in the mirror for the third time. The deep circles under his eyes and the numerous laugh lines did much to convince him that he had earned each of his 38 years. Laugh lines he thought, was the definition of irony. He couldn’t remember the last time he had laughed. Hell, he couldn’t remember the last time he had smiled. Pulling his gaze from the mirror, Jack glanced around his modest condominium. The collection of antique and clay figurines certainly looked familiar, but somehow seemed vaguely out-of-place. He could not put a finger on it but his trepidation increased.

Shaking off his uneasiness and the frustration of the day, he moved over to the dry sink and poured himself an aromatic glass of Cabernet Sauvignon. He padded barefoot through the plush carpet and sank into his favorite recliner. Although the condo was tastefully decorated, the recliner stuck out like a sore thumb. The remainder of the chocolate-brown corduroy on the arms hung in tatters and foam spouted from the gaping holes, but Jack refused to part with it. The chair had become as comforting as a warm handshake from an old friend – unfortunately, a subject he could not relate to with great authority. Jack had always been a loner. His parents had been extreme over achievers but had never pushed Jack to open up. Before he could rub any more salt in that open wound, he changed his thought pattern to complete nothingness.

The sun gradually lowered itself and began pulling up the blanket of the horizon. As dusk inched its way to darkness, Jack remained listless in his chair. Blackness swept through the apartment and he found himself awash in a cascade of shadows and jagged streaks of moonlight. Although the solitude did have a serene quality, he could not shake the sense that the darkness held some sort of malice for him. After a few more glasses of wine, Jack was feeling the effects and sleep crept methodically into the corners of his eyes and gently pulled down his eyelids. As his breathing became heavy and rhythmic, the black canvas of his dreamscape was brushed clean and anxiously awaited a new splash of color.

~

He emerged from his sleep to a tirade of rasping coughs and shallow breaths. In the seconds it took for him to discern the sounds, he realized they were coming from him and he felt beads of sweat rolling from his brow. His large hands were flailing through the air, reaching out for an invisible assailant. Immediately he tried to relax and gulped large quantities of air. Jack’s dreams had become far more vivid recently and mornings were a constant source of recollection, collaboration and interpretation. The lingering image of a woman was in his mind but he could not keep hold of the dream and she vanished. Pausing only for a moment, he rose unsteadily from the chair and tried to shake the fragments of sleep from his head. Shadows danced in the corners of the apartment and teased his eyes. Still dusting the cobwebs from his mind, he stumbled to the bathroom and seemed to have lost his inner compass. He tripped over furniture and momentarily lost his equilibrium. He cranked on the hot water, stripped out of his clothes and tried to rid himself of his feeling of wariness as he stepped into the shower.

The heated beads of water stung his skin but he welcomed the pressure of the jet streams. Perhaps the pounding shower could help cleanse his sense of growing failure. Real estate sales were down and reflectively brought Jack’s mood down with them. For every day that passed with no prospects, his depression and loss of enthusiasm increased. Something had to change, and it had to change soon.

Feeling somewhat more awake and refreshed, Jack reached down to shut off the flow of water. He halted briefly and stared, completely puzzled. The shower head and faucet were different from what he remembered. He tried to recall if the landlord had mentioned any changes but he had no memory of that conversation. He turned off the new faucets and threw open the shower curtain. The steam from the shower shrouded his vision as he toweled himself dry. As the mist began to clear Jack stepped from the shower and felt a plush bathmat under his feet. He didn’t own a bathmat. He reached to his left to wipe the mirror and his hand rubbed against nothing but tile and wallpaper. As the last of the shower steam finally dissipated Jack’s mouth fell open. He gaped in horror at the bathroom. It wasn’t his bathroom at all.

This just in….

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In what is being referred to as a heinous crime against nature, an unknown perpetrator has assaulted the freshly awakened earth with a blanket of snow.  Investigators have a short list of suspects and a few known offenders are at the top of their watch list.

The Behavioral Analysis Unit of the F.B.I. has given their profile to local weather  teams and have asked for the public’s assistance in capturing this un-sub before any more damage is done to the pristine Spring landscape.  The blossoming lilacs and daffodils have been ruthlessly violated by the cold temperatures and the cover of white powder.  Nurseries and landscapers are on full alert and have assembled emergency response teams to assist if necessary.

daffodils

(image credit: agefotostock.com)

The F.B.I.’s investigative team has predicted a second wave of the assault on Monday night and are arming their troops in preparation of the attack.  Unlike the blitz invasion on Sunday, the B.A.U. is warning residents NOT to plant and to arm their patio furniture as a safeguard against the defilement.

If you have any information in regards to the events on Sunday, May 12th, please contact Jack Frost and tell him to EFF OFF!!   More news at 11:00.  Now back to you.

Mom

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mom-holding-baby

She birthed me and swaddled me,

she showered me with love.

Her arms always embraced me,

they fit me like a glove.

Her words were the only ones,

that could help to heal my scars.

Hers was the only light,

that would comfort me in the dark.

She woke me up to play with me,

she laughed at all my jokes.

She sang with me to old musicals,

although she couldn’t hold the notes.

Her faith in my abilities,

has stood the test of time.

She’s the portrait of what a mother should be,

and I’m glad that she is mine.

So, here’s to you, mom, on this special day,

my love for you has no end.

You’re my giver of life, my confidant,

and will always be my best friend.

Happy Mother’s Day.

Blogger – diagnose thy self

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We all have symptoms of possible afflictions that we try to diagnose ourselves.  If you are anything like me, your computer is powered on and you are searching on Google or Bing for probable illnesses that match the symptoms you are experiencing.

Lately, I have been suffering sleepless nights, lack of concentration at work and stiff joints in my neck and wrists.  After a myriad of suggestions from those online medical gurus, I have stepped outside of the clinical box and diagnosed myself with I.B.S. – Insatiable Blogging Syndrome.

The creative part of my brain seems to be enlarged and is causing me to wake in the middle of the night with the ideas that are spilling from the cracks caused by the swelling.  The only relief is to free the idioms that seem to be the source of the contusions.  Those lacerations perpetuate my inability to focus on life outside of the blogosphere and cause me to sit at my laptop for hours at a time reading the words of others while trying to deftly craft my own.  Daily routines and writing my novel fade into the background as the myriad of blog ideas rush through my veins to the forefront of my mind.

left-brain-right-brain

(image credit: performance-rules.com)

Short of a lobotomy, there is no known cure for Insatiable Blogging Syndrome.  I am a victim of its temporary paralysis and subsequent mood swings caused by the inability to focus on anything but stringing sentences together to create some semblance of entertainment and meaning.  In the face of adversity, I shall “soldier on” as my mom used to say.  I will not let this unstudied medical ailment affect my ability to lead a normal life.

Until there is a cure, those words, those personifications and idioms dripping with color will continue to attack my brain with fervor.  I am a victim to its grace and tenacity.  I am a writer.

The Storm Rumbles On – Trifextra Post

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The passing wind whooshed by,

leaving the drips of rain scattered.

The clap of thunder resonates,

the crack of lightning left a mark that mattered.

The storm rumbles on,

leaving the earth tattered.

~

Written for the Trifextra Post: On to the weekend challenge.  This weekend we want you to give us 33 words (exactly) that include among them at least one example of onomatopoeia.  When looking for a good page to link to in order to help describe the device, we stumbled upon our very own Apoplectic Apostrophes‘ post on literary devices.  Check it out if you need help remembering how onomatopoeia work.