Friday Fictioneers: 100-Words Story Challenge *Best Kept Secret*

c2a9tales_from_the_motherland

He kept me hidden. Nobody knew I was here, and I had no clue where “here” was. Nor how much time had passed since I woke up in this room for the first time. Months? Years? My memories were imprisoned to make any sense. I had become a part of these pale walls, the creaking wooden floor and the ceiling, held together by cobwebs in each corner. Everything but the door. His door.

My only connection to the world outside was a tiny window. The dusty glass eye I could reach only tip-toeing to peek at the well-known squares all over again. Recounting them. Hoping for a single soul to appear but there was none. Not until her.

Image courtesy of Dawn Q. Landau

Friday Fictioneers – 100 word stories

Friday Fictioneers: 100-Words Story Challenge *A Touch Of Mystery*

teds-view

My fear of dentists, cemented deep down inside during the years of the Soviet childhood, slowly started to disappear with each new visit to his practice. Like tartar from teeth – step by step until there was nothing left to worry about.
Almost hypnotised I looked at his muscular arms in the tone of warm bronze, admiring how gentle and attentive they turned out to be. An experience to be enjoyed.
There was only one thing that made me wonder – my missing panties after every anesthesia. I kept returning to try to solve this mystery one day…

Image courtesy of Ted Strutz

Friday Fictioneers – 100 word stories

Friday Fictioneers: 100-words Story Challenge – Sounds Of Love

dismantled-keyboard

“Where did I go wrong?” he kept asking himself, looking down at the keyboard. Or what was left of it. Things had seemed so perfect. Every single feeling that had vibrated inside him while writing “Sounds of Love”, echoed through her fingertips as they danced gracefully over the black and white keys. Her quiet smile, the tantalizing way she played with a lock of hair as he told about the significance of muse in composer’ s life. His special someone, the mysterious girl from the house across the street who had been inspiration for all of his creations…. CRACK! The synthesizer had just hit the wall as he heard her footsteps halfway down the stairs.

Image courtesy of Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

Friday Fictioneers – 100 word stories

Friday Fictioneers: 100-words Story Challenge – Walking Away

iaam-11

“Why?” was the only thing running through my mind, searching for the meaning. Any. But I should have known there was none. I should have realized all his collections from garbage dumps were the memories thrown out by others. Unspoilt childhoods, uninterrupted school years, enduring love; all unburnt objects, unbroken, possessed by happiness.

I hadn’t understood that he couldn’t afford to remember, that he needed to forget the ones of his own. It was still all there, as if it was yesterday – cries, gunshots, cracking bones, the smell of smoke. And then screaming silence through the years.

Image courtesy of Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

Friday Fictioneers – 100 word stories

The Līgo Haibun Challenge – Stuck

haibun_ram

This is the “photo week” on the Līgo Haibun Challenge and my haibun…knitted itself around the photo above.

I had never seen him before and, I believe, never will again. But I remember, still today. And tomorrow, and days ahead I will because there was something about him. Something that makes you stop and stand there, between children’ s laughter and all the “Look, look at his face, he must be stuck!”. Something that makes those questions appear in mind, the ones you don’ t want to while happily strolling through the zoo. About fairness. And power. Also cruelty. There was lama on one side, unable to decide either hissing or pretending to be cute will get everyone’ s attention and a piece of something tasty along. On the other – the ship of the desert, gracefully looking from above while chewing on the last lettuce leaf. And then there was him…right in the middle of everything. Like a tired warrior, an ancient philosopher or a simple observer. Stuck? Maybe but not between those logs. Stuck in my memory. Silent. Stoic. Proud. Hopeful. Or hopeless. I will never know. And maybe I don’t need to…for my conscience at nights to sleep better.

buffoon for the crowd
remembering mountain slopes
when all is gone

The Līgo Haibun Challenge

The Līgo Haibun Challenge – Reality Of Illusions

haibun_firenze

There are two prompts for the Līgo Haibun Challenge this week – illusion or ecstasy. After writing around the moments of ecstasy the other day, illusion still stayed on my mind…to keep wandering there. Until now…

The very first time I set foot in that city, I felt at home. Like a traveller who had been around the world and finally had returned to the place recognized by her heart immediately. There was nothing of the fleeting touristy pathos about the cradle of the Renaissance. Nor need to see all the “obligatory” objects to tick the check-boxes in some non-existing bucket list. I didn’t need to fall in love with it because you don’t fall in love with home. It simply is a part of you. And I knew by the sixth and all the other senses I was right where I was supposed to be. The feeling of different depth, something that reached beyond my comprehension, yet was not lost in translation for my soul. I found myself standing at Piazza del Duomo with my fingertips exploring the marble of the Baptistery…so familiar, like they had brushed over it before often, in silent admiration. Awareness about where one or another street labyrinth would take me like I had walked there hundreds of times. It was not so much Ponte Vecchio with all the opulent golden bling in the window cases that brought back almost real memories. More like a distant spot down at the Arno river, nearby the stone arches of another bridge – Ponte Santa Trinita…a reminder of the times I use to watch almost tangible fog slowly disappearing during the morning hours. Or in winter, as the first snow had covered the red rooftops, I had kneeled at the edge of the water, perplexed when the stream in its dark anger wouldn’t nurture the white peacefulness. Yes, the constant fusion in the air, the one I would call “the graceful beauty”, created by art and culture, frequently obstructed by political rises and falls. And those filigree fleur-de-lys all around the city, trying to smooth the sharp edges of Medici stories by purity of lillies. I don’ t know which was my time there but for sure it goes back much further than Benigni and Gucci. To Galilei or maybe Boticelli. Or probably all the way to Boccacio when he was in need for a muse to create “The Decameron“. Who knows… Sipping a glass of dark, rich vintage, looking at the sun generously caressing the ripe olives in the hills of Tuscany, I know there is something more in me than simple fondness for Florence. Imprinted to be decoded some day. In vino veritas. Profound memories or just a veil of illusion?

in old labyrinths
i search for my yesterdays
trapped illusions

The Līgo Haibun Challenge

The Līgo Haibun Challenge – Essence Of The Kiss

haibun_kiss

There are two prompts for this week’ s Līgo Haibun Challenge:
“Imperfection is beauty, madness is genius and it’s better to be absolutely ridiculous than absolutely boring ” – Marilyn Monroe
or
“A kiss is a lovely trick by nature to stop speech when words become superfluous ” – Ingrid Bergman.
Both of them are powerful but kissing does have something about it, seducing not only my mind…

Cobblestones were exhaling heat of the sun, caressing my bare soles and raindrops continued their crazy whirls all over my body. Tickling, catching each other in attempt to map their own mystical paths, soaking me to the skin. The day was just about to succumb to the night and we were left with the last minutes of the twilight. The moment in between…under an old lamppost, my heart racing yours. Finally. Inevitably. The first, the very first one….longed for so much. Feeling the way your lips tasted on mine. Touching and teasing like butterfly wings, with the tantalizing aroma of Arabic coffee and freshness of the meadows high up in the French Alps. Flavours of the Amazon rainforests. The dust and diesel of Bamiyan, a hinge of fir forests up North and essence of Baku’s unforgettable wildness. I had melted while this moment was getting imprinted in me and signed with a shudder.

puddles under lamppost
discovered by your lips
map of sensuality

The Līgo Haibun Challenge