#ThursThread continues with the Man in Mourning

 So that's what I'm calling it for now. Not really sure what else to call it or where I am going with it. 

I received another honorable mention last week for last week's entry in ThursThreads. It is definitely helping encourage me to stay on the band wagon and keep writing. I am not always able to write every day but I try not to skip more than one day without writing something, even if its only for 15 minutes or a half hour. 

As always, you can learn more about the #ThursThreads flash fiction contest HERE. All of this week's entries will be found there. Sometime in the next 48 hours or so, the winner will be selected. 

This week's prompt was "So what do you suggest"

My entry: 

x-x-x-x

    She slumped down into the soft leather of the couch in the living room as she watched her stepfather through the glass of the balcony. His tall frame was cowed in grief, rigid and radiating a cloud of despair that sucked the warmth out of the air around him. She had never seen him in such a state before.

    Her mom and stepfather had gone through a lot before they met and had gone through even more after. Perhaps that is what made their bond so strong – and her mother’s passing that much more painful. Her stepfather had lost his first and only love. She wasn’t sure if he’d ever get over it.

    She had never seen the kind bond that her mom and stepfather shared with anyone else. It was unique. It was more than just love or just marriage, but something deeper and stronger, like their souls were connected. It was scary how intertwined two people could be, how powerful their devotion to one another was, and the power that they held over one another. She wasn’t sure if she envied them such a connection or pitied them.

    Sometime later, her stepfather came back inside and went straight for the whiskey bottle sitting on the table. He poured a fresh glass for himself and one for her. Taking both in his hand, he joined her on the couch with sigh and handed her the other glass.

    “So what do you suggest we do now?” he asked quietly.

Another Week's Entry to #ThursThreads and Other Musings...

    I came to a realization earlier this week while in a discussion on Discord that perhaps I'm trying to control my muse a little too much. I get so fixated on having an outline to write from to keep the story on pace and not veer off and jump the shark that I'm not allowing for happy accidents or true creativity. Most ideas that come to me, I know how they start and how I want it to end, and a few key moments in between, and perhaps that should be enough. I don't have to nail down every single thing between those moments and just let the word flow and see how the characters speak to me. 

    I'm going to try this new thought process on my current WIPs. I haven't actively written in a very long time, much to my shame, but I find my mind being full of ideas again. I may not go back to my old WIPs from ten years ago, but that's fine. It's all a part of the process. I'm glad to just be writing again. 

    My #ThursThread entries these past few weeks are starting to form a story, and has grabbed a hold of me. There is no outline, no character sketches, none of the typical preparations I do. This is 100% pants-ing, flying by the seat of my pants, writing. Last week's entry to #ThursThreads won honorable mention! That was a great source of encouragement for me that my creativity and my muse haven't completely gone away. 

    If you haven't seen my previous entries, you can check them out here on this blog or on the #ThursThread blog. I don't have a name for this collection of drabbles yet. It's angsty, that's all I have so far. 

This week's #ThursThreads prompt is "I don't need answers."

My entry: 

    He tried to get into a new routine, but everything reminded him of her. Their lives had become so intertwined that there wasn’t a facet of his life that she wasn’t a part of in some way. He never minded it, he relished it. He had been alone for so long before they met that having her in his life, in every aspect, was a novelty that he never ever got tired of having.

    Now that it was gone. If he thought his loneliness was bad before they met, it was so much worse now. Now he knew what it was like to be loved, truly loved and to love in return. A soulmate. And now he knew what it was like to lose it.

    He sighed.

    She found him standing on the balcony nursing his usual glass of whisky. Her daughter. His stepdaughter. Home from college for the summer. She looked too much like her. It was painful. Her eyes red-rimmed and sad looking as she gazed at him. He knew she was hurting too. He wanted to comfort her, but his grief was so all-encompassing he found it nearly impossible to reach out to anyone. Especially her. He was a shit stepparent.

    “The final reports from the accident came in,” she offered quietly.

    “I-I don’t need answers.” His voice caught as he spoke. The first words he had spoken aloud in days. “Nothing will change what has happened. Nothing will bring your mom back.”

               

246 words

@mlgammella

Two weeks in a row - yay me! 

Taking a stab at #ThursThreads again and I felt drawn back to the snip I started last week with the man in mourning. Last week's prompt and this week's seemed to play nicely together. Not sure if this will eventually become something or not, but just getting the words out as they come. 

All of the entries to #ThursThreads can be found here: ThursThreads

-x-

My entry:

Their penthouse held too many memories, so he stayed away. Without her there, the dwelling was lifeless shell of where they had built their life together. He couldn’t even call it a home anymore. His home died the day she did.

Standing on the balcony of his Hills property where they would often go to get away from the city was no different. It felt cold and lifeless, despite the warm California sun. His only company was her ghost, always lingering near him but never making a sound. Her voice, her touch, all memories now. At least he had an eidetic memory so he wouldn’t forget a single moment he had with her.

“It’s quiet here,” he said to her. “Too quiet.”

She nodded but said nothing.

“What I would do to hear your voice again, your touch.”

Her ghost looked at him sadly but made no move to try to touch him. Like it would matter anyway. She was just a figment of his imagination, his grief manifesting.

His cell phone buzzed in his pocket. He ignored it, like he had all of the other calls and texts from his friends -their friends. They were concerned, but he was beyond caring. There wasn’t anything any of them could do. She was gone. He hadn’t talked to anyone since her funeral, unless shouting at God counted. Not that even doing that mattered, since he knew God wasn’t listening. God hadn’t listened for a long time. Why start now?

-x-

Find me on Twitter/X or whatever it's called this week: @mlgammella

Well... it has been some time since I've graced my own blog, but even after a hiatus, it's like riding a bike - you just hop back on and start peddling.

I was able to submit an entry into this week's #ThursThread for the first time since December of 2019. Let's hope my next entry isn't four and a half years from now. The blogpost and all of the other entries can be found here: https://siobhanmuir.com/thursthreads-tying-tales-together-week-605/

For those unfamiliar with this particular flash contest, you are given a prompt and a word count to craft something new. It can be from a current WIP or just something that pops in your mind. I went with something new. 

My entry is below:

The Prompt: 

"I don’t really know how.” 

Word count 100-250 words

It was a beautiful day in Los Angeles, for all that he noticed. The warm ocean breeze ruffled his hair as he stood lost in his thoughts. It could be Hell on Earth and he would remain unmoved. Instead, his focus was on the wedding band he held in his fingers. The delicate platinum band matched the larger one he wore on his ring finger of his left hand. The ring he never ever expected to have to remove from his dead wife’s hand.

“I don’t really know how to do this alone,” he said to her, her ghost in his mind standing next to him.

She smiled sadly but didn’t say anything. How could she? She was a figment of his imagination.

“I never knew how to truly live until you came into my life. How can I go on living now without you?”

His body shook as he tried to contain the despair that ravaged him down to his soul. He fell to his knees, the sand of the beach cushioning his landing.

“Why?” he screamed up to the heavens. “Why her?”

His shouts garnered some odd looks from nearby beachgoers, but even they seemed to pick up on his pain and didn’t disturb him.

“Why did it have to be you?” he asked her ghost.

She knelt next to him but remained silent. If she had the answers, she wasn’t divulging them.

235 words

NaNoWriMo 2019

Yes, I'm doing it. I don't know what I'll be doing, but I'm going to be doing it. The ultimate pantsing.

If you care to follow in the insanity, come follow me and we can motivate one another. :)

#MenageMonday - Water Under Statues Fall

So it's been forever and a day again since I last posted, and last written, really anything, except work emails. The stories are still there, still bouncing around in my brain. They certainly don't let me forget. Finally made time to participate in flash fiction again... this is really the best way to get those creative juices flowing and shake out the mental cobwebs.

Without further ado - my entry into this week's #MenageMonday:

The Phrase: “turn the tables”
The Judge’s Prompt: Berlin (as in Germany)! Can be set there, mentioned, alluded to, but it has to be apparent.
The Photo (sourcing available on the contest website)


Water Under Statues Fall

Safi settled into a spot by the fountain, making what appeared to be a casual selection in his choice. Certain spots were better than others. People watching? Best spot was to the right, along the outside ring of the fountain. Introspection? In the middle facing the center of the fountain where one didn’t have to acknowledge or interact with anyone else. Espionage? To the left, right about where Safi sat, where the pounding water on the cement was at its loudest, drowning out nearly all of the surrounding noise.

Ironic that something built to celebrate the regime’s victory over the subversives would be the location where the new rebellion started.

A shadow briefly crossed in front of Safi. “You made it.”

“Clearly,” came the response from his left, sitting near enough to be heard but not so close for someone to think they were together.

Safi chuckled. Reid wasn’t Reid without his dry sarcasm.

“What’s the latest from Berlin?”

“They’re clueless. They’re so convinced of their superiority and righteousness that they can’t see how precarious their position is.” Reid’s voice dripped with distain and disgust. He had more reason than most to hate the regime and want to see it fall. “The riots are getting worse in the boroughs.”

Safi nodded, the news not unexpected. “It is time.”

Reid stood and walked away. He already knew what the next step was, and would be the first to turn the tables on the regime that killed his entire family.

#MenageMonday - 2x07 - "Full Circle"

Hey - two weeks in a row! Imagine that.

Here's my entry for #MenageMonday and I even made the time-cut off this time. *Score*



The Phrase: “it’s almost over”

The Judge’s Prompt: “then let me die”

The other entries an be found HERE.
My entry is below:

Full Circle

Zayne hoisted himself up the bizarre, barren landscape to a small ledge. In all his travels, he had never seen such a place before. He set down his pack and stretched.

Darius fidgeted in the pack, the stubs of his legs poking at the fabric as he adjusted his position to look upward at the trees protecting the summit.

“Careful, Dar, you don’t want to fall off,” Zayne warned, tugging on the loops of the pack to keep his friend from tumbling over the edge.

“It’s almost over,” Darius muttered, before shaking his head to himself.

“Ready?”

Darius nodded. Zayne slipped the pack over his shoulders again for the final leg of the expedition.

A few hours elapsed as Zayne used ever bit of knowledge in rock climbing that he had to keep him and Darius from tumbling down to the gorges below. Finally, they reached the summit, a square of land with three trees that had seen better days.

Zayne set the pack down and Darius quickly scrambled out, using his arms to propel him across the scrab grass.

“Now what?”

“Leave me.”

“What? I can’t leave you up here. You’ll starve to death.”

“Then let me die.” Before Zayne could speak up, Darius continued. “This is what I want, Zayne. This is where it happened, where I lost everything. ‘Tis only fitting that this is where I die, where I should have originally. It was a mistake I survived.”

@MLGammella
241 Words