Ascending the grand, creaky staircase, my fingers left trails in the thick layer of dust on the handrail. The blood-red message had been graffitied across the ancient portrait for three days now:

I'm in the walls.

Plasterboard was shredded to pieces; every resident on search duty, but no trace of the spectral painter. My husband, master of the house, had laid all manner of traps in an attempt to catch the fiend - to no end.

Phantom breezes; eerie wailing; spontaneous fireplace eruptions. Even the beloved pet hound hanging from the bannister. I was particularly proud of that last one.

One day, Helen took the status quo in her hands and set it on fire. She was sick of being its puppet. She went to the right school, married the right man, raised the right children. All that earned her was chronic back pain and crippling debt. She was a good mom, of course. She waited for the young ones to grow up into their own directionless followers of the approved life script. Then, she ran away to start anew in Venice. Her family didn’t even file a missing person report. They were too busy to notice she was gone.

Her presence filled the garden.

Tender was her flight, earth shatteringly encompassing my soul, reminiscent of sunshine in spring, misty dewdrops on petals, and light breezes.

Whispering and echoing a tale of enchantment, she flew down the path, buzzing about in the spectrum of afternoon’s fading light. Her ethereal, fairy like approach was wondrous delight, and the rapture of bejeweled wings could be heard as she drank her fill from the brightest of blooms.

I paused and I watched her iridescent, colorful form, ever sure that the spin of the earth stopped in wonder like the beat of my heart.

My nose twitches from the earthy mist while I shiver in the Autumn breeze. Chattering from a blush of robins echos off fir trees. And to think I nearly retracted my original plan to miss such a breath-taking moment. I giggle as his vile blood melts into the forest floor.

x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x

x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x

He was so handsome. His eyes closed, his tux freshly pressed. I closed my eyes, remembering the time that he had gently pushed my hair out of my eyes as we danced.

I would miss him. But at least he had been mine.

They lowered the corpse into the grave.

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ok it says i can't publish this unless it has one hundred words but the challenge says use only fifty words exactly so i have to waste words at the bottom so ignore this. mary had a pepper. pepper was a popper. ok that wasted the other fifty words.

I was in my English class when it happened. When my life changed forever.

I heard a scream from the other end of the hallway. I just assumed the band kids were having a bit too much fun again. I asked to go to the bathroom and walked out.

When I turned the corner, I saw the reason for the scream. A man in all black turned to face me. Then he lifted his gun.

That's all I remember before I hit the ground. Then I woke up in a hospital room surrounded by flowers from everyone I've ever known.

I may be dying.

No, we are all dying from the moment we are born. I am dying. Instead, I should say: My inevitable last breath may become a reality sooner than anticipated.

That’s not accurate: I have been anticipating death since I was 12.

Perhaps: The existential angst that has plagued me since I was 12 may soon cease to be a source of constant reflection and anguish as I will no longer be.

I can’t decide what would make me happier: dying soon or living to ease the the long day’s journey into night of those I love.

Memory is the fog of fall, never shrouded enough for me to forget.

Memory is a landscape of the hands too afraid to make fists.

Memory is a tall smokestack bleeding out ghosts.

Memory is a needle hidden within dandelion roots.

Memory is a wishbone rattling inside the altar box.

But, the fog tells me that letting your memory go would be desecration.

I am the sole living guardian, and I hold vigil for the gentle person you murdered with sharp claws and barred teeth.

So I hold your memory within the cradle of autumns embrace.

And honour the dead.

I'm here 50 words only. My heartbeats. 40 words, 40 beats left. Are all my things in order? Looks like 15 words left. 15 heartbeats left. Now nine. Seven more and I cross zero to the other side of the number line. Then I'll be adding time to my eternity.

________________

THIS REPEATED JUST TO SATISFY NEED FOR 100 WORDS

THIS REPEATED JUST TO SATISFY NEED FOR 100 WORDS

THIS REPEATED JUST TO SATISFY NEED FOR 100 WORDS

THIS REPEATED JUST TO SATISFY NEED FOR 100 WORDS

THIS REPEATED JUST TO SATISFY NEED FOR 100 WORDS

THIS REPEATED JUST TO

The back of my head faces the sun.

Each freckle cements its investigative hole inside my head,

the Vitamin D floats, empty blanks, down to my toes.

More time, less time.

Exactly, exquisitely, innately.

Solar flares warm my body,

The cellular determination of my skin,

likens me to the sky.

The back of my head faces the sun.

Each freckle cements its investigative hole inside my head,

the Vitamin D floats, empty blanks, down to my toes.

More time, less time.

Exactly, exquisitely, innately.

Solar flares warm my body,

The cellular determination of my skin,

likens me to the sky.