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Written by brieannekt in portal Poetry & Free Verse

Bow of Eros

Daintily, she carries the wings of a blue sparrow.

Retracting, she darts her arrow.

The art of seduction without instruction, bow of eros.

Into the heart of her beloved, flows infinite love. Revival of a wounded warrior, sharp stakes start up his heart.

Without a bloody scene splatter, she meets his divine being.

Maiden of Matter, goddess of celestial beings.

Lordess of the ring.

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Written by brieannekt in portal Poetry & Free Verse
Bow of Eros
Daintily, she carries the wings of a blue sparrow.
Retracting, she darts her arrow.
The art of seduction without instruction, bow of eros.
Into the heart of her beloved, flows infinite love. Revival of a wounded warrior, sharp stakes start up his heart.
Without a bloody scene splatter, she meets his divine being.
Maiden of Matter, goddess of celestial beings.
Lordess of the ring.
#fantasy  #fiction  #adventure  #poetry  #mystery  #spirituality  #culture 
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Write a poem with the beginning line....I sat down by the river Styx.
Written by Syne in portal Poetry & Free Verse

Orpheus's Lament

I sat down by the River Styx

Knowing I'd never feel her kiss

My Eurydice

She was taken from me

Dissolved into the mist

And my hand it groped the hilt

As I agonized in my guilt

If I used the blade

Could I see her face?

Would in vain my blood be spilt?

But instead I built a pyre

And for her I played my lyre

I remembered her

Then her red embers

Welcomed me into the fire

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Write a poem with the beginning line....I sat down by the river Styx.
Written by Syne in portal Poetry & Free Verse
Orpheus's Lament
I sat down by the River Styx
Knowing I'd never feel her kiss
My Eurydice
She was taken from me
Dissolved into the mist

And my hand it groped the hilt
As I agonized in my guilt
If I used the blade
Could I see her face?
Would in vain my blood be spilt?

But instead I built a pyre
And for her I played my lyre
I remembered her
Then her red embers
Welcomed me into the fire
#fantasy  #fiction  #romance  #poetry  #mystery  #love  #spirituality  #mythology  #loss  #tragedy  #greek  #Orpheus  #eurydice 
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Written by Harry_Situation in portal Fiction

The Old Master Part 5

The wrethkar herd continued their free roam in the ravine. Wandering amongst the herd was Legion, the great demon sorcerer, who searched for a flower, the Deathly Bloom, that would be suitable for Rosemary's upcoming presentation for her class. And where was Rosemary Gravely? She sat away from the old demon an a small boulder pile, no longer interested in her project but more so on the gentle herd that allowed the two of them to roam with. She sketched out drawings of a few of the beasts in her notepad. She drew in detail of each spike and scale of the young and the old. She even drew Legion guiding the herd like a old shepherd, which made her smile even more.

Suddenly she felt a tug on the back of her hoodie. She turned and saw an infant wrethkar gnawing at the cloth. It was the same baby that Legion helped birth. The newborn released her and gave a small squeak, then jumped down from the boulder pile. It was born not that long, perhaps only an hour or two, yet it was already walking and running at an accelerated rate. With every couple feet it ran it would always look back at Rosemary, coaxing her attention. 

"Oh, you want to play?" Rosie giggled. She could resist its temptations. Jumping down from the pile, Rosemary pursued the swift infant. It ran farther and farther from the human girl that she could barely keep up. She soon chased the newborn down the ravine which led them to a canyon. The infant cut through a rocky corner and disappeared. Right then she heard frantic squeals of the infant. 

"Oy! Snagged another one!" A grizzled voice cried out.

Rosemary darted for the large rock and crouched down. She poked her head from behind the large rock and saw three demons, that she has never met until now, gathered around a small campsite and safeguarded a set of large, wooden crates. One demon appeared like a muscled skeleton, much like Ghuul, but the horns on his head were longer like a gazelle. The second demon was much thinner and shorter than his comrades, with his appearance head and legs appearing rather goat like. The third demon was much more sinister looking than the others, with his muscular appearance much like a cross between a human and a lizard, complete with flaky scales, a short tail that swung behind, and his left eye so scarred up he couldn't open it.

"Remind me again why we're snatchin' up these babies." The skinny goat-demon whined. "Why can't we hunt down the bigger ones?"

"Their hides are only soft like this until they get bigger." Their horned leader explained. "Good for makin' some smooth leather, and worth quite a fortune to the right buyers. I gots me a flyboy in the heavens whose looking to buy off on some of their skins."

"Oh I can't wait to tell me brother." The skinny goat-demon giddied. "He's gonna be jelly of me when I come back stupid rich."

"You best keep your gob shut less you don't wanna loose your head!" The scarred lizard-demon warned his eager partner. "If any higher demons finds out what we've been up to it'll be our hides that's skinned."

Rosemary grew angry of what these demons were planning. She knew she had to get them out of that crate. As the demons talked among themselves of how their profits would be split, Rosie sneaked quietly to the great. The closer she drew she heard the desperate pleas of the baby wrethkars inside the crate. She reached for the lock and tugged with all her might, but the lock wouldn't budge. 

Suddenly she felt something yank at her hood and hoisted her off the ground. She could help but let out a small yelp from the hoisting. Off the ground she dangled in the hand of the scarred demon, who barred his sharp teeth at her.

"Looks like we've got ourselves a spy in our mist, boys!" The scarred lizard-demon hissed to his comrades.

The other two demons gather around the two. They watched how Rosemary kicked about in the air and her small naval was exposed from her hoodie and shirt being held up. 

"What is it?" The skinny goat-demon asked.

"Looks like a soul." The horned leader commented.

The scarred lizard-demon took a couple sniffs at Rosemary and hissed once more, "Don't reek like one. Too fleshy and clothed to be a soul." 

"I'm a girl, you jerks!" Rosie retorted. "And you better let these baby wrethkars go!

"Or what?" The horned leader jeered.

"Or I'll tell my stepfather!" She warned. "May have heard of him. He's the devil, sometimes referred as the boss."

All three of the demons gulped at the mention of her stepfather. Small sweat beads dripped down from their monstrous heads.

"She's the boss's brat!?" The skinny goat-demon squeaked. 

"No she ain't!" The horned leader denied. "She's a liar!"

"Hey, what if she's telling the truth?" The skinny one asked. "What if we're ratted straight to the devil?"

"She's a kid. Kids always tell lies to get outta trouble." The lizard-demon spat. He then drew a large bowie knife from his belt and raised up to the girl's chin, to which she gasped at its sharpness. "Kids also know how to keep their mouths shut or risk their tongues cut out if she spills to anyone."

"And what of me?" A familiar voice bellowed nearby. "What is my punishment for knowing?"

All four looked to the path and saw the great demon sorcerer supreme himself lingering down their way. His old staff tapped the ground with each slow step. Each pair of spider like eyes glared to each of the poaching demons. The horned leader and skinny goat-demon pulled out their machetes from the sheaves of their pants and readied themselves.

"Oy! That there's Legion, the royal adviser." The skinny goat-demon gasped. "Kid was speakin' the truth!"

"This ain't your concern, old timer." The scarred lizard-demon hissed.

"You are trespassing on ground you do not belong in," The old arachnid said. "You are holding my assistant hostage and are threatening her life, and you have a few infant wrethkars boxed up with intentions to craft their hides into leather and sell it to the black market, an act to which I myself established a ban all across the depths of Hell. I would say that this indeed is now my concern. I am will grant each of you mercy and pardon your crimes if you do the following: release the wrethkars, apologize to the girl, leave this place, abnegate your professions, and never return.""

"Gut this old wizard!" The horned leader ordered.

The scarred lizard-demon dropped Rosie onto the ground and charged forward with the skinny goat-demon following suit. Legion spun his staff around and struck it against their heads. The skinny goat-demon took few more strikes against his body before being sent flying to the canyon wall by a final blow. The scarred-lizard demon tried to blast Legion with a couple fireballs, but, without a single glance, the sorcerer dissolved them with his hand. A purple glow emitted from the arachnid's hand followed by a great gust of wind, which blasted the scarred attacker into the canyon wall as well. 

The horned leader charged forward only to drop to his knees when Legion's staff jabbed him below his belt. A hard strike across his head knocked him on his back, which forced the demon to groan loudly from his pain. He then gagged when the wooden staff pressed down on his throat with the sorcerer standing above him.

"My offer still stands." Legion reminded them.

After their humiliating defeat at the hands of the old demon, the poachers did exactly as he instructed. They dropped their weapons, unlocked the crate of baby wrethkars, to which the babies scampered back to the herd. The poachers then followed up with a short apology to Rosemary, who mockingly smiled and laughed as they all ran out of the canyon, screaming like scared girls. Legion raised his left hand, which emitted a hazy green glow. Sprouting from the tainted ground were large roots that coiled around the crates, crushing them down into tiny splinters, so they can never be used again. 

Legion then looked on to Rosemary and said. "For one so small you seem to constantly find yourself in big trouble." 

"It's a bad habit." Rosie jested. "What about you? I thought you were against violence."

"I am. But I am for self defense."

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Written by Harry_Situation in portal Fiction
The Old Master Part 5
The wrethkar herd continued their free roam in the ravine. Wandering amongst the herd was Legion, the great demon sorcerer, who searched for a flower, the Deathly Bloom, that would be suitable for Rosemary's upcoming presentation for her class. And where was Rosemary Gravely? She sat away from the old demon an a small boulder pile, no longer interested in her project but more so on the gentle herd that allowed the two of them to roam with. She sketched out drawings of a few of the beasts in her notepad. She drew in detail of each spike and scale of the young and the old. She even drew Legion guiding the herd like a old shepherd, which made her smile even more.

Suddenly she felt a tug on the back of her hoodie. She turned and saw an infant wrethkar gnawing at the cloth. It was the same baby that Legion helped birth. The newborn released her and gave a small squeak, then jumped down from the boulder pile. It was born not that long, perhaps only an hour or two, yet it was already walking and running at an accelerated rate. With every couple feet it ran it would always look back at Rosemary, coaxing her attention. 

"Oh, you want to play?" Rosie giggled. She could resist its temptations. Jumping down from the pile, Rosemary pursued the swift infant. It ran farther and farther from the human girl that she could barely keep up. She soon chased the newborn down the ravine which led them to a canyon. The infant cut through a rocky corner and disappeared. Right then she heard frantic squeals of the infant. 

"Oy! Snagged another one!" A grizzled voice cried out.

Rosemary darted for the large rock and crouched down. She poked her head from behind the large rock and saw three demons, that she has never met until now, gathered around a small campsite and safeguarded a set of large, wooden crates. One demon appeared like a muscled skeleton, much like Ghuul, but the horns on his head were longer like a gazelle. The second demon was much thinner and shorter than his comrades, with his appearance head and legs appearing rather goat like. The third demon was much more sinister looking than the others, with his muscular appearance much like a cross between a human and a lizard, complete with flaky scales, a short tail that swung behind, and his left eye so scarred up he couldn't open it.

"Remind me again why we're snatchin' up these babies." The skinny goat-demon whined. "Why can't we hunt down the bigger ones?"

"Their hides are only soft like this until they get bigger." Their horned leader explained. "Good for makin' some smooth leather, and worth quite a fortune to the right buyers. I gots me a flyboy in the heavens whose looking to buy off on some of their skins."

"Oh I can't wait to tell me brother." The skinny goat-demon giddied. "He's gonna be jelly of me when I come back stupid rich."

"You best keep your gob shut less you don't wanna loose your head!" The scarred lizard-demon warned his eager partner. "If any higher demons finds out what we've been up to it'll be our hides that's skinned."

Rosemary grew angry of what these demons were planning. She knew she had to get them out of that crate. As the demons talked among themselves of how their profits would be split, Rosie sneaked quietly to the great. The closer she drew she heard the desperate pleas of the baby wrethkars inside the crate. She reached for the lock and tugged with all her might, but the lock wouldn't budge. 

Suddenly she felt something yank at her hood and hoisted her off the ground. She could help but let out a small yelp from the hoisting. Off the ground she dangled in the hand of the scarred demon, who barred his sharp teeth at her.

"Looks like we've got ourselves a spy in our mist, boys!" The scarred lizard-demon hissed to his comrades.

The other two demons gather around the two. They watched how Rosemary kicked about in the air and her small naval was exposed from her hoodie and shirt being held up. 

"What is it?" The skinny goat-demon asked.

"Looks like a soul." The horned leader commented.

The scarred lizard-demon took a couple sniffs at Rosemary and hissed once more, "Don't reek like one. Too fleshy and clothed to be a soul." 

"I'm a girl, you jerks!" Rosie retorted. "And you better let these baby wrethkars go!

"Or what?" The horned leader jeered.

"Or I'll tell my stepfather!" She warned. "May have heard of him. He's the devil, sometimes referred as the boss."

All three of the demons gulped at the mention of her stepfather. Small sweat beads dripped down from their monstrous heads.

"She's the boss's brat!?" The skinny goat-demon squeaked. 

"No she ain't!" The horned leader denied. "She's a liar!"

"Hey, what if she's telling the truth?" The skinny one asked. "What if we're ratted straight to the devil?"

"She's a kid. Kids always tell lies to get outta trouble." The lizard-demon spat. He then drew a large bowie knife from his belt and raised up to the girl's chin, to which she gasped at its sharpness. "Kids also know how to keep their mouths shut or risk their tongues cut out if she spills to anyone."

"And what of me?" A familiar voice bellowed nearby. "What is my punishment for knowing?"

All four looked to the path and saw the great demon sorcerer supreme himself lingering down their way. His old staff tapped the ground with each slow step. Each pair of spider like eyes glared to each of the poaching demons. The horned leader and skinny goat-demon pulled out their machetes from the sheaves of their pants and readied themselves.

"Oy! That there's Legion, the royal adviser." The skinny goat-demon gasped. "Kid was speakin' the truth!"

"This ain't your concern, old timer." The scarred lizard-demon hissed.

"You are trespassing on ground you do not belong in," The old arachnid said. "You are holding my assistant hostage and are threatening her life, and you have a few infant wrethkars boxed up with intentions to craft their hides into leather and sell it to the black market, an act to which I myself established a ban all across the depths of Hell. I would say that this indeed is now my concern. I am will grant each of you mercy and pardon your crimes if you do the following: release the wrethkars, apologize to the girl, leave this place, abnegate your professions, and never return.""

"Gut this old wizard!" The horned leader ordered.

The scarred lizard-demon dropped Rosie onto the ground and charged forward with the skinny goat-demon following suit. Legion spun his staff around and struck it against their heads. The skinny goat-demon took few more strikes against his body before being sent flying to the canyon wall by a final blow. The scarred-lizard demon tried to blast Legion with a couple fireballs, but, without a single glance, the sorcerer dissolved them with his hand. A purple glow emitted from the arachnid's hand followed by a great gust of wind, which blasted the scarred attacker into the canyon wall as well. 

The horned leader charged forward only to drop to his knees when Legion's staff jabbed him below his belt. A hard strike across his head knocked him on his back, which forced the demon to groan loudly from his pain. He then gagged when the wooden staff pressed down on his throat with the sorcerer standing above him.

"My offer still stands." Legion reminded them.

After their humiliating defeat at the hands of the old demon, the poachers did exactly as he instructed. They dropped their weapons, unlocked the crate of baby wrethkars, to which the babies scampered back to the herd. The poachers then followed up with a short apology to Rosemary, who mockingly smiled and laughed as they all ran out of the canyon, screaming like scared girls. Legion raised his left hand, which emitted a hazy green glow. Sprouting from the tainted ground were large roots that coiled around the crates, crushing them down into tiny splinters, so they can never be used again. 

Legion then looked on to Rosemary and said. "For one so small you seem to constantly find yourself in big trouble." 

"It's a bad habit." Rosie jested. "What about you? I thought you were against violence."

"I am. But I am for self defense."
#fantasy  #fiction  #horror  #comedy  #sinsofthefather 
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"Comfort food for the soul." I'm quite down, fellow prosers. Times like these, only poetry soothes me. Please write a lovely poem about comfort or comforting somebody. Make it at least 50 words. Tag me because I want (need) to read.
Written by Syne in portal Poetry & Free Verse

No Light Without Darkness

Without darkness there is no light

Without wrongness there is no right

Without pain there is no relief

There is no hero without the thief

There is no valor without our fears

No evidence of love without our tears

Nowhere to rise if there's no way to fall

No reason to try if we have it all

The greatest kindness is born from grief

And there is passion only because life is brief

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"Comfort food for the soul." I'm quite down, fellow prosers. Times like these, only poetry soothes me. Please write a lovely poem about comfort or comforting somebody. Make it at least 50 words. Tag me because I want (need) to read.
Written by Syne in portal Poetry & Free Verse
No Light Without Darkness
Without darkness there is no light
Without wrongness there is no right
Without pain there is no relief
There is no hero without the thief
There is no valor without our fears
No evidence of love without our tears
Nowhere to rise if there's no way to fall
No reason to try if we have it all
The greatest kindness is born from grief
And there is passion only because life is brief
#fiction  #romance  #poetry  #philosophy  #life  #spirituality  #advice  #lesson  #consolation 
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The concept of death has captivated our imaginations since the beginning of human society. It has formed cultures, defined religions, shaped the course of history. Write about death. It can be lighthearted, humorous, hopeful, respectful, dreading, mournful, optimistic--you can paint it in any light you would like. Any style and format- poetry, prose, story, fiction, nonfiction, etc.
Written by Syne

Death Is Always Hated

I have always been hated

I have always been feared

Wherever I go

I bring sorrow and tears

From their very beginning

They've searched for a way

To destroy me for good

Or keep me at bay

They tend to fear

What they don't understand

They desire to hold

Their fates in their hands

It pains me to know

I am misunderstood

For I mean no harm

My intentions are good

At the very moment

Of their greatest pain

I come and whisk

Their souls away

I protect them from hurt

That cannot be beared

I protect them from wounds

That cannot be repaired

And I wish I could

Protect them all

But I do not always

Hear their call

Still they fear and hate me

All the same

They've embedded their hatred

In my name

If you do not believe this

Just rearrange it

And you'll find that

Death is always hated

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The concept of death has captivated our imaginations since the beginning of human society. It has formed cultures, defined religions, shaped the course of history. Write about death. It can be lighthearted, humorous, hopeful, respectful, dreading, mournful, optimistic--you can paint it in any light you would like. Any style and format- poetry, prose, story, fiction, nonfiction, etc.
Written by Syne
Death Is Always Hated
I have always been hated
I have always been feared
Wherever I go
I bring sorrow and tears

From their very beginning
They've searched for a way
To destroy me for good
Or keep me at bay

They tend to fear
What they don't understand
They desire to hold
Their fates in their hands

It pains me to know
I am misunderstood
For I mean no harm
My intentions are good

At the very moment
Of their greatest pain
I come and whisk
Their souls away

I protect them from hurt
That cannot be beared
I protect them from wounds
That cannot be repaired

And I wish I could
Protect them all
But I do not always
Hear their call

Still they fear and hate me
All the same
They've embedded their hatred
In my name

If you do not believe this
Just rearrange it
And you'll find that
Death is always hated

#fiction  #poetry  #philosophy  #death  #spirituality  #culture 
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Written by PaulDChambers in portal Flash Fiction

termination

It began with kiss cooling on soured shoulders in vast darkness. End written by dull lips on proffered cheek where once her smile had lived. 

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Written by PaulDChambers in portal Flash Fiction
termination
It began with kiss cooling on soured shoulders in vast darkness. End written by dull lips on proffered cheek where once her smile had lived. 
#fiction  #philosophy  #relationships  #flashfiction 
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Written by Meadow337 in portal Fiction

The Cemetary

Every day precisely at 3 p.m. Edna locked her front door, crossed the road and entered the cemetery. She walked briskly to the bench (which she had paid for) in front of Henry's grave. She took out her knitting and would sit, for one hour, talking quietly to Henry about the preceding 24 hours. She told him about the grandchildren, what Rob had done now, and the latest update in Penny's revolving boyfriend saga (don't ask). 

Every day at precisely 4 p.m. Edna would pack away her knitting, stand, say goodbye to Henry, nod to the gentleman approaching (his wife's grave?) and go home. 

Today Edna was late. Mrs. Hargreaves, from next door, had called round with a request for help with a knitting pattern. Edna, the self-appointed expert among her immediate neighbours, could not refuse the request. It was 3.45 before she could leave her house. She arrived at her bench, to find it already occupied by the gentleman she was accustomed to nodding a greeting to on her way home. She paused. She didn't know what the etiquette of this situation was. Should she sit? Or simply stand beside Henry's grave? 

Harold, for that was the gentleman's name, saw Edna and graciously rose to his feet, he bowed a little, in a stiff old-fashioned way he half-stifled out of embarrassment for his antiquated manners, and offered her the bench. Edna sniffed, it was her bench after all so what gave him the right to offer it to her as if it was his? Perhaps she would stand, after all she could not conduct her usual conversation with Henry with an onlooker poised to overhear every word. 

Harold, noting her discomfort and intuiting the source, said, "I shall not impose, I have communed with my dear Elizabeth; I bid you a good afternoon," and briskly walked away. Edna stared. Imagine the cheek of the man. Flustered, she gabbled a brief something in Henry's direction and returned home feeling flushed and disconcerted without knowing why. 

The next day she was late again. And the next, and the next. In fact for the next month she was 'late'. Every time Edna arrived at her bench Harold would rise, nod, politely greet her and leave. Edna became infuriated. She had done everything but fling herself at him and he had not acknowledged her interest even once. Surely it was obvious she changed her entire routine for him? How could he miss it?

Truth was Harold had not missed Edna's interest. 

Today Edna determined to speak. She put on her best skirt and cardigan, the one Henry always loved, and marched to her bench. Harold rose, opened his mouth and Edna interrupted him, "My dear man," she began. "We have been passing each other at this bench for some time now, and I wish to ..."  her courage failed her at this crucial juncture. 

Harold, noting the flush on her cheeks and the tight grip she had on her handbag, looked her up and down. He saw the shapeless grey cardigan, the wisps of hair making a halo around Edna's face, giving her the appearance of one of the old marble angels in the cemetery, faded to a muted grey. He saw her sturdy brown shoes and the thick stockings wrinkled around her ankles. He saw his Elizabeth. And in that moment of clarity he realized what he had to do, "Elizabeth!" he snapped, "I married Elizabeth when I was 20 years old; I knew no other but her." Harold stopped and took Edna's hand, "And you remind me of her. Your clothes, your shoes, your hair, your cardigan," Edna pulled her hand from his and clutched her cardigan close, "everything reminds me of Elizabeth." Harold's eyes grew cold, his lips thinned as they pressed together, "And I have no intention of being with her again. She gave me no freedom, no joy, no happiness. She was a miserable woman who hounded me day and night and I'm glad she is dead. Glad!" spittle accompanied Harold's words. It hit Edna in the face as his words hit her heart. 

'Henry,' she thought. 'Henry spoke to me just like this. The same sharp tone, the same disparaging remarks', and in that moment Edna knew she had been oppressed by Henry their entire married life, and here she was, 70 years young, still trying to live up to his expectations. Edna took a deep breath, "Henry would speak to me as you just did. He would put me down and belittle me. And I've had enough. You may sit here, on my bench and commune with Elizabeth, I'm going home." Edna spun around and marched away. 

They may have had more than the cemetery in common, Edna and Harold, but in the end, all they had in common was the cemetery. 

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Written by Meadow337 in portal Fiction
The Cemetary
Every day precisely at 3 p.m. Edna locked her front door, crossed the road and entered the cemetery. She walked briskly to the bench (which she had paid for) in front of Henry's grave. She took out her knitting and would sit, for one hour, talking quietly to Henry about the preceding 24 hours. She told him about the grandchildren, what Rob had done now, and the latest update in Penny's revolving boyfriend saga (don't ask). 

Every day at precisely 4 p.m. Edna would pack away her knitting, stand, say goodbye to Henry, nod to the gentleman approaching (his wife's grave?) and go home. 

Today Edna was late. Mrs. Hargreaves, from next door, had called round with a request for help with a knitting pattern. Edna, the self-appointed expert among her immediate neighbours, could not refuse the request. It was 3.45 before she could leave her house. She arrived at her bench, to find it already occupied by the gentleman she was accustomed to nodding a greeting to on her way home. She paused. She didn't know what the etiquette of this situation was. Should she sit? Or simply stand beside Henry's grave? 

Harold, for that was the gentleman's name, saw Edna and graciously rose to his feet, he bowed a little, in a stiff old-fashioned way he half-stifled out of embarrassment for his antiquated manners, and offered her the bench. Edna sniffed, it was her bench after all so what gave him the right to offer it to her as if it was his? Perhaps she would stand, after all she could not conduct her usual conversation with Henry with an onlooker poised to overhear every word. 

Harold, noting her discomfort and intuiting the source, said, "I shall not impose, I have communed with my dear Elizabeth; I bid you a good afternoon," and briskly walked away. Edna stared. Imagine the cheek of the man. Flustered, she gabbled a brief something in Henry's direction and returned home feeling flushed and disconcerted without knowing why. 

The next day she was late again. And the next, and the next. In fact for the next month she was 'late'. Every time Edna arrived at her bench Harold would rise, nod, politely greet her and leave. Edna became infuriated. She had done everything but fling herself at him and he had not acknowledged her interest even once. Surely it was obvious she changed her entire routine for him? How could he miss it?

Truth was Harold had not missed Edna's interest. 

Today Edna determined to speak. She put on her best skirt and cardigan, the one Henry always loved, and marched to her bench. Harold rose, opened his mouth and Edna interrupted him, "My dear man," she began. "We have been passing each other at this bench for some time now, and I wish to ..."  her courage failed her at this crucial juncture. 

Harold, noting the flush on her cheeks and the tight grip she had on her handbag, looked her up and down. He saw the shapeless grey cardigan, the wisps of hair making a halo around Edna's face, giving her the appearance of one of the old marble angels in the cemetery, faded to a muted grey. He saw her sturdy brown shoes and the thick stockings wrinkled around her ankles. He saw his Elizabeth. And in that moment of clarity he realized what he had to do, "Elizabeth!" he snapped, "I married Elizabeth when I was 20 years old; I knew no other but her." Harold stopped and took Edna's hand, "And you remind me of her. Your clothes, your shoes, your hair, your cardigan," Edna pulled her hand from his and clutched her cardigan close, "everything reminds me of Elizabeth." Harold's eyes grew cold, his lips thinned as they pressed together, "And I have no intention of being with her again. She gave me no freedom, no joy, no happiness. She was a miserable woman who hounded me day and night and I'm glad she is dead. Glad!" spittle accompanied Harold's words. It hit Edna in the face as his words hit her heart. 

'Henry,' she thought. 'Henry spoke to me just like this. The same sharp tone, the same disparaging remarks', and in that moment Edna knew she had been oppressed by Henry their entire married life, and here she was, 70 years young, still trying to live up to his expectations. Edna took a deep breath, "Henry would speak to me as you just did. He would put me down and belittle me. And I've had enough. You may sit here, on my bench and commune with Elizabeth, I'm going home." Edna spun around and marched away. 

They may have had more than the cemetery in common, Edna and Harold, but in the end, all they had in common was the cemetery. 
#fiction  #romance 
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Cat
Written by Syne

The Tacky Cat

This poor CAT stepped on a TAC

And bacame a TACky CAT

Now this scaredy CAT

Is a TAChycardiac

Defibrillate him, stat!

We must try to remove the TAC

He'll need a thorough CAT scan

It's CATastrophic

He's CATatonic

Yes, he's had a panic atTACk!

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Cat
Written by Syne
The Tacky Cat
This poor CAT stepped on a TAC
And bacame a TACky CAT
Now this scaredy CAT
Is a TAChycardiac
Defibrillate him, stat!

We must try to remove the TAC
He'll need a thorough CAT scan
It's CATastrophic
He's CATatonic
Yes, he's had a panic atTACk!
#fiction  #childrens  #poetry  #comedy  #humor  #funny  #cat 
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Write a work of prose/poetry about the coming of Springtime, but here's the catch: you can't use the letter 'S'
Written by Syne

Pringtime

Pringtime ha come

The warmth of the un

The flower bloom

The inects hum

The lover woon

The kid have fun

Life ha begun

For Pringtime ha come

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Write a work of prose/poetry about the coming of Springtime, but here's the catch: you can't use the letter 'S'
Written by Syne
Pringtime
Pringtime ha come
The warmth of the un
The flower bloom
The inects hum
The lover woon
The kid have fun
Life ha begun
For Pringtime ha come
#fiction  #childrens  #poetry  #comedy  #humor  #funny 
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Challenge of the Week #61: Write a piece of flash fiction about rejection. The most masterfully written piece, as voted and determined by the Prose team, will be crowned winner and receive $100. Quality beats quantity, always, but numbers make things easier for our judges, so share, share, share with friends, family, and connections. #ProseChallenge #getlit #itslit
Written by James

Pulsar

       He's never this cold. The warmth of his smile sublimes dry ice. When the frosty moon bites my unprotected night, his sunny words lit my yellow soul. He's the only star in my galaxy.

   He hits me when I misbehave. Complaints and gambles my minimum wage. After his debt grazed our properties, paranoia and whisky became his buds.

     "Your food is getting warm, won't you eat?"

He flares like a discharge of molten plasma

      "Woman, I'm thinking, let me be."

The rocks of a mountain stumbling down, his right palm like the thunder meets my face, the storm in my eyes begins to rain. He won't even look at me. It's like I'm his shadow that doesn't exist. We once did things together, trips and parks. Now, I'm an obstacle that needs to be removed. Where is that man that once loved me? He never stood farther than ten centimetres from me.   We played scrabble and chess for weeks. Every single sub-particles of moments was rich with love.

          Now, as I walk pass his favourite chair, the stench of irritation absorbs the air. Choking for attention, my wits deflects downwards. The walls of silence are louder than thousands of sirens. My head disconnects from my backbone and my sorrowful lungs. As the mighty sun sits on the western wings, my heart is set on a bow taut string, ready to dive to loneliness.

     Planetary bodies distort time and space. The heaviness of his body only pulled me away. The little emptiness I felt when he was alive, ripped wide open, as I mourn at his wake. The giant star of my galaxy is dead. His kidney exploded in liquor supernovas and left me with a black hole of devastation.

`    He was not my husband or my lover. He was and still is my only mother.

                "I love you, daddy, rest in peace."

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Challenge of the Week #61: Write a piece of flash fiction about rejection. The most masterfully written piece, as voted and determined by the Prose team, will be crowned winner and receive $100. Quality beats quantity, always, but numbers make things easier for our judges, so share, share, share with friends, family, and connections. #ProseChallenge #getlit #itslit
Written by James
Pulsar
       He's never this cold. The warmth of his smile sublimes dry ice. When the frosty moon bites my unprotected night, his sunny words lit my yellow soul. He's the only star in my galaxy.
   He hits me when I misbehave. Complaints and gambles my minimum wage. After his debt grazed our properties, paranoia and whisky became his buds.
     "Your food is getting warm, won't you eat?"
He flares like a discharge of molten plasma
      "Woman, I'm thinking, let me be."
The rocks of a mountain stumbling down, his right palm like the thunder meets my face, the storm in my eyes begins to rain. He won't even look at me. It's like I'm his shadow that doesn't exist. We once did things together, trips and parks. Now, I'm an obstacle that needs to be removed. Where is that man that once loved me? He never stood farther than ten centimetres from me.   We played scrabble and chess for weeks. Every single sub-particles of moments was rich with love.
          Now, as I walk pass his favourite chair, the stench of irritation absorbs the air. Choking for attention, my wits deflects downwards. The walls of silence are louder than thousands of sirens. My head disconnects from my backbone and my sorrowful lungs. As the mighty sun sits on the western wings, my heart is set on a bow taut string, ready to dive to loneliness.

     Planetary bodies distort time and space. The heaviness of his body only pulled me away. The little emptiness I felt when he was alive, ripped wide open, as I mourn at his wake. The giant star of my galaxy is dead. His kidney exploded in liquor supernovas and left me with a black hole of devastation.
`    He was not my husband or my lover. He was and still is my only mother.
                "I love you, daddy, rest in peace."
#fiction  #education  #science  #opinion  #getlit 
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