Thursday, October 13, 2011

Three Words

I asked today for my Twitter-loves to help me by sending me three words. This is the result. Their words, in order, are bolded.

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I dreamt of the obscure, strangely-tilted sharpness of barbed-wire, which had been decorated lovingly by a small child with the crooked, elbow macaroni necklaces that every mother gets for Mother’s Day. 
Spotted Monarch butterflies danced in the air, flitting back and forth between the cold, gray, steel spikes, and the small child ate an over-filled peanut butter sandwich that she had made with pride that morning.
Over on the porch, a grinning Jack-O-Lantern looked on as a smiling sun crept over the cerulean sky and sprayed sunshine down on blonde curls. She carried a small, pink suitcase filled with secret treasures known only to her. 
Her name is Serene, and she was.
Nearby, a small, brown goat of the genus Capra nodded in agreement as he filled himself to the brim with soft, green grasses. The blonde curls danced in laughter as he nuzzled the small of her back. He was born on a Tuesday, and her daddy let her hold him for a few fabulous, precious seconds before giving him back to his mother.
She hears her name being called by a sweet, soft voice of a woman with hair like hers. As the curls trip up the wooden porch stairs, she sees that her mother has painted her toenails the color of pomegranates. She secretly hopes that she will get to pick out her favorite nail polish later, so she can show tiny, sparkly toes to her daddy. Two gray tabby cats rush by, meowing with pleasure at the thought of a romp in the tall grasses.
Inside the warm, inviting house, the Yankees game blares on the old radio; the announcer’s voice is offset by occasional static that sounds like a sudden hailstorm in the summertime. The last buttercups of the season are splayed in a small, clear glass vase on the kitchen table, holding onto the fading rays of summer. She takes off running, her footsteps echoing flatly on the wooden floors, reverberating oddly like blocked sinuses. The screen door flies open as she squeals out onto the porch, scattering the first fallen leaves with her whirlwind of excitement.
Her daddy is home.

10 comments:

  1. That was amazing- I love it!

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  2. YOU guys are amazing. Thank you for helping me get through my writer's block!!!

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  3. This was wonderful! I was wondering where you were - you were busy writing a lovely story! :o)

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  4. 3 words: Stop Dropping Acid

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  5. "Stop Dropping Acid" is a wonderful phrase, and something that I would highly think about taking into consideration as advice if I were some kind of 1960's megabillionaire who didn't have to think about schooling or work, and all I had to do was get high and hallucinate all day.

    :)

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