Weekend Quickie #219

Weekend Quickie #219

Saturday, February 18, 2017

One Image, One Prompt, One Emotion

200 Words

Monochopsis

An oriflamme

6 thoughts on “Weekend Quickie #219

  1. Ein í borginni

    The city is a big lonely place when you don’t know your way around and you don’t know a single soul who lives there.
    I had to be at the telephone box near the café in Richmond Park Gardens, at eleven o’clock. If I missed the call, if I did not answer, I might never see her again.
    I did not know where Richmond Park Gardens were and nobody I tried to ask would stop. Most were too busy rushing to wherever they were rushing to and the few that halted their stride took off again as soon as I spoke.
    No one speaks Islenska in this city and I do not speak English.
    The scrappy bit of note paper I have, the one with the diagram, the map of how to get to the park is creased, smudged and torn and no one will give it a second glance.
    Until the student, the young girl. She smiles as she looks at the drawings, then points and waves her arms in the air, first right and then left.
    I nod and smile back in reply. It is a language we can both I can understand.
    The phonebox is there, bright red, blood red. I go inside to await the call.
    The door is pulled open, arms grab me, encircling me.
    “Ég hélt að ég myndi koma þér á óvart” segir hún
    .
    © Paul White 2017
    FFl&l180217/230

  2. The nerve of the guy.
    She stomped off to the end of the road, before pausing. They’d been together for how long? And he was going where? The light turned and the crowd surged forward, pushing her to the other side of the road.
    She pondered her options. Classes. The apartment she’d found after searching for weeks. Her new car. The part in the new opera where she came in under the oriflamme.
    She stroked a finger over the ring. Where was Belgium anyway?
    Her teachers were talking a European tour, after that maybe a residency at Juilliard. Someday the Met. He was just going to leave her? For a year? She was supposed to what? Wait?
    Pictures flashed through her mind: sitting at a party, a diamond on her hand keeping away all but the ones she should avoid anyway. Walking in the park, alone. Long distance phone calls. Reading letters in a restaurant, surrounded by laughing friends.
    She turned abruptly and walked back, pushed open the door of the phone booth and stepped in, then turned his head to hers. A disembodied voice got quieter and quieter as the receiver dropped, “Hello? Tom, are you still there?”

  3. The Third Wheel

    I was walking down the street when it began to rain. Ducking inside a phone booth, I closed the door, and sighed in relief.

    I saw her coming; another desperate soul. She squeezed into the booth with me. My, she was pretty. I nervously twiddled my wedding ring as we made introductions. After about thirty minutes of casual conversation, we were able to relax in spite of the close quarters. She was more attractive than I had surmised, and I found myself massaging that wedding ring nearly the whole time.

    We both saw him coming; another desperate soul seeking shelter, nor did we blame him; it was pouring. He pressed into the booth with us, instantly converting our tight space into one of embarrassing intimacy.

    Right away I noticed the gleam in her eyes when she looked at him. I could tell. The next half hour was spent as if I were not there at all. Well, it was unbearably awkward. Obviously, I was the third wheel. Still massaging my ring, I eased my way out of the booth, and back into the rain. I turned and to look back. They were kissing.

    In no particular hurry, I continued with my original journey; in spite of the rain.

    I wasn’t going to melt.

    I hope they make it.

  4. This wasn’t right. He had a feeling he wasn’t where he was meant to be, he felt out of place. The whole afternoon had been fantastic, going out with Daphne the French student he’d met only a few days ago to the cinema, picking up a hotdog, walking along the riverbank and watching the ducks and swans… it had all been great, and then… his natural composure, suave sophistication, smooth talk, were all gone. He lumbered along, trying to keep up but lost all sense of reality.
    “Are you alright?” she asked, concerned.
    “I…I…I must go,” he said, grabbing hold of the top part of the nearest bench.
    “What? You want to go? But…but…what about…us?” She held onto his arms, her grip was strong.
    He didn’t know what to do. A few feet away was a telephone box. He had to make a call! He didn’t know to whom, but he had to! With his head spinning, he broke from her and ran to the box, opening the door and grabbing the receiver. She put herself between him and the telephone, and like Joan of Arc holding her oriflamme high, she wrapped her arms around his head and kissed him.

  5. Motherhood.
    Your finest hour. That’s what you’re told. Yet there were spaces gapped in between kisses and endless feeds that clawed at her sanity. No one talks about that.

    When the babe cried nothing soothed. No one warns you. Six long months of demanding need had finally eroded all sense of personal identity. Today she walked pushing the Pram out doors where her daughters cries wouldn’t reverberate back into her own ears. She stopped briefly and looked up. In a phone booth just beside her-a couple were kissing.
    A slow smile dimpled her face-and somehow life and joy filled her anew. Passion. How she remembered it as she watched them. It had created Tone and she was radiating light now as she peeked beneath the bonnet and love consumed her. You are mine-and I am yours…I can’t remember my life before you arrived…I adore you.

    she gazed one last time at the young couple encapsulated in a phone booth followed by a burst of giggles. It began raining tiny sprinkles as she smiled. She considered imparting wisdom but didn’t. Instead she moved forward then stepped back onto the path towards the grocer. Laughter echoed her footsteps.Why break tradition?

    The End

  6. Motherhood.
    Your finest hour. That’s what you’re told. Yet life felt so monochopsis these days. Chaos and midnight feeds. It clawed at her sanity. No one talks about that.

    When the babe cried nothing soothed. No one warns you. Six long months of demanding need had finally eroded all sense of personal identity. Today she walked pushing the Pram out doors where her daughters cries wouldn’t reverberate back into her own ears. She stopped briefly and looked up. In a phone booth just beside her-a couple were kissing.
    A slow smile dimpled her face-and somehow life and joy filled her anew. Passion. How she remembered it as she watched them. It had created Tone and she was radiating light now as she peeked beneath the bonnet and love consumed her. You are mine-and I am yours…I can’t remember my life before you arrived…I adore you.

    she gazed one last time at the young couple encapsulated in a phone booth followed by a burst of giggles. It began raining tiny sprinkles as she smiled. She considered imparting wisdom but didn’t. Instead she moved forward then stepped back onto the path towards the grocer. Laughter echoed her footsteps.Why break tradition?

    The end

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