Writing: Drabbles

Holding the Limit


She held tightly to the rope; it would be just a little longer till help arrived, surely someone saw her fall.   Her palms were scratched stained with blood ached, the fingertips were turning blue. She knew the time was drawing close and that soon she would reach her limit, her endurance.  Tears began to roll down her face; her breaths were short as panic set in. Minutes passed, she felt her muscles beginning to fail, weaken and tire.  She bowed her head, she knew this was it as one last tear fell seconds before she let go, reaching her limit.



The dust was thick, the desk unused. Once so full of life and vigor, now nothing, silence prevails. Your papers still piled, notes scattered here and there. The ghostly sound soft clickety click from the old typewriter can be heard, softly, venting, expressing their owner’s desires from the neither world. You were sitting there in the high backed worn leather chair, your glasses pitched on your nose, your hands in the steeple position you drift into space mysterious worlds. You and me; we existed in time and space to create what is not, to do what can be done.


The Silent Witness

Standing tall, proud, erect, silent sentinels of the world; they know all, what was, what is and what will be. The old saying: who will hear a tree fall in the forest; the forest that is whom. In their silent world they watch, observe for a myriad, growing old at such a slow pace, time stands still for them. They were there when the fire of lightening danced across the sky. The leaves quaked at the life-forms not of earth. They were there when he came, with his rocks that glowed and his pale skin with the black ageless eyes.


Ice Pond

Summer temps lured me to the pond, where the cool water splashed off my back drawing off the heat of the day. Yet before I could blink fall came, frigid zephyrs silencing the surface with a simple breath. Where I swam like a fish, I now glide like a bird in flight: opposite yet identical worlds. My arms outstretched upon the winds, my voice cries out in joy. The edge of reality fades slowly from my land of fantasy as I begin. The ice grinds beneath my skates, the blades carving the spirit of my soul into the gossamer finish.


Falling of the Soul to Mortality

She flexed her toes buried deep in the cold mud, letting her senses open to the rhythm of the land, the beating heart of life. Drawn by the sacred letters to this place, the point of creation; where Ptah first made man from the red clay of the morning sun. She breathed deeply the pure redemption, of innocence, letting each breath last as a little. The cobalt blue bowl was sanctuary as she waited to be born, to take up life in man’s mortal skin bound by veins, bones, muscles. Not wishing, but knowing she must, she let herself fall…..


The Army of the Dead

Thick dense the fog lay upon the marsh hindering the battle where blood flowed so long ago. The swords once drenched in blood, now transformed into reeds, marking their owner’s bones concealed in the slime oil infused graves. He looked out over that marsh, waiting; knowing on this night the anniversary of the slaughter they would raise. Midnight screamed out upon hearing the drums beat the haunting march as the pipers eerily wails calling to arms. The army of bones and decay rose damned to fight forever for a master that called them forth to enact his revenge on all.

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