This blog is for all who desire to create with words and images.
You are encouraged to participate in any way that is meaningful to you.

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All prompts beneath the photos are only suggestions.
You are free to use the photo to be inspired to write any way you desire.
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There is no deadline on posting,
you may offer your writing to any prompt anytime.
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Write and you are a writer.

Friday, August 14, 2009

Where She Fell...


Photograph by John Hinten
for more of John's photography visit -
http://tricountyphotography.shutterfly.com/
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Suggested prompt...
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Really look at the photograph,
let it inspire your writing today.
Don't worry about right or wrong, dark or light
just offer your creativity as you are inspired.


______________________________

This is the worst of it.

The moments of the morning when I am fully awake and fully aware. It's the same moments that I realize she is not fully awake nor fully aware.

So, I grab my coffee and the car keys and make the quick trip over to her place. I pull into the driveway and am thankful there's no one else's car there but hers. And, then I pray. For her, for me.

I take a few deep breaths as I open the door trying to brace myself for what lies ahead. The door creaks loudly and swings open with a heavy feel to it.

And...

I smell her addiction.

I feel her helplessness.

I hear her hopelessness.

I move past the bottles and the unwashed dishes and the overflowing ashtrays. I peer into her bedroom and see her lying there on the floor.

Again.

again. and again. and again!

I feel the frustration within me rise.

And, just as quickly, I feel mercy push it back down.

I stoop down and lift her up into my arms so that I can lay her on the bed. She doesn't even open an eye or make a sound while I pull the covers over her.

And, I begin my morning.

Or, her morning.

Or, our morning.

And, I pray.

~ Denise ~



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7 comments:

For blue skies. said...

Where she fell is not imporant.
What matters is if she can get back up.
If she can find the energy to build herself back up.

septembermom said...

Eyes froze when struck
down by shock.

Twisted the night became
and control was lost.

All will shake heads
looking where she fell.

Dan Felstead said...

The image of Claire's hand stretched out to me in desperation is burned into my psyche.

As the fog of unconsciousness began to fade, I lay there for what seemed to be an eternity and finally realized that I have to open my eyes. The first thing to come into focus was a hand...her hand. I lay there for a minute or so processing what I was looking at and then with a gasp of air and my memory returning...I struggled to my knees in shear panic.

The first sensation was the coldness of her hand...instinctively telling me what I couldn't believe. Her other hand holding the phone with the incessant busy signal repeating over and over again. She had fallen limp while dialing 911.

She blocked the bullet that was meant for me...I have lived with this burden for years...living out my hell on this earth. Once crossed over, I will able to finally explain to her what happened that day and redeem myself.

It is just not as it seems.

Mark said...

Where She Fell

Short, but sweet. I hope.

Comments welcome

~ Denise ~ said...

This is the worst of it.

The moments of the morning when I am fully awake and fully aware. It's the same moments that I realize she is not fully awake nor fully aware.

So, I grab my coffee and the car keys and make the quick trip over to her place. I pull into the driveway and am thankful there's no one else's car there but hers. And, then I pray. For her, for me.

I take a few deep breaths as I open the door trying to brace myself for what lies ahead. The door creaks loudly and swings open with a heavy feel to it.

And...

I smell her addiction.

I feel her helplessness.

I hear her hopelessness.

I move past the bottles and the unwashed dishes and the overflowing ashtrays. I peer into her bedroom and see her lying there on the floor.

Again.

again. and again. and again!

I feel the frustration within me rise.

And, just as quickly, I feel mercy push it back down.

I stoop down and lift her up into my arms so that I can lay her on the bed. She doesn't even open an eye or make a sound while I pull the covers over her.

And, I begin my morning.

Or, her morning.

Or, our morning.

And, I pray.

christine said...

This is what I've been waiting and working for all year.

A remote beach where I can lie in the sun and relax. I stretch my arms out, embracing the warmth.

My manicured nails pristine. Not chipped by the daily grind. My new bikini feels good. My body feels heavy and warm.

Behind my eyelids I see coloured sparkles. Memories of the scintillaing fireworks last night. Such peace: thank goodness for holidays!

Cynthia said...

She walked down the street
leading to her home in the city, now,
singing to herself about rainbows
and mountains and flowering fields
under the night sky she never knew
that she could feel
so lost and all alone in such a big city

As a car passed by
splashing up some water on the curb
she stopped and looked down at the pavement
reflecting the neon lights
shining from the rooftops reaching
for the blackened sky
and she wondered if she'd ever leave this city

As she turned to leave
a man came up behind her
screaming through a mask to give to him
everything that she had
and she cried out for help but
that just made him mad
and he shot her on the sidewalk in that big city

Somewhere in the sky
there's a star watching that city, now,
dreaming about buildings
and traffic and carts that sell
beautiful flowers on the sidewalk
where she fell
forever leaving her mark on that great big city