Children’s Echo

 

photo source

 

 

The morning bell pealed loudly for the call to breakfast.

They walked, some whispering, some crying, some yelling out.

Sixty – five children in all, dressed in blackened muslin nighties and bed bonnets, found their place along the wooden benches that provided them little comfort.

The surroundings, too ornate for them to merely single file into, three times every day, to eat their meals.

Tarnished spoons, steel cups and bowls filled with porridge were set in front of them, as they were every morning.

When they had eaten, they stood, silently, facing the front of the hall.

In unison, as they had done for the past seven-nine years, they thanked the cooks and mistress of the orphanage for preparing their food.  The great hall echoed with their frightened and feeble voices.

One by one, they walked bare footed, through the walls, waiting for the bell to peal again.

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For the amazing photo challenge given by Angela Goff at VisDare.

VisDare 23: Ornate  Challenge – 150 words or less – My contribution 148 words.

I Burn – Five Sentence Fiction

Five Sentence Fiction – Flame.      What it’s all about:     Five Sentence Fiction is about packing a powerful punch in a tiny fist. Each week a one word inspiration, then anyone wishing to participate will write a five sentence story based on the prompt word. The word does not have to appear in your five sentences, just use it for direction. This week: Flame

Thunderous deafening roars, it gallops towards
consuming all in its wake, devil mouth of blazoned red opened to devour.

Blackened skies, smoke filled clouds, ash burns red and hits the ground, heat intense
it seeks me out, unrelenting.

Animals scurry to escape, calling out running frightened, burned or death their only fate
it spares nothing, it forges on unforgiving.

Crosses rivers, crosses roads, it jumps and ducks
and weaves, searching for its prey, it stops at nothing, infiltrates.

I’m left, searching for what I use to be, charcoal black
bare of leaves, suffocated, struggling my death complete
I’ve been swallowed.

 

For the wonderful – 

Words…..

I’m listening to Sarah McLachlan…& I am listening to Angel.

Music…songs & their words…bring out a different me….possibly hard to understand or for me to explain… but shall I say my emotions change, they heighten & I’m empowered to write simply by listening to lyrics…

My writing emerges from within me, sometimes I do not intentionally choose the words, or the scenarios…my words choose me...what ever wishes to materialise from somewhere inside my being…persuades me to write. I may not have a wide vocabulary nor be as eloquent as some other writers…but I am compelled none the less to do so..

Listening to Sarah at this moment in time

I picture rolling green hills & glistening blades of grass brushed by a sun shower, the suns rays reaching out to kiss the  world beneath from behind the slow rolling clouds…I picture white crested waves tumbling leisurely to the shore, stretching themselves out to reach the hot sands before rolling back onto themselves…I picture forests tall, as I walk upon crackling Autumn leaves beneath my feet, tall timbers being graced by the light of the sun caressing their canopy…I picture a new born foal unsteadily trying to stand to suckle from his mother…I picture an open fire, staring at the coloured flames, listening to the crackling of the wood as it relinquishes its fight against the fire that embraces it…I picture a new born being placed on her mother & to watch the tears that fall upon the mothers cheek as she gazes with intense love upon her perfect child…I picture rain drops settled against a frosted window pane slowly trickling downwards and breathing warm air upon the glass to draw pictures…I picture my parents tenderly holding hands or exchange a smile… I picture lying on a blanket on a warm summer evening and gazing above at an almost blackened sky that has come alive with stars…I picture my daughters when I sat in a dimly lit room on a rocking chair to feed them in the early hours of quiet still morning..their small hands grasping my fingers… watching their eyelids close from being sated with milk & a sweet sleepy smile..

so many things that music & lyrics bring me..

so I write not for acceptance…

I write because I am compelled to share my inner voice that can only be heard on paper…

no one can stop my love of writing, no one can stop what is so much a part of me..

& if perhaps my writing may touch a life…

with laughter…a smile…or perhaps even a tear..

that is the only recognition I as a writer need…