It’s a Matter of Time

It’s a Matter of Time

Aubrey made one final sweep with the piece of chalk she had in her hand, then smooched back and leaned against the tree and looked at her brother.

“Is it finished?”  he asked.

“What do you think?” Aubrey asked.  “Doesn’t it look finished to you?”

“I think most of them look finished many times before you say they are done.  So, I ask.”  He tossed one of her rags at her head, barely missing it.

“Well, we shall see how I did shortly.”  She replied.  

“You really don’t think they will notice?  I don’t see how they can’t.”

“People see what they want to see.  They’ll see everything else.  So no.  I don’t think they will see.  Now, let’s go back by those trees over there and watch.”

The street was always a busy one.  Today was no different.  The clouds in the sky didn’t affect it in the least.  But, the people did slow.  They slowed, many stopped, all stepped around the amazing chalk painting on the ground.  Large, luminous clouds covered the area, the buildings poking through and parting them in fits and bursts, the clock tower standing out taller than all the rest.  On the ground were people, hundreds of them.  Fleeing and screaming as the clouds unleashed a hellfire volley of lightening and rain at a velocity that pinned them to the ground.  

The pedestrians began to start in horror as they saw themselves in the figures in the chalk.  Some tried to wipe their image off.  But, the chalk held.  More terror rose in their throats at the discovery of this.  They began to swarm around the scene like hornets to a nest.  An elderly lady began laughing at them and their behavior.  A few people stopped and glared at her.

“Look at you all!” She said between giggles. “Afraid of a little paint on the ground.  Thinking that some brightly colored chalk will usher in the Armageddon. Such Nonsense.”  She laughed a couple more minutes, then opened her umbrella, pointed its tip at a spot in the painting that made her snicker, then lifted it over her head after giving a quick glance at the skies and wandered on her way.

Some of the other people began laughing as well.  Pretty soon, almost all of them were in peals of laughter at their silliness.  In the lightening of the spirit, they made note of the images they thought looked so like themselves.  Most began taking pictures and all began talking about the incident.

The bell on the clock tower began to toll 11 PM.  As it reached the last bell, the clouds overhead erupted into a barrage of lightening, hail and rain, driving all below to the ground.  A few tried to make a break from the storm, but a bolt of lightning stopped them in their path.  The storm ravaged for a few moments, just long enough to put an end to those below.  

“I told you someone would notice.”  He said before taking a bite out of the apple in his hand.

“But, no one took note of her.  So, in the end it is the same.”  She said as she began packing her chalks into their case. 

“Doesn’t it ever bother you?  All those people dying?”  he asked

“No.  They don’t have to.  They just need to look and really see.  Had they noticed, they would have left the area and gone somewhere safe.  Maybe not all of them, but at least some of them.”  She snapped the lid shut on her case and stood up.  “Its the job.  We need to cull those that lack the sense for them to survive.  Besides, this one was too easy for you to feel sorry for them.”

“I suppose you’re right.”  He took the last bite of the apple then tossed the core behind him.

They walked off, skirting around the painting, streaked and fading, but still intact.  Aubrey glanced once more at it, the clock tower looming high above the clouds.  Its hands read 11:00.  

The dress spoke for her

(100 Word Flash Fiction)

The Dress Spoke For Her

It hung in the corner. A gift. A dress of dreams. Dress enough to give her confidence and courage. So, she hoped. She slid it on, it flowed down the length of her body, slipping around every contour. This would work.

Slowly she strode across the stage. The sea of eyes looked back at her. Her tongue caught.  The words were gone. The room grew restless.

Then the words began. To flow. They were enraptured. Under a spell. Under her command. To rule. And yet, she had not uttered a single word.

The Dress Spoke For Her . . . . .

Slowly she strode across the stage. The sea of eyes looked back at her. Her tongue caught.  The words were gone. The room grew restless.

Then the words began. To flow. They were enraptured. Under a spell. Under her command. To rule. And yet, she had not uttered a single word.

The Dress Spoke For Her . . . . .

Before Alice

It was quite a warm day for so early in the year.  Extra care needed to be taken as the eggs were hidden so they were not in the direct heat of the sun where they might spoil before being found and turning the festivities into a tragedy.

I sat fanning myself under one of the brightly colored umbrellas and sipping slowly on an ice cold julip while watching the mass scatterings of small people rushing about on the lawn and through the bushes, gaskets waving from their little arms, voices rising in squeals of laughter and colliding words that could make jibberish make sense.  I half expected to see a white rabbit emerge at any moment, pocket watch in hand exclaiming fear of tardiness for a royal event.

Instead, my eyes spied a lone figure emerge from a near bush.  She looked to be about 6 or 7, but what struck me was her clothing.  For she looked to be dressed out of a Dickenson play.  She could easily have been one of Oliver’s gang, if he allowed girls.

She walked right up to me and took the seat across. “What’s that you’re drinking sir?” she asked.

“It’s a mint julip.  Would you like one”

“Oh, no thank you.  But is there any chance there is any ice cream?”

I reached over to the cooler and pulled a small container out with a little wooden spoon and pushed it across the table to her. “There is only vanilla left.  I hope that is okay.”

“My very favorite!” she exclaimed, reaching quick and had the lid off and the entire container consumed in no time.  “Thank you, kind sir. I was so very hungry.”

“There is more food over there.” I pointed to the barbeque area.

“That’s okay.  I only come for the ice cream.”

“Only the ice cream?”

Yes sir. Twas the last thing I ate and the only thing I hunger for.”

“What do you mean, the last thing you ate?” confusion overtaking me.

“Why yes sir. Afore I did battle with the Jabberwocky and lost” she ran her fingers around the inside of the container then pushed it back my way and stood up.  “I suppose I should get back now.  They shall be expecting me.”

“But wait!” I called, but she was already entering the bush.

She turned just before, entering and smiled. “It’s fine sir.  Alice will be next and I hear she is a much better warrior than I>”

Her form turned to mist as the leaves closed behind her.

But wait. Alice wasn’t the first?

Copyright – Sephi PiderWitch March 31, 2019

(Prompt:  A hungry ghost, a holiday, ice cream)

The Widow and the tree – book review

The Widow and the Tree by Sonny Brewer

What an amazing read! It reads like a dream and a myth and a step back in time. It’s a book about a beautiful widow, a 500 year old tree, a black panther that shouldn’t exist in that place and time, a crow who picked up a button and a veteran with a past to it all. Then one day, the widow walks into a biker bar to hire someone to cut down the 500 year old Ghosthead oak. It’s a beautiful, sad, lyrical story that you want to take your time with and breathe in each word and sit down at the base of the old oak or lay down on one of its great branches.

I read some of the other reviews on this book. I can only imagine that they cannot appreciate it because it is a different kind of story that a bestseller full of murder and action. It’s not a story to keep you on the edge of your seat and make your blood pressure rise a few points. It’s a story like a piece of fine dark chocolate and a fine wine that are meant to be slowly savored. In my humble opinion, it’s a masterpiece of writing. I will be looking for more of his books.