KL Caley hosts #writephoto For visually challenged writers, the image shows a sign in the foreground with the words ‘Den Building’ on it. In the background is a den made of leaves and branches.
Hiding in a den Hidden from the light Eyes glow in the darkness Giving us a fright No sounds but little ticking from clocks around our wrists Looking for an exit our minds and fears entwist light slowly encroaches diminishing our fears Sounds of puppy panting is music to our ears.
Wow, this is a tricky one! One thing for sure is worrying about my kids so much. I know, we always worry but first, now I only have my daughter to worry about, and second, she is a good person and I just always hope and pray she makes good decisions. It’s a different kind of worry though when they are older.
I don’t miss having a curfew! I remember me and my best friend had it timed to the minute so that we got home in time. I remember the one time we told my mom we were running out for a little while. Well, a little while ended up being until about 3 am! My mom was waiting for us, afraid something had happened to us and mad. My best friend ran past her and up the stairs, launching herself toward the toilet to throw up. The next morning my mom was in the kitchen making breakfast and Kristen went to my mother, knelt in front of her with her hands clasped. “Wanda, please forgive me! I’m so sorry about last night!” Well, who couldn’t forgive that! Hahaha!
I don’t miss my clothes and my hair and my skin smelling like cigarettes when smoking was still allowed in bars. I smoked and I still hated that stale smell that you’d wake up to if you were too “tired” to take a shower before bed. Yuck!
Okay, now that I opened that flood gate, I could go on and on…..I will spare all the readers! Thanks for the memories!
I held my breath at the sight of it. Those balloons! It brought me back to being a little girl, holding dad’s hand as he yelled, “Up, up and away!” as the beautiful balloons cut their tethers and lifted off the ground with fire blazing. The festival was our tradition, my dad and me, we went every year as far back as I can even remember. We should have gone up at least once, I think. At least I have the memories and know that he is floating somewhere watching me now. “Hey Dad, which balloon is your favorite?”
He felt particularly cynical when it came to their love of books. They believed in the magic they read, that reality could be changed with the turn of a page, they were about to learn some harsh truths. Winter would soon be upon them, and if these girls believed that books would keep them warm, would feed them, would prevent illness from striking, they were in for a grave surprise.
Angrily he strode towards the pair, snatching the book from their hands, ignoring their protests as he hurried into the back room and hid the book, beneath the woollen fleece they would weave over the long winter to keep them warm. There would be no more reading, it was time to learn to survive.