The King

The two sisters sat next to each other, their hands rough from being repeatedly submerged in water over the last 30 years. Theirs was a hard trade, but more disheartening was the fact that it was fading in importance to the public. Less need for their sort of expertise meant for hands that didn't crack and bleed, but left the girls with much too much time to idle away.

It was this freedom from duty that lead them to watching the King. Albeit from afar, they were more knowledgeable about the man and his motives than his best courtiers and most trusted friends. Placing their heads together, they watched him through the small bubbling circle in their cauldron.

"This is the moment, Sabrina," came the gruff voice of the younger sister.

Sabrina answered, "It will all begin to unravel when she takes her last breath, Sarah."

"We'll watch the child then, Sabrina." The two, being inseparable since their birth continued with their shared prediction.

"She will rise as a Princess unlike any before her, Sarah."

"And with her rise will come a new age of mankind, Sabrina."

Together, the sisters made one last observation before grasping hands and mourning the passing of the queen and the times. "Our time unravels with the King."

*** Daily Writing Practice ***

Serene

Water fell over individual boulders of the rock face as it made the long journey to the bottom. Looking down from the edge of the cliff, even a child could tell that a fall would be fatal. So, Miss Barton's death, as witnessed by the other 22 tourists in her group, was not unexpected or even surprising. It was the way her body lay so serenely next to the pool of water that made people gasp.

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Continuing On

No matter what he did, the gun remained just out of his reach. The longer he struggled, the more hopeless he felt. It was fear that drove him on, keeping him lunging and twisting, grasping for control. His wife was crying behind him and screaming for help when she could catch her breath. But there were no other sounds. No feet pounding the ground or shush of a coat.

He found himself on his back, having lost his focus hearing the terror in his wife's voice. Something heavy hit him in the head. Blood dripped into his left eye. He looked up and saw his father's crystal blue eyes dancing wildly. It was clear, he was off his medication again.

"Fran, run!" he screamed before another heavy hit came and then unconsciousness.

*** Daily Writing Practice-- because this is such a fabulous site and because this prompt has a history of its own (precisely continuing a story where the last writer ended it), please use the link

here to read the rest. You may also need to go to the post from Sunday, October 24th ***

Weeks

She looked at the calendar and checked off another day. There were weeks of red X's already present and a few more weeks to be added. But the look on his handsome face would be worth the wait. She tapped the vanilla envelope containing the pictures of him with another woman and her obituary.

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In all fairness, I changed the last sentence when posting it here. Oh, and fixed a couple of tiny grammatical errors.

White-Haired Woman

She floats effortlessly through my life, attached as if she were my right hand or left knee, an ear or an eye; a part of me never meant to be severed. I refer to her as my White Rabbit, and like Alice, I follow her into my own private Wonderland. Once there, I do not play croquet with the Queen or drink tea with the Mad Hatter or chat with the Cheshire Cat or nap with the Door Mouse, for I am each of them and none of them simultaneously and separately. As I struggle to understand my part in this chaotic life, I see her long locks of white hair and rush to ask her for a key only to find that she has lead me gently to the other side of my subconscious.

*** Daily Writing Practice ***

2110: Indianapolis

"I remember when this use to be a thriving metropolis." My head snapped around and faced the direction of the sound. Grandfather loved to tell stories---stories about a childhood I had long ago decided were fictional. "There were skyscrapers and green parks. Automobiles would race down the interstates as if it was the Speedway. In the fall and winter, we would ice skate at the city ice rinks and watch the Colts play. They were an amazing football team back when the players actually tackled their opposing teams. In the summer, the sidewalks would be mobbed with people in dress suits and tennis shoes. I never tired of the spectacle of people's feet passing by the high windows of the basement Starbucks I worked in at the time. I moved to California with your grandmother just a few months before the meteor hit. I lost a lot of good friends in that incident. I wish it was still here so you could see it. Now it's just a dark spot on a topographical map."

Grandfather lapsed into silence, creating an odd sense of distance between us. I put my forehead back on the window and watched the chain link fence and tall yellow grasses go by. An occasional tree, its scrawny trunk and bare branches, would break up the monotony. It had been the same view for at least the last 10 minutes. My eyes wandered past the fence and grasses to a dingy area which wasn't quite grey or brown or black. Just dirty and desolate. Grandfather's words poked at me. Were those really the shapes of a society wiped out by a meteor?

*** Daily Writing Practice ***

Microwave

I listened to the fan hum while my forehead pressed firmly against the cool surface of the microwave door. The hum was comforting, quieting, promising. Tears slid down my cheek and into the crevice between my nose and cheek before falling to my lips and then onto the black coating of the burner's crossbars. With any luck, I'd join my husband soon.

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