Dragonfly

Germany

she/her
17
I love writing, singing, reading, crafting, drawing, hiking, cats, nature and a lot of other stuff.

I also am interested in almost all sciences

Published Work

Mid-January Grab Bag

The Thief's Wish

There once was a time when the sun shone all day. Clouds would cover it from time to time. If one wanted to sleep, one had to cover one's eyes. Birds would sleep in thick bushes, horses would cover each other's eyes with their tail. Day stayed constant. Only shadows offered darkness.
The ancient gods were still honored in that time and they enjoyed the mortals' respect. Among the gods there was the moon. She was often left unnoticed and though her strength was great, her appearance seemed plain compared to the sun. The moon felt lonely, for she knew that she was often overlooked. And though she knew that she controlled the sea and that her shape was just as perfect as the sun's, she often wondered, if her light sufficed to be admired. Jealousy emerged within the goddess, who felt insecure in her appearance, for the sun was more often marveled at. An in her most desperate moments...

humans' nature

What path did we take to end up here?

Around the garden used to be a fence
Now its borders are unseen
And so is the garden. Hence
The wilderness is just as green
As the garden with its presence.

I find the garden is a wilderness
Cooped up by a fence if not by houses
Yet we call the wild a mess
Are sightless for the comfort it arouses
Love civilization, fear its dangers less.

So now we recreate our nature
For we made the real one leave
With our fences it's secure
We're still blind to the landscape we cleave
We claim our verdancy is pure.

We say a garden is our due
Yet desire forests for our own
Can we not see the things we do?
The unfenced garden returned home
I think it's time that we do too.

I think we're lost, but do not worry:
We can learn.

 

Names for Nature

Hidden Wisdom

There is an oak close to my house, I call her Hidden Wisdom.
For all the knowledge she must have, she cannot share it with us.
Others do not seem to see the greatness of her presence.
How can one manage to ignore the greatness she irradiates?
She must have been there years ago.
Before the streets and buildings came, ere humans even walked here.
Now she stands there at the junction; cars passing every day.
I pass her on my way to school, to town, and home again.
And when I come back in the dark with just the stars above us,
I always bid her a good night on all the language that I know
Her leaves will always answer me, not dependent on the wind.
There are few dangers here for her, her calmness is with reason.
But we know both that next to her there was a birch once too.
Now there is just a graveyard...

Death Scene (Rachaelgrace's series)

As they ran branches had to make way, scratching their faces in a last attempt of defense before they broke. Anu could hear her sister's steps just behind her. Their persecutors were still audible, but the forest's voices almost predominated the sounds of their heavy feet. There was no path around here. That might be their advantage Anu thought; perhaps they were harder to follow way.
Their breaths grew more heavy and they had to slow down. Maarja was still close, but her steps seemed to slow down.
"Come on!" Anu urged her sister, "We cannot rest!"
"Anu." Maarja gasped. Her voice was weak.
Anu turned to watch her sister sink to the ground "Maarja!" she supported her sister, but realized she would not be able to carry her.
Maarja began to cough, while they could hear footsteps nearing.
"Maarja!" Anu's eyes went wide as she looked around for something to aid her sister with "Maarja look at me! Breathe!" ...

They - a monologue

They love the light. Even when there is no darkness. They adore the warmth. Even when they have last seen the cold decades ago. They are addicted to the sun, even when the moon has not shown herself for months. And they want to sleep, even when they haven't been awake for days.
Yes, I am judging them. For their opinions, their requirements and behavior. I am judging them for only viewing one side and not the other. For thinking there is good and bad, when there is neither. Or so I think.
Yet, if "they" are humans, who am I?
What makes me think I am so superior to them that I have the right to judge them pretending they have no own minds to think with?
The only respectful way to judge is in the person's present. To give them the opportunity to justify themselves. To give them the opportunity to counter my argument.
Still, when I start...

Where Anger Comes From


Emily lost her direction she did not know where to go to. Impatience and frustration rose as she searched for the street to go. Anger approached with heavy footsteps taking her concentration. But Anger knew well where she was. She lived around the corner.
 
Ann was in pain when she walked here. Trembling and stumbling she went. On soft and noiseless footsteps Anger came to give her company. Just for a while it came and went, taking her attention. Anger was not in pain at all; this was his home, his destination. It was his pleasure and her distraction.
 
When William put his phone away, grief took over, sadness wrapped around him. He could hear Anger arriving, her roar would not escape his ears. She took him in her arms and held him. She was in comfort here; no sorrows would approach her closely. They could be kept within as well as out, but always furiously.
 
As...

Scattered Thoughts


Thoughts are
     scattered in         I wish I could focus them,
                      the wind.                               like sun rays with
                                                                               a burning glass.
                                                                                              Or catch them
                                                                                                          like soap
                                                                                                              bubbles
                                                                                                                    in the
                                                                                                                         air.
                                                        cannot hold                            Organize them,
                                                 them,           them,                 the way
                                              grip                                      one coils
                                                I cannot             yarn around
                                                         the ball.        have
                                                                                      no
                                                                                          time to
                                                                 realize their meaning.
                                                           Would their
                                            meaning stay,
                                   should I
              put them in order?
        Or do
    their                                       way our voices’ tone
movements                    meaning the              changes what
  and their          define their                             we’re saying?
            wild behavior                                                   How can
                                                                                 I ever
                                                                       know what
                                                                     I think,
                                                               when my
                                                        thoughts are
                                                            running
                                                                   from me?
                                                                               Chase them.
                                                                                              Run with
                                                           come to                                     them. ...

Self-Love

Self-Love

I.
My eyes I love, because they notice
hidden details, tiny beauties.

II.
I like my hands because they draw
the tiny beauties I once saw.

III.
I love my mind, for it can form
the beauties that I've never known.

IV.
I love when there's to beauty to be had
that my own voice can sing of it instead.

V.
And finally, what's last not least:
I like my self-love has increased.

Writing Resolution

Writing Resolution

I want to write. Nothing specific. It will be enough if I do finally write. Write without fear or doubt. I want to write so the stories within me do not weigh me down anymore, but will be transferred on paper. I want to write, because those stories are oscillating inside me and keep returning keep returning returning returning
I want to write whatever is inside my mind. No matter what will be the product. I will judge of course - I do not think I'll be able to stop so soon - but when the words are written, it will be too late.
I want to write whatever is inside my mind. Without much thinking or hesitation.
I want to write.
I will write.

Emphasizing Beauty (Jj's promt)

When snowflakes float from the sky
The variety of colors decrease
Every breath seems to fly
And every sound I release
Seems absorbed by the air
Silence is growing everywhere

After much work in a day
Of thoughts and words so dense
My bed is the way
To my dreams without sense
Full of wondrous formations
That will be my escape and transportation
                                           - to another world

Music creates emotion
And feelings make a melody
If notes were solid they would be an ocean
And its waves would carry me
They would weave into a fabric
Giving shelter, forming magic.

A person so unsure
Who smiles at what I'm saying
Creates an instant so pure
That I wish it's staying
What is more precious than such laughter?
The sound is in my heart hereafter

Walking through the meadows
I sense a wave of honey
So many tender shadows
Of dancing flowers when it's sunny.
Their golden smell leads me...

language personas


I.
The first person I have been was in German. At first a shy girl. Never sure what to do, what to think, how to act. Yet when in an argument my voice would grow louder. Afterwards I would cringe at what I had said. I would not approve of what I said and thus would grow to dislike words. In German.
It took me a lot of time and work to value the language they speak in my country. That only happened after I had learned to speak other languages.

II.
English has been a part of my life since kindergarten. But it was not until 7th grade that it developed a new personality for me. I have been watching movies in English language before, but what really shaped me in English, were the books I read. I read stories of different worlds and people. And a small part of each of those people made up the new personality....

Checkmate (an excerpt/part 1)


“Have you ever heard such an arrogant message?” the King of the Dusklands asked his first commander, the bishop of f8 and the king’s most trusted advisor.
“What message your grace? You must understand, I just got here...”
“Yes sure.” the king nodded and walked hasty in circles in front of the bishop “This... queen.” He spat the word, “from the Land of Dawn.” He tried to calm himself, “She sends a message which says-” he fetched a parchment out of one of the many pockets his coat contained and passed it to his advisor “there. Read it yourself.”
“What an insolence!” the first commander gasped.
“And of course she acts as if she would not know c8 was given to us as a wedding gift. They have no right to take it back.”
“This new king probably told his wife to write it. Could never understand why his subjects adored him that much.” The bishop assumed “His father...

Writing Resolution

Writing Resolution

I want to write. Nothing specific. It will be enough if I do finally write. Write without fear or doubt. I want to write so the stories within me do not weight me down anymore, but will be transferred on paper. I want to write, because those stories are oscillate inside me and keep returning keep returning returning returning
I want to write whatever is inside my mind. No matter what will be the product. I will judge of course - I do not think I'll be able to stop so soon - but when the words are written, it will be too late.
I want to write whatever is inside my mind. Without much thinking or hesitation.
I want to write.
I will write.

Checkmate (part 7)

When Day entered the throne room, king and queen of the Dusklands were already present. They were seated on high chairs made of ebony. The serpentine wood cast bizarre shadows, dancing in the candlelight. Despite the fire from the candles it was a chilly scene. There were screens of purple and blue glass around the candles, making the light not a warm one and the dark red carpet – the only warm color around here – reminded the white king of dried blood. The hall was huge. The daylight that entered it through tall but slim windows of green glass, barely reached Day and his companions, who were walking in the center of the room, since the pillars blocked its way.
Next to king and queen stood a bishop and two knights. All of them were wearing perfect black, but for a white ribbon around each wrist – a sign of their hospitality and goodwill. Day, the rook from the...

Checkmate (part 6)

On midday, during their lunch the black Queen and King received two letters. The first one was from the council.
“If it pleases their graces, the council proposes to give you nine months to name an heir of your choice. In case the upcoming war should delay your decision we, of course, fully understand that.” The queen read to her husband.
“That should be manageable, don’t you think?”
“Indeed it should.” The queen looked out the window and their silence became their conversation.
“The second letter might be of a different nature.” Night unfolded it and read silently “The white king will arrive tomorrow. He will not bring his wife, but a rook. A member of his senate, I understand.”
“Oh, well I suppose it will be our task then to escalate a little.” The queen took a spoon of the soup they had been served “But how are we going to do that?”
“Do not worry about that my...

Checkmate (part 5)

Night had not been able to make the shadows under his eyes disappear and he feared he would be yawning while hearing their opinions crowding in the air like snowflakes in the winter.
To his satisfaction, his wife appeared too, looking equally tired. She had probably been using the night to tend to other urgent matters of the realm. She smiled as she noticed him “I hear you required a little extra time this morning.” She greeted him mockingly.
He yawned as part of the answer “You do not look as if you would be inclined to complain about that.”
The Queen’s smile widened “Shall we go in?”
The council room was filled with rooks, bishops, knights and pawns; everybody was represented here. In their formal black robes they reminded Night of crows, their gazes hungrily expecting his wife’s and his capitulation before they had even begun. The room was round, so that king and queen stood in the center...

Checkmate (Part 4)

They called him the White King or king white some even said the Golden King, even though his real name was Day he enjoyed having those names and more. Many names meant fame and popularity, the names told about adventure and valor. He had not gone on many adventures yet nor did he have any chance to prove his valor but he was famous for his beauty and generosity even outside the borders of the Kingdom of Dawn and he was very popular amongst his subjects notwithstanding his young age and lack of experience.

"Your Grace:" Day's first council member and close adviser entered the breakfast hall.
"What is it?" The queen was rather annoyed.
"Beg your pardon, my queen, it is urgent..." he tailed off looking at the king.
"Speak, my dear Sir." Day beckoned him.
"Your Grace I would rather..." he glanced at the queen.
"Would the council room be more convenient?" Day asked.
The rook nodded and...

Checkmate (Part 3)

It was in the same night that the Black king returned to his study to write the request to the council to change the law of succession.
Dawn found him there, his head on the desk next to his arm. His cloak was spread over his body like a blanket. His fingers were stained with black ink.
A pawn entered the room shaking his king gently awake. The latter moved awkwardly, almost knocking over the ink pot. “What is it?” his voice was still lingering in a dream.
“You have to get up, your Grace.” His servant said “The council asks whether it would be convenient for you to meet them in half an hour.”
Night yawned and sat up more or less straight “It would not be convenient.” He growled “You can plainly see that it would not.” He yawned again and went to open the window. The air was still cool from the night and a light rain...

Checkmate (Part 2)

Night sighted as he opened a drawer in his desk and took out a flute. He left through the window into the large gardens. They resembled to a forest, if you went far enough. Night heard a blackbird singing of the day that had ended and the night that had almost begun. He heard the wind telling of distant places as it moved through the trees and over the fields. It was not only because of that that Night tugged his coat tighter around himself and began climbing on an especially old oak on the edge of what you might call a forest. When he had found a place on a strong branch, he fetched the flute from one of his pockets and began to play. It was a melancholic song. It had joyful and sad passages. It told of the letter and his marriage, of the conflict between the two kingdoms and the bishop. But it also told of...

Checkmate (an excerpt/part 1)


“Have you ever heard such an arrogant message?” the King of the Dusklands asked his first commander, the bishop of f8 and the king’s most trusted advisor.
“What message your grace? You must understand: I just got here...”
“Yes sure.” the king nodded and walked hasty in circles in front of the bishop “This... queen.” He spat the word “from the Land of Dawn.” He tried to calm himself “she sends a message which said:” he fetched a parchment out of one of the many pockets his coat contained and passed it to his advisor “there. Read it yourself.”
“What an insolence!” the first commander gasped.
“And of course she acts as if she would not know c8 was given to us as a wedding gift. They have no right to take it back.”
“Probably this new young king told his wife to write it. Could never understand why his subjects adored him that much.” The bishop assumed “His...

midnight sorrows and hopes

A begging look at the stars. Eyes glistening in the moonlight. Even when so many things have gone wrong, so much has been disappointing, the sky is constant in its comfort. A whisper. A voice telling of the day's events and the night's following thoughts as their horrible reflection. If there was a god, they would not have created humans. The thought returning, occupying the mind. A warm trickle down the cheek. More tears follow. Knees touch the carped. Silent sobs mix with the night. Wet cheeks glisten in the nights dim light. A pleading look is sent to the stars. There might be no god. But there is hope and it stays even when belief has left.
Hair spread over a pillow. Naked feet moving beneath a warm thick blanket. Sorrow and moonlight mixing to dreams and hopes.

Mid-December Grab Bag

Arm wrestling


Write about your favorite memory, but from the POV of someone besides yourself. (by wreathwriter)

Her hand in mine. The entire class gathered around us. We sit in front of each other, the girl and me. Arm wrestling.
I think the first year this girl has been in my class, I did not even know her name. To me she simply always was Kyra's friend. But when we started arm wrestling today, she came over.
"Can I try too?" she asked, after three boys had lost against me. I think it was the first time I ever looked at her. She was not tall or had any visible muscles. Not that I would have expected anything of the like in a girl from the 9th grade.
I smiled "Sure." I am the second strongest boy in class, there is no way she'll win.
She sat down opposite to me.
So now my left hand is locked in hers and...

No acceptance (When relatives become strangers )

I've felt remorse I had not seen my grandparents that often
in the past year.
Sure, corona took the possibility, but even before,
I did not see them often.
Now, I know why. I know why I do not feel
so comfortable with them.
And I'm sorry.
But the way my grandma criticized
the inclusion of female job titles in books
and newspaper and language generally
I shall never understand.
The way she used the word diverse
- It's not a sickness! a description of a person.
I do not think I can forgive her ever.
She does not know she has no grandson
and now I understand, my sister does not want her to.
I understand, why my sister
has not seen my father's parents for about two years.
Yet, I am sorry.
Sorry that they can't accept the world they live in.
Sorry that the love I give them ceases.
Sorry they may never know
who their children's...

Lost in Translation

Doch!


Though I prefer English and many other languages to the German one, there are words I lack in English. "Doch" is the one I most frequently miss.

When I ask Google Translate "Doch" in the context I want it means "Yes". It does not. Leo says "Ja, doch" is translatable to "Yes, of course!". That is not the correct translation.
I dare say, I speak English rather fluently, yet in an argument I often want to start my objection with "doch". When somebody states their opinion and a second person disagrees, the first one would say "doch". One uses this word to say "No, I am right, just like I said before." "Doch" is a lot shorter however.
In English the discussion would look like this:
"Yes"
            "No"
"Yes"
            "No"
"Yes"
            "No"
        ...
While in German it would like this:
"Ja"
            "Nein"
"Doch"
            "Nein"
"Doch"
            "Nein"
        ...
"Doch" does nottranslate to...

Living in two worlds



Living in two worlds (supposed to be one),
I could not bear them together.
They change what I’m doing, but not what I’ve done;
They’ll be in my heart forever.
 
Living in one world or in the other;
I cannot decide what’s best.
I will not choose; I should not bother,
But should I go east or west?
 
Once I’ve decided I will regret,
No matter what side I chose.
The one I did not choose I’ll never forget,
But still it’s the one I’ll lose.
 

music's lies and promises


Behind white curtains hiding from the sun. Admiring wild flowers, listening to purple music. The air is still, not moving as to stay out of others’ attention. Nostalgia is carried to me between the notes of the song. And as tragic as the melody might be, it makes me content. But the song will end. What comes next? A small uncertainty in the room. I press replay, as to relay the decision. There is something new today. This is not routine. But it isn’t adventure either. I could live on and on and nothing would happen. But today something changed in the routine.
The cats are sleeping.The outside world seems far away. The inside world seems changed. I am not waiting, not planning. I am existing, enjoying the moment.

Time stopped with the music. Awful, when one is so dependent on sound. I am not, but music is magic I cannot resist. I’d miss so much out, would I avoid...

Questioning



There are many mistakes that nothing shines through,
A sea of unanswered questions, full of regret,
Helpless apologies – "What more can I do?”
Full of uncertainty: "What can I do instead?”
 
Those thoughts are invading the entire mind,
The head tries to ban them, to lock them away,
Not to forget them, but to itself be kind,
But what does it matter? They’ll anyway stay.

 

YOU in threes

Self-centred Character Study (me in threes)

  1. Three quirks or idiosyncrasies.
    • When I move I sometimes make a light noise with my mouth
    • If I wear a ring it always swaps the finger
    • As soon as I'm alone I sing (whatever place I'm in)
  2. Three adjectives you would use.
    • I do not know how others would describe me. But I think that I am curious
    • Genuine too, in many things I do
    • And dreamy, though I love reality
  3. Three things about you that very few people know.
    • No one knows I'd love to be eccentric (but we're not always who we'd like to be)
    • And too many think I'm shy
    • Some know I feel not home here (but nobody knows why)
  4. Three beliefs you hold.
    • Only think of what you can change
    • And know you can change more than you suppose
    • focus on the little beauties, they can be hidden and strange
  5. Three questions you have.
    • I wounder what I could become
    • and what others would think...

Love?

We have family, we have friends;
Which one we prefer it always depends,
But no matter how many, no matter how kind,
No matter how friendly, never enough;
The one thing we’re searching for:
Love.
 
We have forests to run through,
Many fields of green hue,
Daring dreams to dream too;
With rivers beside us, the sky above
We still think we’re lacking:
Love.
 
Kind friends and family
To spend time and to laugh with,
Admiring a bird in the tree
Perhaps just a myth
But couldn’t it be?
 
A kind stranger’s smile
Grandmother asking you to stay for a while
A soft purring cat
The mailman staying for a chat
Admiring a flower
Listening to people, giving them power
Helping an injured dove.
Isn’t that
Isn’t that
Is that not          love?
 

Praise to the rain

Raindrops are falling. Changing everything. The sky used to give way to the sun's merciless heat, making every sensible creature wanting to stay in the shade. Now clouds make up the soft shield protecting us. The little water marbles fall heavily and shatter wherever they land.
Everything is changed. From the loud ongoing heat we've now come to the calm sound of water and wind. The less sensible creatures run for shelter from the clouds gift. The others go on and enjoy.
It has passed. The wet clothes are now dried by the soft wind. It is cold. The cold brings a kind of silence that has not been able to exist for a while now. Drops of water fall from the trees to the earth. Other trees are still decorated with thousand tiny diamonds in perfect smooth shape.
There is less light now, but less trouble too. The air seems to be cleaner. Not only did the rain polish...

Praise to the rain


Raindrops are falling. Changing everything. The sky used to give way to the sun's merciless heat, making every sensible creature wanting to stay in the shade. Now clouds make up the soft shield protecting us. The little water marbles fall heavily and shatter wherever they land. Everything is changed. From the loud ongoing heat we've now come to the calm sound of water and wind. The less sensible creatures run for shelter from the clouds gift. The others go on and enjoy. It has passed. The wet clothes are now dried by the soft wind. It is cold now. The cold brings a kind of silence that has not been able to exist for a while now. Drops of water fall from the trees to the earth. Other trees are still decorated with thousand tiny diamonds in perfect smooth shape. There is less light now, but less trouble too. The air seems to be cleaner. Not only did the rain...

Flash Fiction Competition 2020

Lost Sister

A closed door. I stand in front of it, an Easter egg in my hands. The door leads to the room next to mine. If I’d knock, nobody would open. No one would react. Like ships once floating side by side we’re now drifting apart. Communication is lost.
I place the egg on the floor. I know she’ll see it.
I lift my head. Vivid memories invade my mind – children sharing Easter eggs. Tears emerge. I shouldn’t have left. When I returned, she had fallen into the dark, thinking she preferred solitude’s company. Would I have saved you?

Flash Fiction Competition 2020

Lost Sister

A closed door. I stand in front of it, an Easter egg in my hands. The door leads to the room next to mine. If I’d knock, nobody would open. No one would react. Like ships once floating side by side we’re now drifting apart. Communication is lost.
I place the egg on the floor. I know she’ll see it.
I lift my head. Vivid memories invade my mind – children sharing Easter eggs. Tears emerge. I shouldn’t have left. When I returned, she had fallen into the dark, thinking she preferred solitude’s company. Would I have saved you?

Flash Fiction Competition 2020

Lost Sister

A closed door. I stand in front of it, an Easter egg in my hands. The door leads to the room next to mine. If I’d knock, nobody would open. No one would react. Like ships once floating side by side we’re now drifting apart. Communication is lost.
I place the egg on the floor. I know she’ll see it.
I lift my head. Vivid memories invade my mind – children sharing Easter eggs. Tears emerge. I shouldn’t have left. When I returned, she had fallen into the dark, thinking she preferred solitude’s company. Would I have saved you.

Flash Fiction Competition 2020

Lost Sister

A closed door. I stand in front of it, an Easter egg in my hands. The door leads to the room next to mine. If I’d knock, nobody would open. No one would react. Like ships once floating side by side we’re now drifting apart. Communication is lost.
I place the egg on the floor. I know she’ll see it.
I lift my head. Vivid memories invade my mind – children sharing found Easter eggs. Tears emerge. I shouldn’t have left. When I returned, she had fallen into the dark, thinking she preferred solitude’s company. Would I have saved you.

Writing Streak Challenge -- Week 5

Writing Streak Challenge - Week 5

A young dancer, fragile looking but strong and enduring.

Writing Streak Challenge -- Week 5

Writing Streak Challenge - Week 5

A melancholic poet, bathing in the river, hiding many words behind a silver-green veil.

Flash Fiction Competition 2020

Lost Sister

Draft #1
A closed door. I stand in front of it, an Easter egg in my hands. The door leads into the room next to mine. If I’d knock, nobody would open. No one would react. The distance between me and the girl in the room is growing with each passing moment. When we meet we barely talk.
I place the egg on the floor. I know she’ll see it.
I lift my head. Vivid memories invade my mind – children laughing. I feel tears emerge and flee into the bathroom. Nobody will see. My sister won’t know I cry for her.

Draft #2
A closed door in front of me. An Easter egg in my hands. The door leads to the room next to mine. If I’d knock, nobody would open. No one would react. Like ships once floating side by side we’re now drifting apart. Communication is lost.
I place the egg on the floor. She’ll see it...

Writing Streak Challenge -- Week 5

Writing Streak Challenge - Week 5

A keeper of songs and dreams, whispering to the winds melody.

Writing Streak Challenge -- Week 5

Writing Streak Challenge - Week 5

A host to many birds, seeking shelter and his little red delights to eat.

Flash Fiction Competition 2020

Lost Sister

Draft #1
A closed door. I stand in front of it, an Easter egg in my hands. The door leads into the room next to mine. If I’d knock, nobody would open. No one would react. The distance between me and the girl in the room is growing with each passing moment. When we meet we barely talk.
I place the egg on the floor. I know she’ll see it.
I lift my head. Vivid memories invade my mind – children laughing. I feel tears emerge and flee into the bathroom. Nobody will see. My sister won’t know I cry for her.

Draft #2
A closed door in front of me. An Easter egg in my hands. The door leads to the room next to mine. If I’d knock, nobody would open. No one would react. Like ships once floating side by side we’re now drifting apart. Communication is lost.
I place the egg on the floor. She’ll see it...

Writing Streak Challenge -- Week 5

Writing Streak Challenge - Week 5

Day 1 - a friend:
An old friend patient and wise, always hearing to listen.
Day 2 - a host:
A host to many birds, seeking shelter and his little red delights to eat.

Writing Streak Challenge -- Week 5

Writing Streak Challenge - Week 5

Day 1:
An old friend patient and wise, always hearing to listen.
Day 2:
A host to many birds, seeking shelter and his little red delights to eat.

Writing Streak Challenge -- Week 5

Writing Streak Challenge - Week 5

An old friend patient and wise, always hearing to listen.

Flash Fiction Competition 2020

Lost Sister


A closed door in front of me. An Easter egg in my hands. The door leads to the room next to mine. If I’d knock, nobody would open. Nobody would react. The distance between me and the girl in the room is growing. When we meet we barely talk.
I place the egg on the floor. She’ll see it immediately.
I lift my head again. Vivid memories invade my head. Children searching, laughing. I feel tears emerge and flee into the bathroom. Nobody will see. My sister won’t know that I cry for her.