Happy as a lark he is, going about his dream-catcher’s job. Capturing dreams that people gave up, and safeguarding them until they wished to rekindle their dream, when he would give it back.
His is the dream job but secretly he sometimes wished people didn’t give up so easily on their dreams.
Today, he almost quit.
This dream had floated up, light-blue and translucent, all dolphin playfulness, gamboling like a frisky puppy, making him give chase until, laughing, he caught it. And then, dream and he, tripped and fell. And it broke.
An orphan’s dream it was, to be adopted.
A little whimsy and a tad sad after a not-too-good day. Thanks Rochelle for keeping us on track with working out our fiction-writing muscles 🙂 Lovely photo, I wonder if Jean made it himself / herself.
Eyes almost cobalt, Neil was her blue-eyed boy. Amber with hair to match and a temper on-the ready to flare . Born yellow with jaundice, Sunny lived on to fill the house with laughter. Petal, dear Petal, with parrot eyes and always rescuing animals. Indigo, her daydreamer child, mostly lost in Piscean waters.
She hears their voices in the deep of night. Sees their faces in vibrant colour behind closed eye-lids.
She remembers how they were taken away, one by one, only she can’t remember why.
That must be when the colours started to leave her. Now she sees the world only in monochrome.
Or, perhaps, grays are the only colours in the psychiatric ward.
Another phone composition in the dead of night. Because I’m addicted? All thanks to Rochelle. I blame her 😁😆😂🤣
She surveys the bench-top, disgust billowing within her. All the evidence points to his visit. Mess, filth. Disorder.
She has to find a way of keeping him out. Even if it means killing him.
Poison, she decides. That will be slow and sure. She was never the one for violence.
She plans her next move carefully. How and when. And most importantly, how much. She’s sure there’s some in the cupboard. The same cupboard he has messed up not knowing his death was sitting right there, right where his dirty paws had touched.
“Hunh! You’re dead, you dirty rodent!”
Genre : Frivolous thriller non-fiction 🙂
And so, thanks to Rochelle the eclectic group of Fictioneers fictioneering on Friday meet again 🙂
“I’ve told you my entire life story but all I know is your name.”
“My life’s so boring. Nothing ever happens.”
“To a drop-dead gorgeous girl like you?”
“Truth!” She says, inching closer and dropping her voice. “My father won’t let me do anything. He’s all powerful and all.”
“He can’t be the President!” He does manage a nervous laugh.
“He’s a gang leader, a Godfather or something.” She speaks directly into his ear. “I have 6 disguised bodyguards scattered around, watching us.”
RED. RED. RED.
Thanks to the wonderful Rochelle, here we meet again 🙂 I am happy I wrangled another story out of the muse. I must admit it’s hard sometimes because it’s bedtime here and the brain does not always co-operate when all it wants is to do is zone out. 🙂 This this story does not make sense to you, now you know 🙂