After you’ve gone

img_0112Photo prompt © Björn Rudberg

I walk into the room. Your cello in its usual place, as always when you’re not playing; leaned against its stand. The light from the hanging light bulbs outside makes me shift focus, and I walk the few steps to the window and peek out. It’s beautiful, the way the snow catches the light. The thick layer of snow on the roof tops, that was there just this morning, is almost gone though. Before they had time to shovel, it fell down in heavy lumps and you ignored the the warning sign.



Photo prompt © Jean L. Hays

The car journey made Ava nauseated. It was this smell, some odor that secreted from the decor of the car. The seats of imitation leather made her bare thighs sweaty. The knowledge that the target of the trip, the endless hours that they were going to spend at the boatyard, her father busy mending the cruiser while she walked around amongst the other powerboats, was as boring as the journey it self, made her shiftless. Why did she come at all?

On the way back her father halted the car at the trading post, kept the motor running, turned over and handed her some coins.

“Buy yourself an ice cream. And don’t forget the evening paper.”





Skopelos 1982

imagePHOTO PROMPT © Jan Marler Morrill

I am walking through the maze of alleys, crossing the small squares; trying to find the way to Panteli’s house. The sun is at its zenith and there’s not a soul to be found outside. The shutters  of the white washed houses are closed and people are dwelling inside, waiting. So why am I on my way at this hour? For what reason did I leave the shade of the great sycamore tree?

We parted in the middle of quarrel and I have to let him know how much I love him.





Through the frosted glass

 Copyright Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

Ava fought her own battle. No one else knew. The one she trusted most, she didn’t dare to confide in. Because what if he knew, what would he do with his rage? She painted a scene so horrible; a fight, maybe even a killing, everything in ruins, because of her. So when the doorbell rang she kept quiet and hid under the bed. Waiting for the obsessed to give up and leave.

I don’t want to know



He put the magazine aside and stood up.

“I’m just gonna check on the girls, see that their alright in there.”

She looked up from the book she was reading and pulled down her glasses.

“Let them be. Their propably already asleep now anyway. You’ll better stop being so nosy all the time, or Kate will stop bringing friends over.”

“I just want to show Ava I care, for all we know she might be homesick.”

She shooked her head and yawned.

“Well, I’m sleepy.”

She turned of the light as her husband left their bedroom.

Something didn’t feel right.




© Douglas M.Macllroy

Sleep over at Kate’s sounded like a great idea. They could continue their game and also have pizza and soda for dinner, something Ava never got at home. Kate’s father was permissive and kind, maybe to kind, there was something about him that made her feel uneasy. As she laid in the camp bed with her back towards the door she could feel his precense, small ugly eyes staring obsessivly at her. She wanted to go home.




 The ghost house

© Piya Singh

We called it the Ghost house. Back then when we played together, the kids from our street. It was Andy, he was kind of a leader, me and my brother, John and Catherine who were siblings. It hadn’t changed that much, but the totem pole was gone. So was Andy. They’d found him in a trench, unconscious from sniffing paint thinner. Two men drove him home. That was the end of our childhood as we knew it.