Blog Archives
picture-it-write-40; Each Tock
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Each Tock
I caressed my grandmother’s paper-skin face. She was weary and trembling. How much longer did she have to live? I watched as the life leaked out of her, in the form of tears. I gripped onto her hand. With the last morsels of energy, she pulled something out from the drawer and dropped it into my palm. It was a peculiar watch, with a rib-cage for the cover. “Use it wisely,” she whispered and she never spoke again.
- Ermisenda Alvarez
I stared down at it as the tears flowed from my eyes, remembering the poem she had recited to me when I was still just a child;
With each tock
of the clock
minutes go by
Never still
hours will
just seem to fly
The time’s set
don’t forget
before you die
In their sum
dreams won’t come
if you never try!
Somehow, at this very moment in time, within the anguish of my grief, I heard her sweet voice saying those words once again. I always had wondered, then in my youth, what it all really meant. Now I know!
Teresa Marie 8/25/12 ©
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picture-it-write-39; Under the Spell
-Collecting youth. by alexstoddard on Flickr.
The sharp nail scraped my chin. It may as well have been a blade as the lethal, gritty edge punctured my skin. With my half closed and yet fluttering eyes, it was hard to see the person before me. I wanted to run but I needed the money. I needed to seal this deal. The darkness was thick and appeared to pulse rapidly, just like my wild heart. “Lavish in your newly acquired riches,” the gravelly voice spoke, from neither a man or woman but something much more hellish. “But the clock is ticking and I will collect.” The gnarled finger caressed my cheek and I shuddered.
- Ermisenda Alvarez
http://ermiliablog.wordpress.com/2012/08/19/__picture-it-write-39/
picture it & write # 38; The Fog
The burning sun crept over the horizon. The heavy silence hushed my trembling whimpers. The tendrils of the unwavering fog caressed the bridge. My shivering hands grasped the rails and peered over, it was a kilometre drop at the very least. I pulled back and pushed away the stubborn tears that leaked from my eyes. I watched as my father trudged into the fog. If only I hadn’t been so rash… he wouldn’t of taken the fall for my actions. “Please come back,” I begged. It was the last time I ever saw him. The fog never returned its victims.
- Ermisenda Alvarez
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picture it & write # 37; Why
- bath ..
by ~aida-julia
I ran the heavy wet cloth over my shoulders. The water, although once scalding hot, had turned lukewarm. Scattered droplets on my body cooled within seconds. I was only delaying the inevitable and yet it took an hour for me to finish my bath. I didn’t want to face what was to come. I wanted the seconds to suspend themselves. Despite all my desires to halt time, it continued on, unperturbed. My life was about to be changed forever, whether for better or worse, and there was nothing I could do about it.
- Ermisenda Alvarez
http://ermiliablog.wordpress.com/2012/08/05/__picture-it-write-37/
picture it & write #35; Giselle
Round and round the little girl spun. Her ivory locks bounced as she twirled in front of the golden mirror. Light trickled through the stain glass window and illuminated only her in the barren room. Unstuck mortar crumbled off the aged bricks. It didn’t bother her because she was transfixed on her image. An angelic smile had been carved on her face, forever to stay. Months dissolved into years, and yet she stayed fixed to her image. Each step had to be perfected, every smile, and every twinkle of the eye. Round and round the woman spun, forever wishing to be more.
- Ermisenda Alvarez
http://ermiliablog.wordpress.com/2012/07/22/__picture-it-write-35/
picture it & write #34; Sylvia Said
The deadly smoke danced up towards the ceiling as if trying to escape from her crimson lips. The smell of nicotine was pungent as it seeped through the black satin gloves she wore. Sylvia didn’t know why she bothered to come on board to this cruise, it was full of hot air and nothing more. The grand hall was littered with generals, lords, ladies and other members of the elite. The men whose eyes danced in her direction blubbered with loose, deeply intoxicated smirks.
Out from the crowd a robust man caught her eye. Within seconds he advanced towards her, Sylvia averted her eyes and inhaled the cigarette deeply. “My sweet pearl, Sylvia,” The man leaned in towards her, his cheek felt like sandpaper and she could smell his abhorrent breath. “Dance with me.”
- Ermisenda Alvarez
http://ermiliablog.wordpress.com/2012/07/15/__picture-it-write-34/
picture it & write #33; I Knew
- Invaders by *syda-ginger
- Ermisenda Alvarez
http://ermiliablog.wordpress.com/2012/07/08/__picture-it-write-33/
Picture It & Write #30; It Stormed
-By Bob DeHoff
She gripped onto her flimsy cardigan which billowed violently due to the temperamental winds. She stared out. The ship left a milky white trail as if a snail. There was nothing in sight. The bruise of clouds that discoloured the skies growled. Soon there would be rain, she shut her eyes. Her fingers hesitantly touched her abdomen. The baby was lost. It was now a lost fragment of who she had been. An insignificant ripple in the tumultuous ocean of her past.
- Ermisenda Alvarez
http://ermiliablog.wordpress.com/2012/06/24/__picture-it-write-30/
Picture It & Write #32; Her Gaze
I was captive under her gaze. The darkness of her pupil absorbed the last ounce of freewill I held. The glittering stars and dazzling smears that painted her iris formed a galaxy of emerald and aqua shades. Mesmerised by her beauty – no, hypnotised – I fell down onto my knees. This divine creature’s gaze bore through me and read my soul. All my attention was dedicated to holding her gaze. I was terrified she’d look away. For fifty years I was a slave to those eyes, then one day something else caught her attention and there was no more life in my own.- Ermisenda Alvarez
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Listen & Write-Big Girls Don’t Cry-Fergie; Practicing To Be
“Mother…” Aniela no longer trembled at the prospect of her mother’s wrath, but the thought of disappointing her would always be like lemon juice on an open wound.
“It’s time for me to get my own place.” It was time for her to be a big girl, get her own space, learn how to drive and do her own laundry. ”I hope you know this has nothing to do with you, I love you mom, but I need…” she was going to say “peace” but that would sound bad. ”To do this on my own.” She offered a half heart’d smile.
It was time to move on with her life, start a new chapter. She would always love her mother, always crave her approval, but she needed a clarity she would never get living in the manor. Even though she was leaving the safety of her childhood home and her mother’s protective, even if sometimes overbearing bosom, she knew this was the right decision. She just had to break it to her mother. Aniela took a deep breath and let it out slowly, watching herself in the mirror.
-Eliabeth Hawthorne
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