Week 9: Bonbons

‘The nerve of you!’ Mrs Midwitcher spat, her little leather pouch rolling to the floor and spilling pink bonbons on the rug and under the sofa.  She made a dash for them but only managed to grab the very end of the pouch as the last sweets were pouring out of it.  ‘Drat! Now I’ll have to handpick all of them! Mind your step, you!’

Young Mrs Thirdwitcher wrinkled her nose and exited the room walking in a very dignified manner or like having a pole up her bum.

Mrs Firstwitcher rolled her eyes dramatically. She turned to Mrs Midwitcher. ‘Do you want me to help, Dinah?’

‘Oh, no. Don’t bother. I’ll do it tomorrow. It’s too dark and my Jake will be too drunk anyway to hear the crunches when he walks all over them and I’ll have to scrub them off the floor with my fingernails and peel them off the rug one strand at a time.’  That’s right, just ask. Don’t even think of actually lending a hand, lest it shrivels and falls off!, Mrs Midwitcher thought as she threw a fistful of bonbons out the window.

‘So, how’s it going with Darryl?’ she asked in a rather jovial tone.

Week 9: Same Old

     So, here I am to tell you all the shortened version of the story. The story about M. I loved her, I still do. I dreamed about her. I still do. I adored her, worshiped her, built her an altar in my soul, made for her all the sacrifices we do for Love, carved her in my blood,veins,tendons,muscles,air. She was Air. She still is. But not for me.

A small poem for her-in romanian first, then translated, sanctified, hyperbolized into English.

Week 9: Writing prompt

The past.

It’s there, at the back of our skulls, not always sweet and fluffy but ever waiting for the opportunity to pounce on us, dripping with nostalgia.

And that’s exactly what we’ll be doing here this week, allowing the past to briefly reign and show you a glimpse of us from before we were the Nameless.

Come sit with us and talk about “something old” over a steaming cup of tea.