Four Letters Forgotten – Friday Five Sentence Fictioneers

Mouth by Thomas Saliot, I own no rights. Image source and more of his art at:
http://www.thomassaliot.com/?gallery=mouth

Four Letters Forgotten

I can see the shake in your eyes, the ache strumming at your spine. I can hear your stomach mourn every miscarriage of words like a loving parent would, crying in pain as your expressions melt in the hell’s kettle of acid and hurt that has filled your hollow bones. Steam gathers in your eyes and foggy ghosts of the past lurk in the corners of your lips. But in all their darkness, they’re still scared of your glorious cupid’s bow, the god-carved figurehead of your brave spirit. Because when every shop and soul is sold out of smiles, you lead your mouth to another wondrous waltz and your laugh rings like the bells of Notre Dame, in a loving concerto that revives the four letters forgotten.

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That little piece above is my first ever Five Sentence Fictioneers and needless to say, I’m excited! Five Sentence Fictioneers is an intriguing challenge that, as lovely Lillie McFerring explains in her blog, is ” about packing a powerful punch in a tiny fist. ”

Five sentences, a prompt word, inspiration. A recipe for an imaginative adventure.

This week’s prompt word is forgotten. To check out other creative Fictioneers click here, to know more or to participate dance over to Lillie’s place.

Peace and love, always!

xx

Nature of Happiness

Deep below, under the stubborn ice and mouths frozen shut, the roots of life still linger. Slowly, they string their fine fingers upwards, infiltrate the army of snow flakes besieging us. Those fingers, you can feel them caressing your skin when you fall your cheek pressed to the iron-cold ground; sprigs and sprouts of onion being born, the sweet-tasting sap brewing, the birch babies and oak saplings still playing hide-and-seek, until the day that earth’s anticipation, its certainty of spring stronger than thousand ice ages, breaks all winter’s barriers and blossoms into light leaves of coltsfoot, pansy, primrose and thistle. But not quite yet my dear, not quite yet. First, we have to live through this concerto of whispering winds, nothing but rumours of life budding. That way we can have two summers; one blossoming in our ears and one, in time, blooming up from undeground, inviting us to a flower field dance.  

Waiting for the spring is a sweet expectation, it is like waiting at the train station for an old friend to arrive. Peace and love, and warmth to melt your winter fingers! Take care.