Warm, syrupy, butterscotch memories of Bill resting his head on my volleyball-sized stomach flooded my mind as I stared at the stars—we loved stargazing. I ran my fingers through Bill’s shaggy mane.
Sandra kicked.
A gore-stained scorpion stinger punched through my belly, piercing his ear and out the other.
Alone on the highway, little white lines fly by at 65mph to the rhythm of semi tires on the asphalt. Head pops up—flashing reds and blues beside orange cones lit by spotlights—just in time for an evasive maneuver. Adrenaline fuels me to the next stop. Late for delivery.
Tapped “Play” on the smartphone, flicked off the small lamp, gently closed his eyes, settled back into the goosedown pillow, breathed in for four and out, more slowly, for six and whispered “Night, memories.” The dreams came mercifully quickly.
She woke to his arm heavy across her stomach. She watched the dark clouds scuttle past occasionally being gracious to reveal the full moon. She wished she'd drawn the curtains. She missed the freedom that was once hers that she gave away so easily for what she thought was security.
I will forever remember the way your eyes glimmered in the starlight and the breathlessness of seeing your face bathed in moonlight. The twilight was cool, the scent of verdant life filled the air as our mouths engaged in wordless conversation, saying things we could never speak out loud.
At six, she stopped screaming. At eight, she couldn’t recall why. Each morning, she woke up with the slate clean. Years later, a therapist mentioned dissociation. That’s when she remembered: the fairy with eyes like cracked porcelain, whispering, “You don’t need this one.”
She was safe.
But she remembered nothing.
50 words
---
No Night in Nunavut
It’s been thirty-two days of constant daylight. My eyes crave shadows, memories of night.
Dreams won’t root in this brightness.
I miss moonlight’s hush, its slow permission to grieve.
Last night, I wore blackout curtains like a shroud to remember the dark.
I remember the warmth and the contented sounds, the gentle breathing and softness, the slow steady beat of his heart as he snuggled next to me on the bed. I remember scooting close to the wall to give him plenty of room to stretch out.
Moonless midnight light illuminated little, though the cat sneaking in didn't care. He sat, and stared down at the girl in bed. He meowed, beckoning. The girl groaned, but catching his glowing gaze, she transformed into her cat-form. Together, they left the room and made memories, exploring nature at midnight.
Trying to get back in these. They are a lot of fun.
Night Memories
The dark, rich velvet of the night burned with the red, yellow and green beacons of the traffic lights. Warm, soft air carried the scent of perfume of the flowers and of the women and men in the open bar. A mug of ice cold memories was in his hand.
“Scorps: Memories”
Warm, syrupy, butterscotch memories of Bill resting his head on my volleyball-sized stomach flooded my mind as I stared at the stars—we loved stargazing. I ran my fingers through Bill’s shaggy mane.
Sandra kicked.
A gore-stained scorpion stinger punched through my belly, piercing his ear and out the other.
Alone on the highway, little white lines fly by at 65mph to the rhythm of semi tires on the asphalt. Head pops up—flashing reds and blues beside orange cones lit by spotlights—just in time for an evasive maneuver. Adrenaline fuels me to the next stop. Late for delivery.
Microfiction - 50mg of Night Memories
===
He was told about the accident he couldn’t remember.
The nurse seated him in front of rows of tablets. She picked up one and positioned it in front of his face. The screen lighted up.
She typed: ‘Tell me something about myself’, left the tablet with him and walked away.
I wake up suddenly, pinned to the bed. Something's choking me, pressing down on my chest. I try to relax, I try not to panic.
Ignore the dark, shadowy figures. It’s not real, it’s just sleep paralysis, a perfectly natural physiological reaction to stress and fatigue.
Just relax… just – “Argh!”
“Microdosing fiction.” 👏🏻🎉📚
Every day 😁
PROMPT: NIGHT MEMORIES
THE REGRET
It was just one night.
A stupid, drunken mistake.
And he’d been paying for it ever since.
Whenever he closed his eyes, all he saw was spinning wheels and mangled metal.
If only he could turn back the clock.
And not enter his Dad’s expensive car in that Demolition Derby… 🚗😎🚗
He laid on his back, as he always did these days.
Tapped “Play” on the smartphone, flicked off the small lamp, gently closed his eyes, settled back into the goosedown pillow, breathed in for four and out, more slowly, for six and whispered “Night, memories.” The dreams came mercifully quickly.
50mg of Night Memories
She woke to his arm heavy across her stomach. She watched the dark clouds scuttle past occasionally being gracious to reveal the full moon. She wished she'd drawn the curtains. She missed the freedom that was once hers that she gave away so easily for what she thought was security.
50 mg of Night Memories
I will forever remember the way your eyes glimmered in the starlight and the breathlessness of seeing your face bathed in moonlight. The twilight was cool, the scent of verdant life filled the air as our mouths engaged in wordless conversation, saying things we could never speak out loud.
Got two for you today.
Forgetting Fairy
At six, she stopped screaming. At eight, she couldn’t recall why. Each morning, she woke up with the slate clean. Years later, a therapist mentioned dissociation. That’s when she remembered: the fairy with eyes like cracked porcelain, whispering, “You don’t need this one.”
She was safe.
But she remembered nothing.
50 words
---
No Night in Nunavut
It’s been thirty-two days of constant daylight. My eyes crave shadows, memories of night.
Dreams won’t root in this brightness.
I miss moonlight’s hush, its slow permission to grieve.
Last night, I wore blackout curtains like a shroud to remember the dark.
It felt like slipping into my old skin.
50 words
"I Shouldn't Have Had Those Last Five Beers"
I lean out the window and vomit all down the side of my friend’s truck.
“You’re cleaning that off. And I’ll help you get on the porch but you’re on your own after that.”
“Yeah. I’m good.”
That’s the last thing I remember before I woke up under the swing.
This is based on a short story that I wrote
https://izzibella.substack.com/p/separate-worlds-apart
________________________________________________________________________________________________
50mg - Night Memories
In the dark club, they met—strangers drawn together like fate had whispered their names.
One night of dancing, laughter, and creating night memories made the world disappear.
They parted with no promises.
He watched as the cab drove her away, never to see her again, but he never forgot.
Brief connections are heartwarming and heartbreaking at the same time
I remember the warmth and the contented sounds, the gentle breathing and softness, the slow steady beat of his heart as he snuggled next to me on the bed. I remember scooting close to the wall to give him plenty of room to stretch out.
I miss my sleepy cat.
Aw, this was so sweet, but so sad
Moonless midnight light illuminated little, though the cat sneaking in didn't care. He sat, and stared down at the girl in bed. He meowed, beckoning. The girl groaned, but catching his glowing gaze, she transformed into her cat-form. Together, they left the room and made memories, exploring nature at midnight.
I could not decide where I wanted to go:
___
50mg of Night Memories around Las Vegas
Beneath the western sun's descent,
Red Rock's hues ignite Wilson Cliffs bright.
Spring Mountains whisper tales,
reaching Mount Charleston's starlit height.
Eastward, Sunrise and Frenchman rise,
guarding valley's peaceful sleep.
Southward, Black Mountain watches,
night memories they deeply keep.
Deserts tapestry unfolds where rugged beauty lies,
kissed by silent skies.
____
50mg of Night Memories wishing you the moon and sun.
I wish you night memories
bright as meteors,
soft as tide on sand.
Not always shining—
but sometimes,
the moon finds you.
Let stars speak in silence,
the ocean answer.
Let mountains hold your rest,
the sun return.
And when love comes,
like a planet in orbit—
may you stay.
Trying to get back in these. They are a lot of fun.
Night Memories
The dark, rich velvet of the night burned with the red, yellow and green beacons of the traffic lights. Warm, soft air carried the scent of perfume of the flowers and of the women and men in the open bar. A mug of ice cold memories was in his hand.