She wore the scent of persuasion. It was an intoxicating sign. I thought I do anything for her. I am dreaming. I want her to do something for me as my teacher. She wanted me to do something for her. She bent down and stroked my cheek. I could smell her scent. She signed my yearbook. I thought we were going to go for a ride away, somewhere , anywhere.
Walking the dogs, I asked God to show me a sign that I should follow through with the woodpecker tattoo I booked for April. I knew it was silly, asking for a sign about something trivial; ironic that anyone would ask God to let them know they should get a tattoo, but there I was. And wouldn’t you know it, I heard the rat-a-tat-tat of a woodpecker having its breakfast.
The same flickering neon that dragged them off the freeway was signalling the midpoint of a sleepless night. Lithe bodies sprawled naked across a bedcover with stains more questionable than the decision to check in. “Aircon’s fucked”, he’d drawled. “She’s real hot”. Maybe he meant the room, but his eyes lingered lasciviously on my young bride. “Don’t touch me”, she’d said as the half-lit sign taunted me. H-O-T. I nodded.
The road was straight. On either side, a desert of endless sand, all in a straight line. The landscape was a desolation.
Cacti dead of thirst, crippled coyotes, hungry vultures. Desolate and attractive. All that is desolate attracts. On the radio, Jim Morrison sang “This is the End”.
At the wheel of the car, a man. 50 years old. He never saw the sign that said, “Dangerous turn at 50m”.
The clouds did more than simply roll in. They stampeded a steel gray assault against the clear blue sky, and won. The sunlight became feeble, ultimately giving way to the gloomy cover. The earth breathed a sigh of relief, awaiting the forthcoming drops of sustenance. Tonight as the wind whipped, the soil would drink; tomorrow the desert would pop, alive with color and blossoms. Spring’s arrival is seldom gentle here.
At midnight, the 911 caller reported an eerie howl and a bloodcurdling scream from the house across the street. He’d gone outside, but everything was as it should be. Most of the houses were dark, even the one he was sure the scream had come from. Police investigated and found the front door ajar, the house empty and spotless. The only sign of life was a long, coarse dog hair.
Benton knew her unexpected, sudden death was a tragic, numbing, humbling sign. But it was not until sitting in the voluminous sanctuary at Eva’s funeral did he feel so desperately alone, so empty, so eerily cold, so frightened despite so many of Eva’s family and friends. She had been Benton’s rescuing force, an anchor of new hope — a promise of new life. Benton was trembling, cold, blank, and utterly destroyed.
She listened as her favourite song was playing when she entered the restaurant. As she was seated she noted that her favourite bottle of wine was cooling near a half full glass on her side of the table. Her observations saw the red roses in a gorgeous vase. The bouquet of scents indicated her favourite food was somewhere nearby.
The signs were right. “We get married tonight!” she stated firmly.
A nice neighbor who shared her interests. She was thrilled to find one in her apartment complex. Good friends were difficult to find, and this seemed like a good omen.
When she saw the exquisite collection of stones inside that apartment, and the two of them chatted, she knew.
It had occurred because she'd flown out the door to ascertain that the sign hammered into the lawn wasn't hatefully political.
The Dotted Line
“What if I refuse to sign?”
“Like no-one’s tried that before? If you refuse, you stay here.”
“For how long?”
“Long.”
“But if I do sign-”
“I’ll admit, your choices are pretty limited.”
“There must have been a mistake.”
“Sure, kid. Look, sign it, don’t sign it. I get paid hourly. What do I care?”
“And there’s no appeals process or-”
“Oh, they’ll peel you alright.”
[70mg of a Sign; this one, you will be pleased & relieved to hear, is right on par! 70 words exactly!]
---
They gather in a circle around the portentous bunker.
All agree them footprints were a sign.
Old Ezekiel ventures tentatively forth and examines ‘em. Then turns to the assembled, aghast. Aghast!
“It’s Cerberus!” says Zeke. “He’s loose!”
They all suddenly – instinctively – gawp up at the sky.
No, it wasn’t falling. Not yet.
But yeah, there were definitely cracks.
Cracks like awesome streaks of black lightning. Appearing suddenly, but not dissipating…
PROMPT: SIGN
THE FOR SALE SIGN
We’d finally found it.
The perfect house, in the perfect location, and right within our budget.
But then, we went outside into the garden.
As we stood admiring the landscaping, the wind changed direction, and the Estate Agent’s face dropped.
The stench coming from the local sewage works almost knocked us off our feet.
And suddenly, it made sense why that ‘For Sale’ sign had been hanging outside so long… 💩😎💩
70 sign
She wore the scent of persuasion. It was an intoxicating sign. I thought I do anything for her. I am dreaming. I want her to do something for me as my teacher. She wanted me to do something for her. She bent down and stroked my cheek. I could smell her scent. She signed my yearbook. I thought we were going to go for a ride away, somewhere , anywhere.
Thanks for noticing Miguel. A sign that becomes more of a billboard.
Sure thing Richard! I love the atmosphere of this one.
Innocence unleashed.
Walking the dogs, I asked God to show me a sign that I should follow through with the woodpecker tattoo I booked for April. I knew it was silly, asking for a sign about something trivial; ironic that anyone would ask God to let them know they should get a tattoo, but there I was. And wouldn’t you know it, I heard the rat-a-tat-tat of a woodpecker having its breakfast.
Neon (70mg)
The same flickering neon that dragged them off the freeway was signalling the midpoint of a sleepless night. Lithe bodies sprawled naked across a bedcover with stains more questionable than the decision to check in. “Aircon’s fucked”, he’d drawled. “She’s real hot”. Maybe he meant the room, but his eyes lingered lasciviously on my young bride. “Don’t touch me”, she’d said as the half-lit sign taunted me. H-O-T. I nodded.
Microfiction - 70mg of a Sign
===
He gestured cautiously to the girl sitting across the table.
‘May I?’
She nodded.
He sat down, took out his books, and watched her making notes.
‘Which class you’re in?’
She kept busy, not even a glance at him.
Five minutes later she packed, looked at him while passing a sticky note.
She signed something with her hand, smiled and left.
He looked at the note.
‘No hearing aids today.’
Yeayyy I've got something today !!! :)
=========================================================
Blazing Sunrise
I woke this morning to a sailor's warning
Dawn sky filled with red dragon's fire
fitting in with my sleepless night of frets and ire.
Yet if I look the other way there is no warning
Only a sky filled with gentle honey glows
to free me from my accepted frets and woes.
The interpretation of signs depends on which way we look and what we're looking for.
My 70 words of a Sign
____________
The road was straight. On either side, a desert of endless sand, all in a straight line. The landscape was a desolation.
Cacti dead of thirst, crippled coyotes, hungry vultures. Desolate and attractive. All that is desolate attracts. On the radio, Jim Morrison sang “This is the End”.
At the wheel of the car, a man. 50 years old. He never saw the sign that said, “Dangerous turn at 50m”.
The clouds did more than simply roll in. They stampeded a steel gray assault against the clear blue sky, and won. The sunlight became feeble, ultimately giving way to the gloomy cover. The earth breathed a sigh of relief, awaiting the forthcoming drops of sustenance. Tonight as the wind whipped, the soil would drink; tomorrow the desert would pop, alive with color and blossoms. Spring’s arrival is seldom gentle here.
Love the description. Beautiful
At midnight, the 911 caller reported an eerie howl and a bloodcurdling scream from the house across the street. He’d gone outside, but everything was as it should be. Most of the houses were dark, even the one he was sure the scream had come from. Police investigated and found the front door ajar, the house empty and spotless. The only sign of life was a long, coarse dog hair.
SIGN
Benton knew her unexpected, sudden death was a tragic, numbing, humbling sign. But it was not until sitting in the voluminous sanctuary at Eva’s funeral did he feel so desperately alone, so empty, so eerily cold, so frightened despite so many of Eva’s family and friends. She had been Benton’s rescuing force, an anchor of new hope — a promise of new life. Benton was trembling, cold, blank, and utterly destroyed.
Agree with Nick. So so deeply sad
omg this is crushingly sad.
Jack seriously gives me a run for my money with these soulcrushing stories.
(Stream of Consciousness write.)
70 Mg of a Sign
They said, “Look to the sky. Never-mind the blueness —Blue is nothing special
when on the edge of Spring.
But another color-akin to a bruise
or rare opal-thumbprint-
oil slicked in the corner of the furthest
your eye can see.
Wherever you see that blight, travel in the opposite direction.
Don’t wait for an alarm, sirens, break in your regular broadcast.
Just grab who, whatever you care about most—
irreplaceable and run.
Stream of excellence in my opinion. Love this Tiffany.
She listened as her favourite song was playing when she entered the restaurant. As she was seated she noted that her favourite bottle of wine was cooling near a half full glass on her side of the table. Her observations saw the red roses in a gorgeous vase. The bouquet of scents indicated her favourite food was somewhere nearby.
The signs were right. “We get married tonight!” she stated firmly.
A nice neighbor who shared her interests. She was thrilled to find one in her apartment complex. Good friends were difficult to find, and this seemed like a good omen.
When she saw the exquisite collection of stones inside that apartment, and the two of them chatted, she knew.
It had occurred because she'd flown out the door to ascertain that the sign hammered into the lawn wasn't hatefully political.
I’ve missed doing these! Glad to be back. Great story, Miguel 😊
—————
Breathing (70)
The house had been empty for years. But I didn’t care. It was just what I needed. My new start.
“Watch out for the flora and fauna,” said Menna, my new neighbour.
Strange.
The floral wallpaper is the first sign, petals coming alive, brushing my skin. Now the vines in the rug are sliding round my ankles.
Something else is breathing.
Oh god. The front door knocker.
It’s a lion.
Thanks Zivah! Love to have you back ❤️