I’m awake. I keep my eyes closed. This is the greatest time of the new dawn. Prone under the covers as I await the blaring of my alarm. I really should purchase something new.
I take a deep breath, breathing in the morning. A speck of sunshine peaks through the crack in the curtains.
Suddenly, there it is. Alarm time. Carl Douglas: Kung Fu Fighting.
What a way to wake up. Floating on a seventies classic.
I float along an ever changing road. Not quite touching the ground. Not quite disconnected. Not quite connected. It was all different years ago. Once the road reach up to touch me feet. Once I knew the terrain. Once I walked with solid steps. Once knew what was round the next corner. Once I was certain. Once I was sure. One of us has changed. I'm not sure who.
The moment he died, I felt the world shift around me. Barely noticeable to others, the planets kept spinning while my universe was broken. Unmoored, I lost my appetite and didn’t sleep for weeks, only stared numbly at the television. When I began going through the motions of life again, I was hollow; suspended in the murky water of grief. And in some ways, I still am…even now.
I cry, mama, with tears turning to dust. You don’t know where I am—how could you? The world forgot the space I fell into, but not its fear. A space so tight I can’t breathe, can’t feel. Now, I lay—floating between two unknowns. Divorced from life, yet not wanted by death. Just… gone. Still, I beg to be saved. “Please, anyone I’m here, I’m here!” No one ever comes, not willing to find me locked in the dark.
The kids dared Georgie to go near the sewer. He laughed and stepped closer. A red balloon popped out, floating in the air. Then, a clown’s evil grin split the darkness.
“They all float down here, Georgie,: it whispered.
Georgie tried to run, but the balloon followed. The clown’s hand grabbed his wrist, pulling him into the dark. The last thing he heard was sinister laughter.
I’m weighted with chains. They want to see if I float—a famous test for witches. Will I float? Sink? They’re dying to know. It’s a mighty splash—I’m really heavy. Bound to sink. But I’m floating. I guess I’m a witch. Now they’ll know what to do. I don’t mind. In fact, I’ll welcome it, just like their fetching me from the water to welcome me into their coven.
My tears fell as the balloon floated away. I don't know what I was upset about the most - the balloon disappearing, or my Dad yelling at me for letting it go. "You can't have another". "Silly, wasteful. That was expensive.". I cried all the way to the car. I remember being inconsolable as my Mom put on my seatbelt. 2 minutes later there was a knock on the window; it was my Dad was holding the balloon!
"I flew up and got it back for you" he said.
I don't think I believed him. But then again, my Dad was always a superhero to me.
Why? How? Those simple questions continued to bother Huat as he sat down. His friends- not for much longer- had asked them in a mocking fashion. Grabbing a pen, he decided he would show them his dream: a floating city.
By his death at 285 years old, he had managed to build 28 separate houses in the sky, raised 3 apprentices to master the craft, and arranged funds for them.
I’ve been floating for so long. My memory has faded. It’s dark and lonely—wait, what’s that? A ship drifts beside me, its mechanical hand pulling me toward the massive hull.
In the reflection of the ship’s polished surface, I glimpse it, my faded name: ‘Voyager 1.’ Yes. I remember now. With the last of my power reserve, I send one final image home: friend or foe? Then everything dims.
A body floating. Just a piece of meat. The heart stopped. So it's not a person, it's a body. Flesh and bones. It once had a name, an identity, a mind in the form of a soul. Where did it go?
Where do souls go when they stop being souls? The soul is like a light that goes out when the owner dies. And in the end, flesh. And bone.
I’m awake. I keep my eyes closed. This is the greatest time of the new dawn. Prone under the covers as I await the blaring of my alarm. I really should purchase something new.
I take a deep breath, breathing in the morning. A speck of sunshine peaks through the crack in the curtains.
Suddenly, there it is. Alarm time. Carl Douglas: Kung Fu Fighting.
What a way to wake up. Floating on a seventies classic.
I love my waterbed.
*sorry - it's 80 words. Hope nobody minds.
PROMPT: FLOATING
THE INVITE
It’d been a perfect evening, and she didn’t want it to end.
So when they arrived back at her house, she asked him to join her inside.
Which he eagerly did.
Except he didn’t walk through the door, he floated.
And that’s when she realised, she’d made a terrible mistake… 🧛😎🧛
Floating? Pahaa! I swam out of the womb and swam underwater for years. It was terrible to be forced to the surface. Then again - humans eh?
Floating 70mg
I float along an ever changing road. Not quite touching the ground. Not quite disconnected. Not quite connected. It was all different years ago. Once the road reach up to touch me feet. Once I knew the terrain. Once I walked with solid steps. Once knew what was round the next corner. Once I was certain. Once I was sure. One of us has changed. I'm not sure who.
70mg of FLOATING
The moment he died, I felt the world shift around me. Barely noticeable to others, the planets kept spinning while my universe was broken. Unmoored, I lost my appetite and didn’t sleep for weeks, only stared numbly at the television. When I began going through the motions of life again, I was hollow; suspended in the murky water of grief. And in some ways, I still am…even now.
Often at night while trying to sleep, I hear noises that make me quiver.
I check the windows and the doors, looking for the source
Nothing appears to be amiss, so I return to bed.
Cat sleeping, by my head, husband snoring loudly, earplugs in.
Finally, I close my eyes, say my prayers and think of clouds floating above my head as I lay here in this bed of noise.
I cry, mama, with tears turning to dust. You don’t know where I am—how could you? The world forgot the space I fell into, but not its fear. A space so tight I can’t breathe, can’t feel. Now, I lay—floating between two unknowns. Divorced from life, yet not wanted by death. Just… gone. Still, I beg to be saved. “Please, anyone I’m here, I’m here!” No one ever comes, not willing to find me locked in the dark.
70mg - Floating
Based on one of my favorite movies, IT, this was the first thing that came to mind when I saw the given word.
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The kids dared Georgie to go near the sewer. He laughed and stepped closer. A red balloon popped out, floating in the air. Then, a clown’s evil grin split the darkness.
“They all float down here, Georgie,: it whispered.
Georgie tried to run, but the balloon followed. The clown’s hand grabbed his wrist, pulling him into the dark. The last thing he heard was sinister laughter.
Now, Georgie floats too.
Beautiful, Miguel. It's so uplifting.
Thanks!
70-word story challenge—Prompt: “Floating”
I’m weighted with chains. They want to see if I float—a famous test for witches. Will I float? Sink? They’re dying to know. It’s a mighty splash—I’m really heavy. Bound to sink. But I’m floating. I guess I’m a witch. Now they’ll know what to do. I don’t mind. In fact, I’ll welcome it, just like their fetching me from the water to welcome me into their coven.
I love supernatural stories, Gerard. Excellent
My tears fell as the balloon floated away. I don't know what I was upset about the most - the balloon disappearing, or my Dad yelling at me for letting it go. "You can't have another". "Silly, wasteful. That was expensive.". I cried all the way to the car. I remember being inconsolable as my Mom put on my seatbelt. 2 minutes later there was a knock on the window; it was my Dad was holding the balloon!
"I flew up and got it back for you" he said.
I don't think I believed him. But then again, my Dad was always a superhero to me.
Way over word budget with this one. But I couldn't shrink it without losing any feeling.
It was worth it. Dad made up for losing his temper. 🤗
My 70 words of FLOATING - can you guess the dessert?
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I was destined for violence—kneaded, rolled, forced into the perfect sphere.
Then came scalding oil, turning skin to caramel.
Just when I thought death had come, I was plunged into sweet oblivion.
Now I'm floating in fragrant syrup, my body swollen, pores saturated with cardamom perfume.
The darkness of refrigeration brings peace.
I wait for teeth, for the final surrender, for the moment my suffering becomes someone else's pleasure.
Some kind of fried dough. But not a doughnut
yes, gulab jamun!
I need to look that up! Unless you have a recipe to share?
Hmm. now you have me wondering what it is
Why? How? Those simple questions continued to bother Huat as he sat down. His friends- not for much longer- had asked them in a mocking fashion. Grabbing a pen, he decided he would show them his dream: a floating city.
By his death at 285 years old, he had managed to build 28 separate houses in the sky, raised 3 apprentices to master the craft, and arranged funds for them.
Appearing now and then like wisps of consciousness and past memories, it then drifts away again, seemingly out of reach.
Where did it go, my treasured hopefulness? When did it slip from my fevered grasp? Why had so many others simply allowed its complete disappearance?
How to right the ship of truth, of decency, of empathy, of ethics seems to be a dream floating away with each new dawn.
NOTE: Sorry for the repeated doom and gloom; writing these snippets helps release some of my tension.
Don’t worry. We’re all gloomy down here :) I’m glad writing with us helps you!
Thank you, Miguel. That means a lot to me 🙂
Last Contact - 70mg of floating
___________________________________________
I’ve been floating for so long. My memory has faded. It’s dark and lonely—wait, what’s that? A ship drifts beside me, its mechanical hand pulling me toward the massive hull.
In the reflection of the ship’s polished surface, I glimpse it, my faded name: ‘Voyager 1.’ Yes. I remember now. With the last of my power reserve, I send one final image home: friend or foe? Then everything dims.
my 70 words of Floating
_______________________
A body floating. Just a piece of meat. The heart stopped. So it's not a person, it's a body. Flesh and bones. It once had a name, an identity, a mind in the form of a soul. Where did it go?
Where do souls go when they stop being souls? The soul is like a light that goes out when the owner dies. And in the end, flesh. And bone.