The light flooded every crevice of her, and it expanded into her until she looked like a balloon, ready to fly away. She let the morning sun wash away all memories from last night. Her mouth tasted like lead, and there was no drop of coffee in the house. Her body ached, and her hands were full of cuts, blood still dripping on her newly installed floors. His fingers, lying in all corners of the house, pointed at her madness.
I like the atmosphere it paints, very vivid, but am a bit lost on the last line, but then again that might be intentional to demonstrate the madness itself.
Reluctant streaks of greys gave a vague impression of morning as the two guards propelled Anne to the scaffold with as much dignity as they could, her body so efficiently racked not a joint or ligament still in place.
She held her head as best she was able, looked towards the watery rising sun, blessed the morning, forgave her enemies and prepared to meet her God with the name they had so desperately wanted still safe behind her faithful lips.
Miguel, I love the dog waking you to give you a reason to live. My poor old dog has started sleeping in later than me but I do still get kisses when he wakes :)
It's unfortunately not a dog for me, yet. We're thinking of getting one and I think it will add a beautiful new dimension to my otherwise pretty selfish life, that sometimes feel pointless haha.
Know you're not fishing for compliments but I do have to say you doing this prompts has made me write daily so that is a point to your life. Though as I put that it seems very selfish from my point of view. LOL!!!
Dogs are awesome and so full of unconditional love. A much better idea than children. Haha!!! [don't let my kids here that - haha!]
“The last time I was in this room,” Vivian said, running an elegant finger along the edge of a massive wardrobe that concealed Riley’s clothing, “it was 1968, and Harvey Milk was using it to plan campaign strategies.”
Riley, wrapped in morning light, gazed past the window. “And now?”
Vivian’s smile carried decades of secrets. “Now, it’s a refuge. Boundaries softened, like a flower field reclaiming stone.”
Riley’s fingers laced through hers. “Then let’s let it bloom.”
Dearest Miguel, Of course, I don’t mind! Are you kidding? It’s lovely to be included in your weekly newsletter. I mean, it’s not like I’m a spy or a fugitive or someone who’s committed a terrible crime and needs to stay under the radar—though, if I were, this would be a terrible way to keep a low profile.
Honestly, I don’t know a single person who doesn’t love a little recognition. Even the most self-effacing, “Oh no, I couldn’t possibly take credit” types secretly light up when their name gets mentioned in a room or a post. So, thank you! It’s a thrill, an honor, and a much-needed reminder that I exist in the world outside of my own coffee-stained, word-covered desk.
Her hand clenched the curling iron though she'd hardly opened her eyes. The outfit laid out the previous night, the one she'd picked out first, then returned to after six change-outs. This morning she was going to talk to him. This morning there would be no excuses. This morning she'd say hello. This morning she would not put it off until tomorrow. She threw open the curtain and saw white piling up outside. This morning....would be a snow day.
Several hours before sunrise, my favourite time of day. I love the stillness. Silence. Isolation.
If I close my eyes and focus, I imagine I can almost feel the Earth turning.
Quietly closing the front door, holding my breath. The single streetlight illuminates the suspended mist, and contracted cold air kisses my eyes as they adjust to the dark.
I step lightly, but with purpose, finding my rhythm, each block affirming my resolve. My promise, my determination, all that matters.
The birds awaken first, singing songs of the morning as if calling to the sun. Leaves on trees begin to unfold to capture the early rays. Dawn breaks in pink and orange across the eastern sky. If there are clouds, the colors magnify, reflecting and refracting magically. It's possible to watch the sliver of golden orb emerge over the horizon in microscopic increments until the whole releases from earth's edge in its journey around the world.
They had made the icy river crossing, against all odds. Thomas Knox was fifteen this Christmas night, a snowy nor’easter howled and whipped. His musket, taller than he. His father’s sword hangs just off the ground. They marched through the night, headed for the Hessians in Trenton.
They waited, hunkered down. The sky lightened. Their morning attack, imminent. He shook, not from the cold. He’d never felt such fear. With the sound of German shouts though, he rose to charge.
It was dark. The night air smelled of damp, earthy moss. The sound of ruffled leaves and cracking branches broke the silence. My companion, Ruby, a three-year-old Shepard mix rescued from the shelter, disrupted the silence. We have been companions for three months now. I was lost after my wife died. There is no other way to see it—Ruby saved my life. Finally, we reached the clearing and watched. We walk this path and watch the sunrise every morning.
I've gone for both a story and an accompanying song this time. Both relevant for the wonderful prompt!
Morning
There is a rail crossing near where I grew up and you could bet your mortgage on those damn barriers coming down when you were in a rush. Like this specific Friday.
Dad was driving. My internship was in its second week and our joint commute was now routine.
“Damn barriers,” I muttered.
Dad turned the volume up, helicopter swoosh deafening and guitar riff piercing.
“Could be worse!” Dad shouted. “Great song!”
Thus began our Friday morning tradition for the summer.
This morning, on my usual walk down to the shore, I heard a seal barking—not something I hear often. They usually like to find a rockier part of the beach. I picked up the pace, hoping to see what all the fuss was about. My little dog was faithfully jogging alongside me. What I found was unexpected. At first, I saw its body. When I got closer, four bald eagles popped their heads up. It seems they were enjoying breakfast.
PROMPT: MORNING
THE MONSTER
The monster was right in front of us.
Ready to breathe fire on anyone who approached.
But one of us would have to.
Someone had to ensure the beast was slain, for the sake of everyone else.
So I stepped forward.
Cautiously at first, not wanting to anger it further.
Soon, I was close enough to use what was in my hand.
A morning coffee.
Which I quickly placed on his desk.
And after a few sips, the monster vanished… ☕😎☕
Here's mine:
The light flooded every crevice of her, and it expanded into her until she looked like a balloon, ready to fly away. She let the morning sun wash away all memories from last night. Her mouth tasted like lead, and there was no drop of coffee in the house. Her body ached, and her hands were full of cuts, blood still dripping on her newly installed floors. His fingers, lying in all corners of the house, pointed at her madness.
That is... an interesting story
Haha, I hope it’s a good thing 😬
I like the atmosphere it paints, very vivid, but am a bit lost on the last line, but then again that might be intentional to demonstrate the madness itself.
Yea, I wrote more and then I realized I had to fit things into 80 words! Never an easy job
Microdosing Fiction - 80mg of a Morning
===
‘Good afternoon.’
The silver-haired man greeted her from the bench in the park.
She was jogging, but she paused and looked at him.
He was wearing a sweater and pyjamas, bare-footed, and holding a glass of water.
Across the street, someone rushed out of the nursing home, walking towards them.
He raised his glass to greet the approaching nurse.
‘Jim, we’ve been looking for you.’
‘What time is it?’
‘Six.’
‘Oh,’ he looked at the sun, ‘I woke up early.’
Ok it's a historical one today. Because I get these at 5pm I often sleep on them and this is what popped up during my dreams!!!
=========================================================
Anne Askew - 16th July 1546
Reluctant streaks of greys gave a vague impression of morning as the two guards propelled Anne to the scaffold with as much dignity as they could, her body so efficiently racked not a joint or ligament still in place.
She held her head as best she was able, looked towards the watery rising sun, blessed the morning, forgave her enemies and prepared to meet her God with the name they had so desperately wanted still safe behind her faithful lips.
Miguel, I love the dog waking you to give you a reason to live. My poor old dog has started sleeping in later than me but I do still get kisses when he wakes :)
It's unfortunately not a dog for me, yet. We're thinking of getting one and I think it will add a beautiful new dimension to my otherwise pretty selfish life, that sometimes feel pointless haha.
Know you're not fishing for compliments but I do have to say you doing this prompts has made me write daily so that is a point to your life. Though as I put that it seems very selfish from my point of view. LOL!!!
Dogs are awesome and so full of unconditional love. A much better idea than children. Haha!!! [don't let my kids here that - haha!]
He convinces a lot of us write every day. 😊
And kids and dogs go together like peanut butter and jelly... though, yes, the dogs tend to be better behaved, at least in my family. 🤣
Prompts: Morning, Boundaries, Flower Field
…
“The last time I was in this room,” Vivian said, running an elegant finger along the edge of a massive wardrobe that concealed Riley’s clothing, “it was 1968, and Harvey Milk was using it to plan campaign strategies.”
Riley, wrapped in morning light, gazed past the window. “And now?”
Vivian’s smile carried decades of secrets. “Now, it’s a refuge. Boundaries softened, like a flower field reclaiming stone.”
Riley’s fingers laced through hers. “Then let’s let it bloom.”
Great to see you back! Linking the Prompts together like this is a lovely idea... 😎
Thanks, Chris. ❤️
Love the "wardrobe concealing Riley's clothing" The rest is great too but that's my fave phrase
Love it. Chaining the prompts is such a great way of joining in. I'll write about you and this approach in the next Batch, if you don't mind :)
Dearest Miguel, Of course, I don’t mind! Are you kidding? It’s lovely to be included in your weekly newsletter. I mean, it’s not like I’m a spy or a fugitive or someone who’s committed a terrible crime and needs to stay under the radar—though, if I were, this would be a terrible way to keep a low profile.
Honestly, I don’t know a single person who doesn’t love a little recognition. Even the most self-effacing, “Oh no, I couldn’t possibly take credit” types secretly light up when their name gets mentioned in a room or a post. So, thank you! It’s a thrill, an honor, and a much-needed reminder that I exist in the world outside of my own coffee-stained, word-covered desk.
Warmly (and without any criminal intent), G
Her hand clenched the curling iron though she'd hardly opened her eyes. The outfit laid out the previous night, the one she'd picked out first, then returned to after six change-outs. This morning she was going to talk to him. This morning there would be no excuses. This morning she'd say hello. This morning she would not put it off until tomorrow. She threw open the curtain and saw white piling up outside. This morning....would be a snow day.
Several hours before sunrise, my favourite time of day. I love the stillness. Silence. Isolation.
If I close my eyes and focus, I imagine I can almost feel the Earth turning.
Quietly closing the front door, holding my breath. The single streetlight illuminates the suspended mist, and contracted cold air kisses my eyes as they adjust to the dark.
I step lightly, but with purpose, finding my rhythm, each block affirming my resolve. My promise, my determination, all that matters.
The birds awaken first, singing songs of the morning as if calling to the sun. Leaves on trees begin to unfold to capture the early rays. Dawn breaks in pink and orange across the eastern sky. If there are clouds, the colors magnify, reflecting and refracting magically. It's possible to watch the sliver of golden orb emerge over the horizon in microscopic increments until the whole releases from earth's edge in its journey around the world.
Or so they say.
Morning / 80 Words
They had made the icy river crossing, against all odds. Thomas Knox was fifteen this Christmas night, a snowy nor’easter howled and whipped. His musket, taller than he. His father’s sword hangs just off the ground. They marched through the night, headed for the Hessians in Trenton.
They waited, hunkered down. The sky lightened. Their morning attack, imminent. He shook, not from the cold. He’d never felt such fear. With the sound of German shouts though, he rose to charge.
Starbucks Grande Iced Americano, three pumps caramel, two pumps toffee nut, oat milk, mocha drizzle.
Check.
Bra strap partially exposed so he knows she wants more “lunch meetings.”
Check.
FedEx envelope, check, and signed agreement shredded, email sent, “We never received it.”
Check.
Some loser two hundred miles away received a court judgment so her boss could make partner.
Check.
It was dark. The night air smelled of damp, earthy moss. The sound of ruffled leaves and cracking branches broke the silence. My companion, Ruby, a three-year-old Shepard mix rescued from the shelter, disrupted the silence. We have been companions for three months now. I was lost after my wife died. There is no other way to see it—Ruby saved my life. Finally, we reached the clearing and watched. We walk this path and watch the sunrise every morning.
80mg of a Morning
The sky blushed as the first light touched the canyon walls.
Somewhere, another morning faded, but here—now—renewal began.
I stretched, the weight of yesterday loosening its grip.
The air smelled of earth warmed by possibility.
Morning wasn’t just time; it was motion.
A quiet unfolding.
A breath between what was and what could be.
The sun crested the horizon.
My shadow stretched long behind me.
Ahead, the path shimmered. Another step. Another morning. Always arriving.
So poetic! "... the weight of yesterday loosened its grip." ... Always arriving.
Very nice.
Thank You Joel, I am not truly used to being complimented for my writing. So thank you.
I honestly detect a lot of non-fiction in this piece!! hahaha
😂
I've gone for both a story and an accompanying song this time. Both relevant for the wonderful prompt!
Morning
There is a rail crossing near where I grew up and you could bet your mortgage on those damn barriers coming down when you were in a rush. Like this specific Friday.
Dad was driving. My internship was in its second week and our joint commute was now routine.
“Damn barriers,” I muttered.
Dad turned the volume up, helicopter swoosh deafening and guitar riff piercing.
“Could be worse!” Dad shouted. “Great song!”
Thus began our Friday morning tradition for the summer.
https://open.spotify.com/track/3MT6rJBU7VUAPWtQsowIQv?si=qOoJBEomT2iW9KqOXX2GOw
This morning, on my usual walk down to the shore, I heard a seal barking—not something I hear often. They usually like to find a rockier part of the beach. I picked up the pace, hoping to see what all the fuss was about. My little dog was faithfully jogging alongside me. What I found was unexpected. At first, I saw its body. When I got closer, four bald eagles popped their heads up. It seems they were enjoying breakfast.