The Daily Post

#SoCS – Panic

I wanted to go. I was ready to go, to cut the cord between me and my family. Scholarship in hand, I stood with my mom, dad, and baby sister in the cool autumn breeze at the bus station. It was going to be my first time away from them apart from the occasional sleep-over at my best friend, Sharon’s house. At least I had Sharon. She was already on the bus. She knew to give us some space to say good-bye.

I hugged them each in turn and pasted a happy smile on my face. Dad might have bought it, but my mom and sis weren’t fooled. I could tell by their own fake happy faces.

It wasn’t until the bus started moving that the panic began. What if I never saw them again? What if I wasn’t happy at college, if I hated my professors, my courses… my life? I started to cry, but then Sharon put her hand over mine on the glass.

“It’ll be okay,” she assured me. “Just like when we were having sleep-overs.”

She smiled a real smile and I relaxed. Only then did another thought occur to me.

“What if we’re not in the same dorm room? Or the same dorm even? How will I survive without you?”

“I hadn’t thought of that,” she whispered.

We both cried all the rest of the hundred miles to college.

socsbadge2016-17

This horribly bleak Stream of Consciousness Saturday post (which is totally unedited) was brought to you by the prompt here: https://lindaghill.com/2016/09/23/the-friday-reminder-and-prompt-for-socs-sept-2416/
and The Daily Post prompt here: Panic

Jump

Yours are the hands, mine are the feet.

You extend your arms for an embrace and I walk into them.

You paint a pretty picture and I tap dance around my praise.

You throw a ball of kindness and I run to catch it.

You snap your fingers, I jump.

You screw it on tighter, I chase down whoever can lift the lid.

You grab, I fetch.

You clutch, I scram.

Yours were always than hands that took, mine were the feet worn down to stubs in your service.

Stylish

“What, in the hell, are you wearing?”

Ginny looked down at herself and back up to her BFF, Miffy. “I know. My mom made me put it on for picture day. She thinks it’s ‘stylish’. Can you believe it?”

“We HAVE to get you out of that… thing. What is it anyway? Overalls with a skirt? Your gym clothes would be better.”

“It’s a ‘pinafore.'”

“UGH!”

“I know! She did give me this to put on over it, if I really wanted to.”

“What is THAT?”

“A cardigan.”

“Oh. My. God. Ginny. You’ve got to go home and change.”

“I can’t. My mom will kill me?”

“How would she know?”

“I don’t know. But she will. I just know it.”

Hike, Part 2 – Silence

Read part 1 here first.

George sat on his rock well past twilight and into night time, but Rod Serling didn’t show up, despite what his brother, Rob, had said. The silence was heavy, the lack of insect voices or small animals shuffling about in the underbrush was unnerving. George felt like he was the only person left on earth. Perhaps he was.

He got off his rock and sat on the ground with it at his back. Eventually he dozed off. By the time he awoke, to a tapping on his shoulder, his neck ached, his rear-end was numb, and the sky had turned a deep indigo.

“George!” said a voice. George opened his eyes and saw it was Rob.

“What are you doing back? And why didn’t your brother show up?”

Rob shrugged. “Maybe because he’s dead?”

“As good an excuse as any, I guess. Hey, do you know the way back to town? I think I’m a bit lost.”

“Why didn’t you ask last night? I just came from there. Not planning to go back.” Rob looked up. “Oh hey, there’s Rod now.”

Rod Serling, or the ghost of Rod Serling, crawled out from behind the rock and sat beside George.

“George,” Rod said, “have you ever considered that bump on your head from yesterday might have made it unwise to go to sleep?”

“I’m beginning to think so,” answered George. “Am I dead?”

Rob spoke up, “Is this the new show, Rod?”

“Rob, it’s what we call, the Dawning Zone.”

Hike

A two-hour hike had turned into a six-hour-long ordeal. George sat on a rock and thought about where it had gone wrong. Was it possible that the bump on the head from not ducking low enough under the fallen tree made him miss the signpost? The markers along the trail were bright red. Then again, now that he looked around, everything seemed black and white, like he’d stepped into an old television show.

“You have,” said a voice from behind him.

“Rod? Rod Serling?” George asked the stranger.

“No, I’m Rob. Rod was my brother.”

“So, I’m not in the Twilight Zone?”

“Technically, no. This is just the sunset zone. Rod will be along in a minute.”

“Isn’t he dead?”

“Well, yeah. Technically.” Rob stepped closer and ran his hair over George’s scalp. “You really should have that looked at.”

“You’re telling me,” said George with a small laugh.

“Okay, gotta go. Say hi to Rod for me.” With that, Rob ran away down the trail that George had walked up.

To be continued

#SoCS – Together

I think the wind blew us together, one stormy night. How else would you explain the randomness of our meeting? I, alone at the bus stop and you, pulling up in your car to give me a ride. You told me I’d missed the last bus. And it was raining so hard. When we got to my house you offered me your umbrella. You came back to get it the next day. And then, we kissed. It was the best kiss I’d ever had.

We were meant to be together, you and I. But for a fair night, it would never have been.

socsbadge2016-17

This post is part of Stream of Consciousness Saturday. You can find the prompt here. Check it out and join in the fun!

Fragile, Haiku

Fragile as I seem
Only one thing can break me
It is your leaving

Slog – a Poem

To usher the day in,
a coffee, made with love,
a kiss goodbye,
and I’m off.

Though my hours are long
and my patience sometimes short,

I come home each evening,
a dinner, made with love,
a kiss goodnight,
and that’s us, day out.

***
Slog is the word of the day at The Daily Post.

Pler-plerpex … perpul…

“So, I gotta… I gotta say. I’m juss not happy.”

“Want another beer?”

“Ssurrre. Thanks, Buddy.”

“No prob.”

“Hic!”

“So you’re sayin’ you’re not happy. I can understann.”

“You can? ‘Coz I can’t. I don’ know how she coulda done it. How could she mess ’round on me?”

“I dunno, Bud. I mean look at ya. You’re a good-lookin’ guy.”

“I know, righ’? I’m juss plerpex… plerplex… plerplexed.”

“I think you mean perpulx…pexed. Perpexed.”

“Perpexed? Nah, it’s plerplexed.”

“Whatever.”

“Yeah, I’m convused.”

***

The word of the day at The Daily Post is pler… plerpex… perplexed.

Radical Thinking

What if gravity pulled us to the poles and the equator. The cold people and the hot people, throwing harpoons to pull ourselves to warmer climates, building ladders to hoist ourselves over the planet, where we could meet others unlike us. The tanned and the pale. Would we exchange harpoon designs and ladder architecture, or hold our secrets close to our hearts.

There where the weather is temperate, maybe we could be too.

***
Radical is the word of the day on The Daily Post.