Take the long way home...

There's a lie in each good bye. We say it without knowing Credit: NASA in good faith we part ways thinking  it's forever, it's over, it's gone. But we are made of stars. Those molecules and atoms, those streams of photons bouncing and protons and the rest will keep on bouncing combining, dividing coalescing and parting. Again. So it's a lie us saying goodbye, no need to cry. The carbon bound in my lower lip will meet the oxygen in that tear you try to hide. A kid will burp the fizzy water and laugh,  widen their eyes. And there we'll be.  Again. The universe has its times.

 "Ronnie is a dick. I mean, he's really an ass, I mean a donkey, you know, the poor relative of the noble horse. He's a jackass in more than one way. He told me he wasn't going to carry carrots to the town market, because carrying carrots was cacophonic. As if his braying could be taken as a melodious show of vocal harmony. He also told me Herman the bull was holding a grudge because of the established practices in our farm, and he was plotting something ominous. I laughed at that: Herman liked our time together in the barn. I had proof. So on I went, to grab the bull by the horns, as they say in my language, and see what was the problem. After searching around as if he was a needle and not a fucking huge black bull, there I found him, all alone in his enclosure, ruminating on grass and - so Ronnie swore - grudges. - Hi there. Herr! - Don't. I'm ruminating. - He turned his butt towards me. You see, I've been talking with our animals since I was a child and ...

They were sitting on a bench facing the wide river. The cloudy sky reflected on the waters, giving them a silver shine in spots where the current formed ripples and waves. The trees behind them were just starting to put out timid buds after an unusually cold winter. Cars were rushing down the street towards the bridge, the sounds of roaring engines and shrieking brakes resonating in turn from around the traffic light. Some brave, solitary runners would pass on the jogging path right in front of them, huffing and puffing with earbuds blasting music to help them keep the pace, and they could hear the base line get higher in pitch as they got closer, matching the thumps of their feet on the soft pavement, and then deeper and fainter as they went on along the path towards the tip of the island. – Doppler effect. - said Sarah, after a young man had crossed their field of view in his bright, orange tracksuit. – It applies to light too. - said Steve, raising his head to look at the clouds. Th...

  Prompt: a line from a song. I got "We all live in a yellow submarine" How this line was conceived John and Paul were on the top of the world, Their world, at least. They had trained for months, prepared meticulously, and after more than one moment fearing they were going to be forced to give up, they had made it. Top of the world. Top of the whole solar system really. Olympus Mons was the King of mountains, and more experts had been defeated by it than could pride themselves to have contemplated the red horizon, dotted with lit up domes, from the 25,000 meters of its peak.  John pulled out the inflatable habitat to spend the night, its bright yellow exterior in stark contrast with the iron oxide that made up the bulk of the regolith, and that had laid down in a thick layer everywhere, even up here. They got in, turned on the portable MOXIE and the main controller, waited for the pressure to stabilize and removed their suits. Comms were bad at the moment, probably another so...

  Today I met myself. It was the strangest feeling of sudden recognition and understanding. Of course, it wasn't me. Just a girl going to my son's school whom I had never met before. She came to me as we got outside the metro station and asked me "What's your name?" in English. I told her, and I introduced my son, but apparently she already knew him. She had longish hair held back in a low ponytail. That way it doesn't pull and doesn't give you a headache - I know - and it stays out of the way. She was wearing a pair of hiking boots, my faithful companions through teenage years whenever I had a chance to have a pair to consume in endless walks, when I was finally old enough to ditch their awful Scottish skirts and white socks, and the prickly sweaters, to chose what I wanted, not them. And loose jeans, the ones that don't wrap on your skin like a wet shower curtain. And of course, she had a hoodie. Wouldn't be me without a hoodie. She showed me how...

Be my tribe, be my people, be my safety port Be my crowd, be my crew, be the place I belong. Give me shelter and warmth, make me be part of us make me rest, make me welcome, make me drop down this mask. For every step I take is riddled with doubt Was it right, was it wrong, too little, too much Was I being too blunt, was I being unclear, Did I get them offended, disgusted, in fear? Be my tribe, be my crew, help me put down this mask Let me rest among peers: never an easy task

I woke up to the sun shining hot on my face. I couldn't get my eyes to open, and my head was pounding as if a whole sound system had taken my skull hostage of its deep baseline. It took me a bit longer than usual to remember who I was. Who I was supposed to be. When I felt like I had it, I decided to open my left eye. The green canopy of a well trimmed tree appeared to quiver against the blue sky. I opened the right eye and the field of view widened to enclose a slice of a beach umbrella. The sounds around me suggested I wasn't at the seaside. Rather than the sloshing of waves in the low tide, I could hear a buzzing and some occasional splash. Birds chirping, too, and maybe a lawn mower in the distance. I sat up and saw I was on a tanning bed in front of a strangely shaped swimming pool. The buzzing noise was produced by one of those cleaning machines constantly at work to scrape the gunk off the pool tiles. And right in the center of the pool, opened and floating upside down, ...

Theme: a conflict between two character. Reason: one of them has a candle under her desk and it is a risk for the rest of the workers. Sentences that could be used to address the conflict: - I was waiting for you last evening after work... **** First prompt: Put the characters in their environment, setting the stage for the conflict to erupt The truth is, nobody liked her. And that evening, after work, the younger woman in charge of the desk next to hers decided she'd had enough. Stealing others' food (although nobody had real proof, just converging suspicions) was one thing. Casually dropping containers from the Indian takeaway in the paper bin, for them to sit there for days and educate everyone in the wide open-space office about the subtle modifications occurring in butter chicken sauce as the various ingredients change their molecular structure, was one thing. Coming to work without the decency of a shower, with a musky aura getting brighter and wider from Monday through F...

  It was a strange session, where we all brought objects and prompts as a source of mutual inspiration. To make it even more interesting, we got a prompt from a different person for each of the three parts. *** [Prompt: I listened to some music that reminded me of rain, hence the title] Their last meeting was under a heavy rain. The subway was clanking on its rails above them, water dripping down the metal beams. There had been better meeting places and moments throughout the long time they had known each other.  - So you're going back? - I am. Tomorrow. - Are you really, absolutely sure? - As sure as one can be. I know what I have to do, and I will take pride in doing it. The rain was pattering and splashing, spraying from under the cars, bouncing off the leaves of the few trees and bushes tasked with oxygenating that corner of the big city. The rain was singing as they hugged, a strong, long hug on each other's shoulders, no grabbing by the waist for them. The rain was singi...

– Oh, it's been so long since I last saw him – said the grandma with a sudden blush, and turned to stare at the flames in the fireplace. The evening was still young, but in the middle of winter, night embraced the world well before dinner time. The soup was simmering and spreading its hearty aroma around the room. Claire asked her:  – Please, granny, tell me, how was he? – He was charming, my dear. A real prince with no castle or crown. He had eyes as deep as the deepest wells, but they would light up like stars when an inspiration struck him. – Was he handsome? – Yes, I guess you may say so. I never really considered that aspect. – Oh, c'mon… – Ok! Ok! Yes, to my eyes he was the most handsome in the world. – But what about grandpa then? – No, grandpa came much later. I wouldn't have noticed him, like you don't notice a fluffy dust bunny in a corner until you get very close and look right at it. – Tell me about the pendant! Adèle, Claire's grandmother, stood up with...