A Stella(r)Story

Credit: www.astrologyforearthrenewal.com

Stella knew for certain that she would never really miss Mick; only the idea of him. She was relieved when his piss stopped showing up on the toilet. He was once a stunner of a man in that rough around the edges sort of way. Compact and short, his presence loomed large whenever he entered a room. She liked his vehement attention at first; his passion for her was electric. Stella was stunned by his voracious appetites and his seemingly unending attention.

Stella wasn’t what you’d call a classic beauty. Kinky ashen curls decorated her cupid-like visage. Petite, with hips that swayed enough to turn heads and breasts that Mick compared to buttercups. He’d come home from work at the pit, shine himself up and lose himself inside her.

The ride was high for years.Two bountiful boys kept them on their toes and further fueled their passion for each other. And like a fast speeding car that encounters one hairpin turn too many, their affair flamed out. Mick’s craving for cards and the accompanying vices soon got the best of him and them.

The arguments and the silences that followed only got more fierce. Money got tight and then nearly nonexistent. He lost himself in the drink now; his once alluring bearing shrunken. He lurked where he once pranced. And then he seemed to just disappear.

Stella rose up. She wasn’t one to snivel nor shrink from a tough situation. Working the lunch crowd gave her a boost; her tips paid the rent and the hard work fueled her rather than leave her wasted. Months went by. The boys grew strong and steady under the tough but loving gaze of their mother. They would not mess around.Their fear of her disappointment outweighing any possible consequences brought by teenage temptations.

She had grown into her own woman. Stella-Bella all the men called her. Each one desperate in their desire for her. But she would have none of it. “Been there. Done that,” she said. Stella was sure that real love would knock on her door eventually.

And in a sheet of downpour on a windy April afternoon, he did. Soaked and battered and need of something warm, Jack slipped out of his drenched jacket and into her life.

A New Voyage

Source: We Heart It


Late summer. You’re wandering, lost in the woods. You come across a gypsy wagon, and you call out…”hello?”


A stilted stillness settled in the air

 The ground gave way

Moist, muddy and mucky

Her skin soaked and sweaty

Awash with the effort of escape

Her breath languid

Near to heaving in its heaviness

Limbs listless

Flagging with effort and exhaustion

Her mind dank with dread

Heart shredded and asunder

Soul decimated and desolate

Cloaked in wretchedness and woe

Path unclear

Shrouded in shadows

A  dank darkness closing in

as she stumbles in the thicket of stones and naked roots

Sleep washes over her

A comforting wave of release and rejuvenation

Rays of yellow drench her awaking

A sense of rebirth and  renewal surrounds her

A vivication

Her eyes enlighten upon a vessel of vindication

A deliverance from doom

Seizing the moment, she cries out:

“Have you come for me?”



#FWF Free Write Friday: Time & Place Scenario


fwf kellie elmore badge







Another great one from divine Kellie Elmore!






The Mighty Fall

Øyvind Gregersen

Øyvind Gregersen


The mighty warrior of freedom had grown weary

Her values trampled upon

Pieces of her principles pulled away

Her mirror image tarnished by corporate forces

Waving their claim as ‘people too’

as an excuse to influence the laws of the land

Rights to vote

Rights to assemble

Rights to privacy

Rights of access narrowed

under the guise of false frauds, false gods and false enemies

Created through the soft wars on color, orientation and women and the poor

 Leaving us all with the question: What does freedom mean to you?



Ms. Kellie Elmore gave us quite the provocative image prompt this week:

Use the image at the following link as your inspiration. I can’t wait to read the responses to this one! http://1x.com/photo/45546/

Well, I never like to get too opinionated about issues given that we lack a civil discourse these days. I am a woman of strong convictions based on my life experiences.  Five decades worth certainly means something! But my beliefs are mine and I do not expect to share the same ones or to convince others that I am right.  Actually, the image reminded me of  a book I once read that has stayed with me for a long time. Margaret Atwood’s  “The Handmaid’s Tale” was written in 1985 and I read it shortly after it was published.  (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Handmaid%27s_Tale). I highly recommend it.

The Scout

Credit: Tumblr

Credit: Tumblr

Peck. Peck. Peck. Poke. Poke. Poke.  She could hardly move. The midday heat was burning her up. Lola had fallen asleep in a cornfield the night before. The cool air had lulled her into a deep sleep and she missed the sunrise.The chance to get a head start. Her two day journey to freedom was testing her endurance. Lola needed to get information to the Renewal Party about the enemy. And here she lay-prone-arms out, palms up in an offering. Peck. Peck. Peck. Poke. Poke. Poke. She opened one eye and then the other. The sun was blinding, making it difficult to see what the annoyance was. Something was tapping at both her hands. Lola tried to lift her head a bit. Even opening her mouth was impossible; it was dried shut. She began to wiggle her fingers and toes. Peck. Peck. Peck. Poke. Poke. Poke. It was getting worse. Her ears perked up at the sound of a swoosh landing at the left side of her body. Another swoosh on the right. Then the sound and pain of flesh being torn from her skin. Lola tried to scream but all that emerged was a raspy whisper in her throat. Rip. Peck. Poke. She rolled over into a fetal position still unsure as to the source of her pain and anguish. She rose on all fours and began to crawl out of the field. In her blurred vision she could see a forested patch. Then SWOOSH, SWOOSH once more. Turkey vultures! More were coming in for the kill. Except she wasn’t dead. Yet. They were poking and tearing at her back as she was slowly crawling out of the maze. Gaining strength, she began to lift herself into a crouch. And just when Lola was nearly back on two feet, she felt the icy end of the rifle in the center of her forehead. “Git yourself all the way up, woman. You ain’t goin nowhere.”

Once again, our dear Ms. Kellie Elmore presents us with a challenging and imaginative prompt for this week!

#FWF Free Write Friday: Time & Place Scenario

by Kellie Elmore

It’s high noon. Sun blazing. You awake in a field and birds are pecking
your skin… GO!