Sapphic Pondering

Prompt  #3: Adultery The 1500 th day They fall in love on a hot summer day. I met you in the dark You lit me up You made me feel as though I was enough When cheerful guitar permeates the air and fresh breeze caresses sweaty skin. When tangy booze burns their tongue and they toss their hair back and dance without a care. We dance the night away We drank too much When Jade’s green eyes meet with a pair of brown that twinkle in the bonfire’s light. When thin fingers grasp at their hands and soft touches trail hot and cold on their shoulders.  And they know they are screwed.   I knew I loved you then But you’d never know ‘cause I played it cool when I was scared of letting go It has been years ago, when Jade has been young and naïve. For the longest time, they have been happy with Andy. They have believed that good things will always last and that as long as there is love, a “happy-ever-after” is attainable....

Prompt  #2: “He's none of the things I expected, but I feel so right in his arms.” Loving him is red Pit. Pat…. The rain thrummed on the tree top, bouncing from green leaves to the ground and forming small puddles of muddy water. Splash. Splash. A foot stomped hard. Water splashed, wetting the already damp clothes.   “Where is she?” – A gruff, angry voice barked out, followed by a string of curses and tripping shuffles. Cris pressed herself against the cold stone cave, desperate to make her smaller. Her heart beat wildly, desperate to escape the prison of her chest as ragged, shallow breath puffed out of her mouth. Wet clothes clung to her emaciated form and her hair stuck to her neck and forehead. Fourteen days had passed in the arena. Cris closed her eyes, curled up in a tight ball on the cold cave and hid her face in her knees. The wind hollered outside the cave, and Cris’ thin arms hugged her body, too tired to even shiver. There were ...

Prompt #1: The Self “ Post-it notes, black sharpies and a wall full of lies ” Trudy closes the door with a small click. The daffodil papers flutter from their places on the wall. She slides down to the floor, hiding her face on her knees. Black, bold sharpies line the pale, smooth slips. She takes her first breath after eight long, torturous hours. They are words. Dozens, maybe hundreds of them.   Beautiful, encouraging words that people give to her. Trudy shucks off her coat, an elegant burgundy capelet coat that hugs her form and accentuates her slim body. She picks up the sharpie and starts to scribble. Nimble fingers caressing fragile paper.  “Glowing”. Her bare feet sink into the flush carpet and she let out a contented sign. Her stilettos lie forgotten on the wooden tiles.   Another word, another space on the wall. Another compliment from a fellow dancer. Another reminder of how she should be… Her hair tie c...