Isolate, #RDP #flashfiction

(c)2020 by Pamela Schloesser Canepa

It’s easy in times like this

not to trust,

to let fear take over.  

You think, if you isolate, what you fear can’t win.  That, if you isolate, you are starving the fear, shutting off from what you fear.

Let  me tell you about this little monster.  It grows in cold, dark, lonely places void of light, within people who fear the warmth, who assume the worst of others.  It grows; it takes over the very person trying to starve it.  For, one who assumes the worst, needs to give oneself a chance to be proven wrong.  If you are never proven wrong, then why would you change your beliefs?

Isolating is great, when it occurs to get things done, to get down to business and feed your own thoughts.  When one isolates to avoid, that monster grows ever stronger and IT feeds off your own thoughts.  I know.  You see it growing all over me, don’t you?

Two young men had stopped but walked off as the old women opened her coat and removed it to reveal her arms covered in dirt and a green growth all over her arms.  She had lost her audience; they were disgusted and maybe even afraid.  

A little child peeked out at her from behind his mother’s leg where he’d been hiding.

I see you!  Don’t be afraid!  Don’t let it take over you, don’t do what I did.  You still have time!  Be brave, little one!

He didn’t turn away; he knew she was not the monster but simply had been overcome. Still, he stayed close to his mother.

Quickly, his mother whisked him away, and the old woman smiled, once again putting on her coat.  Her audience was gone, but she had reached one impressionable soul, and this was good.  For, she knew paranoia would again sweep the land, and likely very soon.

(Written in response to the Ragtag Daily Prompt word: Isolate.  Quite timely, yeah?  Visit them at https://ragtagcommunity.wordpress.com/2020/03/13/rdp-friday-isolate/ )

 

 

There was a Frost on the Ground. #fiction #FOWC

selective focus photography of tree leaves
Photo by Egor Kamelev on Pexels.com

Why is my life such complete, utter crap?  Jackie pondered.

Santa would be coming soon for many boys and girls in the neighborhood.  Santa did not like coming to Jackie’s house when she was younger, because all that was left for him was an empty bottle of bourbon and cookie crumbs.  She had tried to tell her teacher that in second grade, much to her later regret.  A stay at Aunt Charlene’s house for two weeks was the result.  Even Charlene tired of that situation.

Dad lay on the floor by the couch, already passed out.  Mom was out with her new boyfriend.  How Mom and Dad could be separated and still under the same roof was beyond seventeen-year-old Jackie.  She wasn’t sure when Mom would be home.

Would he wake up and vomit? Jackie wondered.  Will Mom be home when he does?    Footsteps and cheerful voices approached outside the door.

“Hallo!”  Jackie’s mom walked in with a man in tow.  “I thought you should meet Tex. Oh,” she stopped short, as if surprised Jackie’s dad was on the floor.  He obviously had started early, which was not unusual.

Please, don’t wake up Dad, Jackie thought.  “You all should leave.  I mean, it’s nice to meet you and all, um, Tex.  But I don’t want him to wake up.”

“Nonsense.  This is my house too,”  Mom claimed.   With that, she sat down on the couch, and Tex on the chair closest by.

“Okay.  Suit yourselves.  Merry Christmas.”  Jackie headed for the door, grabbing her coat.

“Play cards with us?”  Tex called.

Jackie shook her head.  “I’m headed for Marissa’s house.”

Outside, there was a frost on the ground.  The first frost always held hope for Jackie.  Weather change meant to her that other things would change too.  She felt in her pocket for a twenty dollar bill and her toothbrush.  Tonight, at Marissa’s house.  And one day, she would leave for good.  I create my own reality, she chanted mentally, feet crunching on the frosty grass as she made her way.

*Posted for Fandango One Word Challenge, found at  https://fivedotoh.com/2019/12/25/fowc-with-fandango-frost/    12/25.

 

Punch. #RDP #flashfiction

Flash fiction response by Pamela Schloesser Canepa, (c) 2019

“Wree, I feel like we are going to be a great success! Thanks for your guidance. I’ve got no idea what your secret is, but this seems to be working.”

“Of course it is, Chap. I know what I’m doing. Could you just, tame your excitement a little though. They can sense it from a mile away. We need to be confident, smooth.” Wree stood and straightened his imaginary tie. Of course, he looked good.

“I’m just not believing it all yet. We’ll be heralded by all, we’ll be famous.” Chap beamed. “I keep thinking we’ll be found out, though, for what we really are.” The smile faded, and anxiety crept over his face. “I mean, I see you and your reptilian nature,” he whispered. “Why don’t they? Why don’t they see my tentacles and fangs?”

“Stop it, Chap. Don’t worry; they’ll never see it. They drank the punch a long time ago. We look like winners to them. We look like money, and it blinds them. Sit tight, because this is the millenia in which we will conquer.” He stood proud again and smiled at an approaching female at the perfect age for carrying and producing an interplanetary specimen. “Hello,” he said with a wink.

****The RDP prompt is shared daily at the Ragtag Community site. You may find today’s prompt at https://ragtagcommunity.wordpress.com/2019/11/09/rdp-saturday-punch/ What would you make out of today’s prompt? Thanks for stopping by! Please leave a comment and tell me where you are from, what planet, galaxy, etc. 🙂

greyscale photo of man
Photo by Collis on Pexels.com

Into the Deep..#RDP #flashfiction

“Onward,” Filliburt commanded. “We’ll find their hideout soon enough!” Deeper into the cave they went.

“Hark!” Rexi called, then turned to Filliburt.

“I believe I hear the gentle cry of a banshee,” he whispered.

“Banshees don’t gently cry, that they don’t!” Patterson scolded in his English brogue.

“What do you know , Patterson! You’ve just never met a vulnerable banshee!”

“Cut!” Marson choked through a laugh. Where did these role-players come from? The studio must have been pretty desperate this time around. If he if he had to listen to one more argument about fictionary beings…he just might lose it.

*** Posted in response to the word of the day at http://ragtagcommunity.wordpress.com

Jumble. #RDP

Her closet was chaos spilling forward.

I opened the door and it was like a jack-in-the-box junped out at me.

“You don’t understand, ” she said. “We’ve all got something. These things mean so much to me.

Only, when she’d look for a particular pair, she could only find one shoe or couldn’t find the pair at all. I refused to help.

When she was jailed, two years later, a year after I got fed up and left, it was based on evidence found at the bottom of that closet. No wonder she’d kept it a jumble for so long.

Did she forget what she had buried under that heap?

She hid those skeletons well, just for a while.

Visit http://ragtagcommunity.wordpress.com and learn more about the Ragtag Daily Prompt. View some more entries or even join the fun!

Psychedelic. #RDP

Photo via Free Photo Library.

Poem (C) Pamela Schloesser Canepa, 2019

The sky covers me

With a psychedelic blanket

To cover my eyes

And warm me.

To soften the edges

Of today’s worries.

Colorful and soft,

Just like the old blanket

Grandma once made.

Grandma, with the long hair

And constant incense smell,

The tickles and hugs,

The outdoor lunches,

Afternoons with goats and dogs.

Grandma, an explosion of love

And acceptance,

A psychedelic canvas, blanket, shirt, or sky. Colors that smile.

Love.

*Visit http://ragtagcommunity.wordpress.com for more entries, and follow to receive the daily prompt.

“Well, Eventually….” An Alien Observes.

 

aerial shot of buildings
Photo by Benjamin Suter on Pexels.com

(c) 2019 by Pamela Schloesser Canepa

In the 1970s, the FBI learned to categorize deviant behaviours and coined the term “serial killer.”  It is part of human history, detailed beautifully in the Netflix series, Mindhunter. 

Who knew that eventually, hateful behaviors and hate crimes against others would be encouraged, that humans would willingly destroy other humans.  Why am I even here?  Oh, I am here to categorize and understand their behaviors.  It is a disturbing job.

Sometimes, it seems they will destroy themselves.  Understanding their motives seems pointless.  Sure, greed is one of the hugest motives I’ve observed, but others just don’t make any sense: the desire for the perfect cheeseburger,  the most beautiful house….Wait, those fit under hunger and, um, pride.  No, not just hunger, but, the word is addiction.  They aren’t just feeding hunger, but rather, they are seeking certain tastes that make them feel a certain way.  Yes, that’s it.  And they will knock each other down and/or lie to each other to fulfill these wishes.  But greed, it truly is the worst.

I feel that this job is finally getting to me, but I suspected it would, eventually.  It has now been three human years.

09-24-2020

Ambassador “Darwin” M2ZZTTHHem,

    of the planet ZZTTaton, Visitor 14,983.

Shuts down his communication device.  Stares at the Megan Fox poster on the wall and then the Rembrandt painting.  Tears off his Rolex watch.

Shakes his head.  “I need to burn these possessions and go get lost in the jungles in Brazil.  Maybe they won’t find me.”