Violently Colored
Bio
Stories (3/0)
M.O.M
I pressed a small red button on the left-hand side of the gate, it buzzed loudly, and swung open. I quickly retreated behind the silver travel pod, my glasses nearly falling off my face as a solid brown Labrador came bounding toward me. “Glitch!” A sweet, soft voice rang from the porch of the farmhouse. A thin woman in her late 30’s dressed in a floor length green sundress and a knitted crème shawl approached from the house. Her long silver hair fluttered around her tanned face, and I met her bright, radiant blue eyes. “You must be Mr. Sharp.” She stopped short of the gate as the dog clumsily galumphed to her side. “I am Lizette Hanson. Please,” She motioned toward the house. “I’ve made tea.” We were led through a very solid white door. To the left was a small seating area staged in front of a curved bay window, lined with soft cotton curtains. Lizette motioned to the couches and armchairs gathered around a small circular coffee table.
By Violently Colored3 years ago in Fiction
Goodnight Moon
Goodnight Moon I remember the first time I saw a shooting star. The cool mountain air on my face, the strong smell of wet pine, the sound of the flowing creek and crackling campfire. Millions of shimmering sparkles dotting the vast darkness. I was watching a specific star, flashing blue and red and green. Sitting on my dad’s lap, the smell of Marlboro Menthols and engine grease strong on his denim jacket. Suddenly, in this exact spot, a streak of searing silver light streamed down the sky to the east. I remember thinking it was a firework. “Dad! A firework!” I had exclaimed excitedly. He jumped; I had been sitting quietly with him watching the sky for nearly 30 minutes. He chuckled, his hearty, raspy laugh I will never forget. “That’s a shooting star squirt, make a wish.” I looked into his suntanned face, his deep laugh lines, crow's feet, his rough black moustache peppered with grey, his deep green-blue eyes. A wish? I had heard of wishing on stars in my fairy tales. My father was a practical man. A hard-working blue collar, gun-slinging kind of man. I had never heard him speak of wishes. I squeezed my eyes shut and wished with my whole being.
By Violently Colored3 years ago in Families
New Earth
No one noticed when the old gods returned. The Earth rotated, the sun rose, Lucy cooed in her crib. Kira woke, drowsy eyed, and began brewing her morning coffee. She stretched in the cool summer morning air, taking a long drag of her cigarette. “Monday” she sighed. Thoughts of getting the baby ready for daycare, phone calls, meetings, groceries, and laundry flooded her head. She paused for a moment, snuffing out the cigarette. Something was off. She looked around her back yard, at the fence covered in ivy, the overflowing garbage can in the alley, the grass a week overdue for mowing. A cry echoed from the nursery. She turned and headed inside to start the day, leaving the backyard abandoned, not noticing the profound silence. Two thousand eyes watched her go from the pine trees above. A thousand birds perched, observing, not making a sound at all. No, no person noticed when the old gods retuned, but the animals, they knew.
By Violently Colored3 years ago in Futurism