Flosculi

Pomegranate Seeds

izzarina — Mon, 28 Apr 2014 19:18:51 +0000

I don’t usually share my own writing (other than blog posts, obviously). This has to do with the label “non-writer” which I gave myself many moons ago. And I dubbed myself a non-writer simply because I knew I could never compare to those writers I admire so much. But, since I’m now about to be published for the third time, I suppose it’s time to admit that I am a writer….at least sometimes. And with that part time admission, I’d like to share the story which is being published in the very near future…don’t worry, it’s a short story! Really short….shorter than most short stories. And now I’ll stop prattling….my almost published, shorter than a short story, story:

Pomegranate Seeds

The sun bounced off the waves, throwing shards of shimmer over the water, like a disco ball at a high school prom. The day was fine, all light and warmth, as the boat with its two passengers slid across the rippled river, silently…stealthily. The warm breeze touched the young girl’s face, and gently mussed her hair, like a mother’s soft embrace. Mother. She sadly sighed.

Yes, the day was fine as she sat in the boat, watching the boatman steadily row. But despite the sun and breeze, she knew the darkness was coming. It was looming up behind her. Its sharp, cold teeth were bared. It was ready to pounce. She felt it growing in the distance, but she would not look back. She couldn’t bear the pain of her own creation.

As they travelled, the waves began to rise, lapping at the sides of the boat. The treetops stretched now bony fingers toward the sky, and seemed to scrape and claw at the abundance of dark clouds as the wind howled through their limbs. She felt the gale build, as it grabbed at her with its rimy tentacles. I AM HERE!!LOOK AT ME!!! it screamed, pulling at her hair and scraping her face with icy talons. I’m sorry, she whispered. I’m so sorry… She hugged herself to keep out the bitter wind, which shrieked around her, but it was only a matter of time. The darkness was poised to overtake them. She was helpless to stop what she had so foolishly started.

And then she saw it. She felt her panic rise up as their destination rose up into view. Entering that cave would be like death for her, and all that surrounded her would die with her. It was as if the very earth was mourning her loss. Cold and bitter barrenness would prevail. For her and for the world. As they were about to enter the mouth of the cave, she noticed one small rebellion. A lone woman stood, holding a sign, which read “Freedom For Persephone!” Freedom…she sighed, and she closed her eyes. A tear slid down her cold cheek as the darkness enveloped them, leaving the rebel alone to brave the benumbing cold and snow which suddenly surrounded her. All was dead. All was barren. All was lost.

~Heather Sarsfield 2014

Small Stones: Day 31

izzarina — Thu, 31 Jan 2013 20:50:04 +0000

The wind is more than blustery today. Each gust makes the trees look like bony fingers trying to fervently scrape the clouds from the sky. The flurry of snow left on the road is slithering, snake-like around the tarmac. It even blew my béret off my head, and blew it through the air Mary-Tyler-Moore-style.
I am not fond of the chaos this despicable wind brings. You can blow away any time, Mr. Wind.

Small Stones: Day 26

izzarina — Sat, 26 Jan 2013 21:40:54 +0000

Winter cringes as Light gains ground.

Small Stones: Day 25

izzarina — Fri, 25 Jan 2013 14:19:28 +0000

The water rushes over the dam, creating a foggy mist as the water crashes onto the rocks below. Because of the cold temperatures, this hazy spray covers the trees on the nearby bank and then freezes, leaving the trees completely white, encased in an icy glaze. The trees which are not in the path of the mist are untouched, which makes the whiteness of the frozen trees even more striking. I hate winter, but there is something elegant and beautiful in this scene of ice, cold and desolation.

Small Stones: Day 20

izzarina — Sun, 20 Jan 2013 12:58:59 +0000

All night the wind howled at my walls, angered that I would even attempt to keep him out. Over and over he crashed into my small abode, like a battering ram, to prove how flimsy my walls really were. Again and again he bellowed at my window, telling me to let him in. Maybe he’s just cold; maybe he wants someone to talk to…I tried to reason with myself, But I was frightened at his howling anger and violence. So, I ran away, hoping to find safety and refuge. Instead, he followed me, and screamed my name with even more frenzy. All night the wind howled at my walls. All night his anger affrighted me.

Small Stones: Day 19

izzarina — Sat, 19 Jan 2013 14:53:26 +0000

One lone leaf blew, tumbleweed-style, across the frozen desert of the back yard. It tumbled to and fro, back and forth, at the whim of the blustery breeze, until its progress was finally checked by an accommodating bush. The leaf’s wanderings were at an end. I am like that leaf; I wander here and there, unsure of where the winds of time will take me next. But one day, I too will stop my wanderings. And I will be at peace.

Small Stones: Day 16

izzarina — Thu, 17 Jan 2013 01:22:24 +0000

After about a week of sublimely springlike temperatures and sunny skies, the weather took a turn today. The clouds hung low in the air, almost as if the earth was trying to hide its head under blankets from the inevitable wrath of Old Man Winter. The clouds closed in, as cold flakes of white spun through the air, attempting to find the culprit which last week stole Winter’s thunder. But as the blankets of clouds keep their stifled grip upon us all, the Winter has taken its place of prominence. But not for long…at least that is my hope, as I not-so-patiently await the first signs of Spring.

Small Stones: Day 15

izzarina — Tue, 15 Jan 2013 12:35:59 +0000

COCK-A-DOODLE-DOO!!!! Oh, Chanticleer! Must you rise so early? COCK-A-DOODLE-DOO!! He walks past my window as his announcement of wakefulness is met with a response from across the yard. COCL-A-DOODLE-DOO!! Another one, from in the coop apparently has something to say to them, and joins in on the Cock-a-doodle-doo-ing. His raspy singing voice mingles with the other, similar voices vying for their moment in the sun (ahem). We have too many roosters. Too many Alphas trying to prove themselves. Too many roosters….and that makes for one noisy barnyard. Words to live by.

Small Stones: Day 12

izzarina — Sat, 12 Jan 2013 12:30:57 +0000

It’s the smell that gets me first. That earthy, dark smell, wafting through the kitchen as I make breakfast. Brew faster!! My patience is waning. How I long for that first taste, that first cup. To have that roasted bit of amazingness, which must be heaven sent, first hit my taste buds! If only I couldn’t smell it! I’m quivering with anticipation…why does it take so long?

My husband wants to know why the coffeepot stopped brewing at 10 cups. I just smile, as my fingers curl around my warm cup.

Small Stones: Day 11

izzarina — Fri, 11 Jan 2013 16:08:32 +0000

I had forgotten how much I love to get up as the sun yawningly stretches its first rays toward the horizon. The sleepy sky first blushes at the sun’s approach with a pinkish glow. Then, as they embrace, the horizon lights up like a furnace ablaze. This momentary conflagration is what makes the fact that I’ve left my warm bed more than worth it.