Grass Stalk Children

thegrassstalkchildren_thumb.jpg

 

There was a trick to whistling with a blade of grass; a trick that Stephen could manage but for some reason whenever Mary tried, it was damps hands and shredded foliage instead of whistles.

“Don’t worry,” he told her, cleaning off her hands with his sleeve before snatching up more grass by the roots, “I will teach you.”

He showed her how to angle the blade against her lips, to blow over the blade and send sharp slices of sound flying across the fields between his house and hers.

“When I marry, everyone in the audience will have to whistle as I walk down the aisle; everyone except for you.” she said.

“I won’t have to whistle,” he whispered, leaning in close, “because when I grow up I’m going to be the one marrying you.”

 

 

Prompt taken from: Five Sentence Fiction

Make-Believe Map

Cracked wall
Cracked wall (Photo credit: árticotropical)

There are cracks in the yellow plaster where the heat from our radiator swelled too thick against the walls. On mornings when the city wears its age, supporting the same white eyebrows that danced in laughter beneath your grandfather’s furrowed forehead, we count countries. Making up names for the yellow lands within the lines that don’t fit onto the maps we know, and assuming stories to account for the slight changes to the U.K’s shape.

‘Rising Sea Levels Swamp Isle Of Man’ informs the weather man off CNN; his voice broadcast from your tongue to every country we can see. ‘Giant Squid Consumes The Heel Of Italy And Part Of Alaska Melted By Newly Discovered Tectonic Fracture.’

Some days I will remind you that we are too old for make-believe. Too old to put stock in imagination and waste time on delusions of magic.

You’ve never believed me on that.

To you I must be magic to be true.


Inspired by: http://www.tumblr.com/tagged/poetry%20prompts