Vulnerable, yet Beautiful

He passed her crossing a busy intersection on his way home. Her arms clasping her sides, shielding herself from the night’s air. Her dark eyes peered from under the sweater’s hood when he mumbled, “Hello.”

She looked away and walked faster. Rude, but he understood. She was probably like him, retreating to her sanctuary after a day of dealing with the world.

He saw her again on the balcony across from his. She was sweaterless, but the frigid cold didn’t seem to bother her. She was simply watching the snowfall. Vulnerable to the icy wind around her, yet beautiful.


Photo by: Filip Gielda

Written for: Bikurgurl’s 100 Word Wednesday: Week 104, Bikurgurl

Blue Skins aren’t Allowed

“Blue skins aren’t allowed on Station 3,” the terminal conductor repeated with some annoyance.

Her father waved a holo display in the conductor’s face. “Would you look at the papers. She’s a legal citizen and has the same rights as—”

“I don’t care what it is. Letting that thing on the transport will only cause problems with the other passengers.” The conductor slammed the transports’ doors and fired up the engines, leaving the two of them alone on the space bridge dock.

“Your species is filled with assholes,” Jamie finally said, interrupting the silence.

Her father chuckled. “Yeah, maybe.”


Written for: Bikurgurl’s 100 Word Wednesday: 76, Bikurgurl

Venom

Your words are
More valuable to me
Than precious gems
Than life-giving air
Imagine, if you will,
What would happen
If you used them
To destroy me

I Waited on Death

We’re all waiting to die.

I learned that truth at a young age and hoped Death would save me from the minutiae of life. When he didn’t—if Death was indeed a he—I got desperate and figured I’d force his arrival. I remember sitting in my room holding my father’s gun to my head, the cold barrel digging into my temple. A twisted smile plastered on my face. I felt as if I was a lover waiting for my date to arrive, but the bastard stood me up.

For the sake of my concerned parents, I started preoccupying my time with normal things while I waited for Death. This meant getting a job at a local market where I dealt with high nosed customers. Secretly, I hoped I’d trip and break my neck or get hit by a car.

Nothing.

The Cards We’re Dealt

A Lost Soul, darkened by troubles,
Handed an Angel a set of worn cards
With ragged, trembling hands.

The Lost Soul tried to speak
But years of torment–
No doubt by the cards–
Made speech difficult.

Filled with pity, the Angel
Leaned down and said:
“Speak. I will listen.”

“Gracious One,” the Soul whispered.
“If it’s not too much trouble,
Can you put these back
And deal me new ones?”


Photo by Amisha Nakhwa