Friday Fictioneers is hosted by the wonderful Rochelle, the undisputed master of what I call Sound Bite Fiction.
She sets the weekly challenge, and the standard.
The garden in Dave’s fascinating photo looks about as well tended as my hair.
And the gate is in much the same condition as my face.
Ah well, nobody is perfect.
The idea here is to write a story of around 100 words based on the picture below.
© David Stewart
Sleep
I wonder if I will ever fall asleep.
The bed is vast and empty without her.
It is comfortable, but I am not.
I lie on my back, my side, my face.
I stretch, I curl, I sprawl.
I miss her warmth, her nearness.
The room temperature is perfect, mine is not.
The open windows admit the night air.
It is cool, refreshing.
The sky lightens, the birds sing in the trees at the foot of the garden.
I wonder if I will ever fall asleep.
I know she is waiting patiently in the shadows of my mind.
Seeking vengeance.
Sound Bite Fiction 
I loved your description of a sleepless and restless night; a result of fear judging by the last line. Well written as always CE
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Your kind words bring a smile to my face, Dee.
I am happy that you enjoyed it.
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You are so skilled at the final twist. Well done.
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Thank you, Brenda, very kind of you.
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Pow! This poetic piece really delivers a punch! The flow is gorgeous, and the tenderness is only blunted by that final line… which is delivered perfectly, not as a blindside. Who hasn’t endured at least one endless night? Nice job Ceayr!
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Thank you, Dawn, for taking the time to explain what you liked so much about my little piece.
Nice comment, DQL!
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I got the feeling it was a loving relationship…until the END! Nice twist, CE.
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Thank you, Amy.
The twist is everything in Sound Bite Fiction, ‘where nothing is quite what it seems’ !
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Wasn’t expecting that last line CE. Sounds like he is in love with her but she’s not in love with him.
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And yet she is seeking vengeance, Joy.
Thank you for visiting and commenting, my dear lady.
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Haunting! Sounds like a person plagued by regret, or guilt, or both. Beautifully written poem!
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Thank you so much for your kind words, DoD, I am happy that you enjoyed it so much.
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A woman scorned in some form or fashion. I’m sure she’s enjoying his sleeplessness wherever she is.
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D’you think she is getting into the spirit of things, Russell?
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The last line changes everything.
janet
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It does rather open the door, does it not?
Thank you, Janet.
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I wonder if
he is half-dead
and soundly asleep she is
in her comfortable bed
and she dreams of him
longing for her
on her face a grin
her conscience clear
🙂
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a neat rhyme
dear Joy wrote
but I have to answer
probably not
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🙂
Good, good, good
by now you should
know to better not
mess with a poet
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I am quaking in my boots (flip-flops, actually)
But I try not to show it
I am much more wary of a woman
Than any measly poet
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A Dostoyevskian conscience wrestle.
Good piece.
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Thank you, Mick, glad you enjoyed.
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Nice twist at the end. Whatever he did, I suspect he’ll pay for it one way or another, though he seems already to be paying, before she gets to him. A good one CE.
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Thank you, Sandra.
Karma or conscience, if one doesn’t get you the other will.
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Something so tantalising about the. Rendezvous we have in the dark velvet rooms of our sleep .
Well done .
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So true, Bon, dark thoughts in dark places.
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Hard to sleep with all that on your mind.
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Thanks for your comment, Dawn.
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Longing and guilt make strange bed fellows. I like the confusion in this piece.
Tracey
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Thank you, Tracey.
Confusion is pretty much my natural state.
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Like Patrick I didn’t get the impression that he felt guilty about anything so the last line came as a bit of a surprise that has left me wondering what he actually did.
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If not guilt, then what, Irene?
Sherlock Waters on the trail!
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I have a few scenarios that I am going to run past Watson. Vengance with no guilt mmmm!
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Clearly there is another story beneath the surface. We can only imagine.
Rosey Pinkerton’s blog
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Please do!
I try to spark a thought or two.
Thanks for visiting, Rosey.
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I wonder if he is repentant – he doesn’t seem it. He misses her but his sleeplessness doesn’t seem guilt driven. Interesting piece to chew on.
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Glad you found it so, Patrick.
I like that you found his restlessness fear rather than guilt driven.
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Reblogged this on anelephantcant and commented:
AnElephantCant pretend that he has green fingers
His touch with a trowel or a hoe is unsure
He cultivates keenly for hours
Kills off most of the flowers
But he does produce a mountain of manure
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Dear C.E.
His loneliness and restlessness are tangible, well contrasted by his pleasant surroundings. And that last line? Like a slap in the face. Ever so well done.
Shalom,
Rochelle
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Thank you, Rochelle, this was a rather late night concoction, as you probably guessed.
Glad you liked the denouement.
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The guilt eats away at his sleep…
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…at his heart and at his soul…
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