Monochrome

“I remember color, but it’s a blur.  Like all memories you can’t quite remember,” Ay told her sister Bee as she picked at a loose thread unraveling from the gray circle rug. They were sitting in the middle of their main room, waiting for the truck to deliver dinner.

“We still have prescribed “Vibrant Zones”; there’s plenty of color there.” Bee reminded Ay.

Ay knows about the Vibrant Zones, where you walk in and are handed a shirt at random – she liked the yellow ones the best but for some reason they always handed her red.

It is probably because of her hair color. The same hair she’s supposed to start dying this year. Entering the workplace requires monochrome.

“What was it like when there was color everywhere?”

The memories are a blur of people on buses, purple next to gold next to brown next to orange. “It was beautiful.”

“But distracting,” Bee supplied, dutifully.

Ay nods in agreement because she should, because together, nodding, they are both the same.


underwater Millenium-walkway movie_stills6

Written for Blog Propellant’s Picture Prompt #15

Brother’s Keeper

“Hurry up!” James yells over his shoulder. He’s struggling to get his twin to follow him down the path; Gary was always such a scared-y cat.

Through the fog, he cannot see his brother. He can only hear the rustling of leaves and Gary’s incessant sniffling.  Even after ten years, James finds it unbelievable that they even came from the same fertilized egg. His “older” brother was both scared of everything and a walking allergy machine.

The snap of a stick echoes throughout the woods as Gary makes his way through the fog.  James can see the dark silhouette of his twin now.  He taps his foot, bored now and sick of waiting.

To his right, he sees a large tree. It is definitely wide enough to conceal him and with a wicked smile he decides to hide behind it. He picks at the bark and waits.

“James?” His brother is near and his voice is trembling. James mentally counts as the forest quiets around them: the birds evening chirp disappears; the predators of the woods are hidden from view, watching the two human boys.

James doesn’t have a plan, he hardly ever does. He only knows that he wants to see his twin flail and fall onto the leaves, wants to watch as he stumbles back and shrieks. He wants to kick Gary while he’s down then run up the path leaving him all alone on the foggy path.

This anger towards his brother isn’t new – if anything it’s the most consistent feeling he’s ever experienced.

A snap of a stick from the other side of the tree trunk and it’s the cue James needs to move.  In a single jump he’s in front of his brother with a roar. As if in slow motion, Gary’s face twists in fear. The shriek James expected follows but so does something he wasn’t expecting – his twin swinging his arm around, punching on instinct.

Time speeds up and James realizes that he is the one the floor, leaves crinkling under his jeans as his hands come up to cradle his face.

Gary is on his knees then, carefully trying to inspect the damage. James waits for a mocking laugh that never comes.


- Oer Wout

Photo Challenge #64, Pathway, June 09, 2015

Sibling Sprint

“Slacker!” She yells from across the field. Yes, my little sister was outpacing me on the track…again.

I inhale before cracking my knuckles, shaking the tension out of my hands. I need to catch up, need to beat this squirt who thinks she can be my verbally abusive trainer just because I am a little overweight.

But, it is hot. My stomach cramps and exhaustion cloys at my gut. With every step forward, my body aches. My sister is now at the finish line laughing. The only small mercy is that my flushed skin prevents the world from witnessing my embarrassment.

I may puke.

In fact, I am going to puke.

My sneakers skid on the track as I reverse in the direction of a hose I remember seeing a couple strides back. The pewter nozzle shoots out cool, amazing, gloriously refreshing water.

My brat of a sister shows up moments later, stepping in a way that blocks me from the sun. She’s already in her jeans and her eyebrow judges me enough that I don’t need to look at the rest of her face. I want to tweak the nozzle and leave her like a bedraggled wet dog, just to shut up her judgmental face – she still hasn’t said a word, though.

She is browsing her phone instead.

“You did better,” she tells the screen.

“Shut up.”


Wordle #62 – Use at least 10 of the words to create a story or poem. The words can appear in an alternate form:

Tweak; Cloy; Jeans; Browse; Reverse; Pewter; Nozzle; Bedraggled; Stria (a slight or narrow furrow, ridge, stripe, or streak, especially one of number inparallel arrangement:); Truculent (fierce; cruel; savagely brutal); Knuckles; Slack;