I ran into Sir John Falstaff, that gentleman of shade. He asked the time of day.
It’s not day- I rolled my eyes.
He tipped his hat. Perhaps we should share some ale?
I never drink unless I dine.
Unfortunately, the pub was too dark to read the list of sweets. His lighter illuminated the list but burned his finger.
He glanced up—kiss me, sweet.
I’m not a tart. I sighed.
I tipped the server – Give him a cake...
then left Falstaff at the bar, finger soaking in ale beside scattered crumbs of cake.
About the Creator
Pamela Williams
“Suppose I had wings like the dawning day and flew across the ocean. Even then your powerful arm would guide and protect me.”
— Psalm 139:9–10, Contemporary English Version (CEV)
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Reminiscence
A cool breeze flows in as Norma reclines on a chaise lounge next to the window. She loosens her hair from clips, sips Merlot from fine crystal, and watches fireflies amidst the darkness; she remembers a cool breeze from the ocean swirling around the dunes and a guy from the past. They kept each other warm that night and sipped wine from plastic cups. She forgot his name when her jeans turned to suits, dunes to desks, plastic to crystal. She wanders to the kitchen pantry and finds a plastic cup. Her unsteady hand dumps Merlot from crystal to plastic.
By Pamela Williams3 years ago in Fiction
Letters to ada
Letter I – From Layth to Ada Void, beyond the 22nd century My Dearest Ada, Your eyes... velvet that dissolves the last remnants of my coldness. I was an extinguished ember, until your radiance moistened me like a river-child bending over an ancient thirst in my chest. You blinked—and all of Time leaned toward my mouth. A redness upon your lips touched my fissures, and I softened... I, whom stones never softened. Your iris was my window and my mirror: a core that illuminates and desiccates what remained of my cold soul. I whisper to you a gesture of containment, and I dissolve in Time, even though I was frozen beneath the anesthesia of heavy smoke from a cigarette that keeps the night awake in my blood. I hid a poet in an old box—I feared that if he saw you, the world around me would be disturbed... but your wide lashes excavated the box and awakened what had died before you. You approached... and in the silence of night you were like a thread of light passing over my heart. I saw sorrow wrapped around your white shawl, its yellowness faded as if traces of a day that continued to extinguish. I said to you in a whisper, my voice sagging between fear and wonder: Will you entwine your hand in mine, and shall we slip together to the bottom of Time... without fear? You smiled, and the universe slackened around me, as if the warmth of your fingers was all that remained of the world. And you were asking in silence: “Where is your place within my embrace?” And I, in whose throat the sword of silence had been planted, found myself choosing you before I could speak. Black were your eyes, yet they kindled a daylight within me. And for the first time... O you of the two eyes, I felt that I was luminous.
By LUCCIAN LAYTHa day ago in Fiction
Bruce Lee and The God of War: Kuan Ti
It starts with love.. The Power to the God Of War and Wealth Walk into a Chinese restaurant (even in Oklahoma, USA), a Chinese police station, a kung fu martial arts studio or even a Chinese temple and you often see a red faced warrior holding a heavy quan-do (spear like weapon).
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Comments (7)
Brilliantly written, well done 👍
Loved it! Any seconds?
I was glad to get to the UK to eat fish and chips. Still need to go visit my beloved Sherlock and walk upon the moor. You have a way with words my dear. Very lovely.
Love it! Great references to famous Falstaff moments.
This is so moody feeling and unexpected, loved it!
This was a wonderful read and very creative!
This should have way more reads! It’s simultaneously somber and playful. Quite creative. I really like it. 😊