Lavender (A Dribble)

Lavender crushed between finger and thumb. Only one blossom. The scent gentle but true, only for the person holding it.
Squeezed tighter and then rubbed together. Another whiff of scent. Calmness, a brief shaking stilled.
“Thank you.”
She turned back to the house.
“Carmen, down off the counter.”
“But, Mom!”

©2021 Mary Grace van der Kroef

A dribble is the modern term used for a story of exactly 50 words. The art of micro-fiction is something I am trying to learn. I don’t always get it right. To bubble the whole of a story into so few words takes something special.

I would love to hear from you if you write short fiction in any form. How do you make your stories a whole, and not just single seen?

To somehow tell the story without telling the story is part of it. Is there more behind it?

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The Day I Prayed to Die

The day I prayed to die,
I didn’t need any more why’s.
Wasn’t looking for reply’s,
there were no tears left to cry.

The day I prayed to die.

I wasn’t seeking heaven’s gate,
didn’t know if hell would be my fate.
Just knew I couldn’t longer wait,
to reach the end of livings state.

The day I prayed to die.

Question it a selfish prayer?
Of others, I was keenly aware.
But my pain just didn’t care,
it had become too much to bare.

The day I prayed to die.

No longer worth the constant strain,
exhaustion was my daily chain.
I knew I could no longer feign,
on others, I was now a drain.

The day I prayed to die.

Better just to cease to be,
everyone would then be free.
Grieve then moved away from me,
was my unstable inner plea.

The day I prayed to die.

I got no answer on that day.
Silent heaven wouldn’t life betray.
A barred path to its doorway.
Hell also couldn’t let me pay.

The day I prayed to die.

That day passed into the next,
continuation left me vexed.
I was blinded and perplexed.
“God, please, no more checks.”

Again, I prayed to die.

With no end and no relief,
exhaustion now pared with grief.
Greif was growing disbelief,
my prayer demanded a debrief.

Yes, I prayed to die.

Anger at the silent space,
God’s hand, I couldn’t trace.
Left me reeling, self disgrace,
numb to mercy’s embrace.

Still, I prayed to die.

Yet, God’s grace held true.
By degrees, it ever grew.
Working on my tainted view.
Willing to pull me through.

Even though I prayed to die.

See, my God will have his way.
His hand carry’s every day.
Promises will ever stay,
when his child walks astray,

or even prays to die.

Slowly life changing me,
life I wished I could flee.
Locked to earth by God’s decree.
Not my life, but his, you see.

He wouldn’t let me die.

Here I am, still in the mix.
God knows, I’m no easy fix.
Though I’m still one, he picks,
whatever life inflicts.

Steady prayers still fly,
though none ask to die.

©2021 Mary Grace van der Kroef

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