A Day to Remember – Thursday Threads

Jake and I had a standing appointment. It was a college ritual, established to catch up and brag about our weekend escapades. Fate had a way of pulling us apart as we explored parties, women, and adventure. On Monday, we always met at our favorite coffee shop.

I was excited this morning. My latest exploit marked a huge event, one we had discussed at length. While I planned, Jake told me every reason he thought I was crazy. I wouldn’t listen. Sophie, the love of my life, and I were going to Lion’s Bay for a once in a lifetime trip. I prepared a romantic picnic, a proposal, and a celebratory cliff jump when she agreed.  I left nothing to chance.

Jake looked like he arrived hours ago. Sitting in his usual spot, he seemed tired and somehow older than I had ever seen him before.

He glanced up at me and turned deathly pale.

“Jake don’t look so worried. It was fabulous. She said ‘yes.’ We’re getting married.”

His eyes widened, and he rubbed his hand across his face before he stared at me again.

“I see she didn’t overstate the issue,” he muttered then took a big swig from his cup.

“What issue? Didn’t you hear me? I’m the happiest man on the planet. It was the greatest day of my life.”

“It was the last too.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Will you listen to me? We were best friends.”


“Buddy, we buried you years ago.”


Keep on writing.

Jo Hawk The Writer

An Unobstructed View – Friday Fictioneers

Title: An Unobstructed View
Source:  Friday Fictioneers sponsored by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields-Addicted to Purple
Word count: 100 words

PHOTO PROMPT © Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

Holiday lights hung low over the familiar street. They made Phoebe happy and sad. She loved their historical significance, the celebrations they commemorated, and the cheery twinkling they attempted to imitate.

Tonight, she searched in vain. A lifeless void hovered above the light’s glare. Phoebe longed for the Dark Sky Reserve and the miracle of an unobstructed view of the night sky.  There, millions of stars, planets, the entire milky, way was visible to the naked eye. It was the last place on earth to observe animated blackness and understand why the festival lights were so revered by her ancestors.


Keep on writing.

Jo Hawk The Writer

Waiting – 3 Line Tales

From Sonya’s 3LineTales at Only100Words.
You can find the original prompt here. Thank you, Sonya

three line tales, week 193: a man beside a map of New York

Photo by Tony Wang via Unsplash

Lucre Rawlin stood waiting, scrutinizing the scurrying commuters as they passed, oblivious to anything beyond their phone screens and catching a ride on a speeding train.

He scanned every face, fishing in a sea of lost humanity for the one destined for more.

Weeks became months, his hope grew thin, fear and doubt nibbled at the edges of the prophecy, when, at last, the chosen one appeared.


Keep on writing.

Jo Hawk The Writer


Accepting Fate – Weekend Writing Prompt

Title: Accepting Fate
Source:  Weekend Writing Prompt #127 – Replace
Objective: Write a poem or piece of prose in exactly 89 words

The letter cut my hand as if it were a honed knife. The building was a riot of odd angles, incongruent lines, and an entrance door that dared me to open it. It was newer, probably installed to replace an ancient, rotting artifact destroyed by countless floods and untold neglect.

No mail slot, not even a crevice existed where I could deposit the message and flee with my mission accomplished. I should have guessed it wouldn’t be easy. With a trembling, blood-soaked fist, I knocked, and accepted my fate.


Keep on writing.

Jo Hawk The Writer


Ode to Poe – Thursday Threads

It was midnight. He had left me here, in the basement, with instructions to finish the display before tomorrow’s opening. At The Mütter, my tasks were never-ending. Each piece required painstaking placement and anchoring invisible to the naked eye. I pushed my fists into my low back. Creaking and popping, I stretched, seeking to ease muscles stiffened by too many hours spent hunched at my table.

On the stairs leading to freedom, a familiar inky mist gathered and swirled. He always appeared during full moon nights, when the lunar glow highlighted his smoky silhouette.

“Good to see you, my friend. I have missed you,” I smiled as his shape shimmered and solidified.

“Yes, Emmet has me working late, again. The man is cruel beyond imagining.”

Admiring my progress, I listened as the bones created their own story. A cold wind whispered, and his voice crackled with the smell of autumn leaves. I toyed with the germ he planted. His plan to relieve the thousand tortures Emmet heaped upon me.

“You are right, I could work on him. Make him understand.”

My companion patted my shoulder, and his courage flowed through me.

“The opening gala is tomorrow night.”

He leaned toward me, and the seedling grew, producing a perfectly formed, black rose.

“I could lure him with a cask of Amontillado. We have a wall of bones, and as part of the permanent installation, they would lie undisturbed for years.”

A faint jingling of bells kissed my ears.

“In pace requiescat.”


Keep on writing.

Jo Hawk The Writer


Reading the Signs – #MenageMonday

shallow focus photography of gray cable

Photo by Erwan Hesry on Unsplash

The message floated as Gawayne read then turned towards Loreena.

“What does it mean?”

Loreena stepped closer, standing next to him, she contemplated the words, a thoughtful expression creased her brow.

“Who are these Knights of Cydonia?”

“Ancient stories tell of a warrior goddess whose sworn duty was to protect her king. She commanded soldiers, knights, into battle under her name Athena Promachos.”

“This part mentions a Muse. What do you make of that?”

“The tales also point to her as a patron of the Arts.”

“That’s odd. Still, they appear to be in danger. They ask for my assistance.”

“So, it would seem.”

“Get me there, but don’t forget the tether line like you did last time.”

Loreena nodded and began chanting the words that would send him to Oracle Arena.

Gawayne felt himself being transported. Passing a door marked ‘Backstage’, he entered the interior of a building larger than anything he had imagined. On a large raised area, dwarfed by its surroundings three men with strange interments milled around.

“What is this place?”

“Cool get up,” one of the men said as he reached to touch Gawyne’s armored shoulder. Recoiling, Gawayne sidestepped his inquisitive fingers.

“Easy,” he said, withdrawing his hand.

“I received a summons. I seek an audience with the Knights of Cydonia.”

“Dude, we’re not Knights. It’s the name of our song. You ready to make a video?”

“What is required?”

“It’s not difficult. Just fake it.”

Gawayne considered the man’s words then drew his sword.


Keep on writing.

Jo Hawk The Writer



Groundswell – FFfPP

Title: Groundswell
Word count: 175 words

The plane’s shell curved, brushing the top of my head. I sank lower in my seat as the big man on the aisle shuffled, adjusted his jacket and rolled the magazine page back on itself. Feeling claustrophobic, I scrunched down, huddling close to the wall and stared out the window.

Green patchwork fields below me stretched as far as my eyes could see. Flyover country. The place where the ninety-nine percenters lived, worked and created a base for the one-percenters to ignore unless they needed something.

Me and my kind had grown tired of their extremes, the push and pull and the manufactured drama. It was hard to find a point, any entertainment value had long since faded, lost in mind-numbing predictability. They forgot their roots, allowing their contradictory talking heads to float in clouds. They forgot it had happened before, and their folly condemned them to the future my people remembered well.

The rise of the Third Estate lay on the horizon. They wanted a fight, and we planned to give them a show.


Keep on writing.

Jo Hawk The Writer


Copper Wood Estates – Thursday Photo Prompt

Title: Copper Wood Estates
Source:  Thursday photo prompt: Copper #writephoto
Word count:  290 words

The image shows a deserted path through the woods, carpeted with the fallen leaves of autumn.

Where I walked wasn’t unexplored ground. There was a paved path, and it didn’t materialize from thin air. I knew better.

Somewhere a committee passed a motion, they conducted an environmental impact study, employed an engineer, and a landscaper who proposed ideas, and they submitted drawings for final approval. Weeks, months or years ensued before work began. The surveying team finally appeared to translate the approved plans into the landscape. Bulldozers and excavators arrived to ensure accessibility while maintaining a natural feel.

As I wandered, I listened to the bird’s chirping and a squirrel’s chatter. I alone, tread this forgotten byway. Autumn leaves fell, obscuring the route. In places, soil washed over the pavement and elsewhere tree roots buckled and cracked the tarmac. Three leaf sets of poison ivy turned yellow-gold and burgundy. The toxic plant, seeking sun, thrived in sunlit patches. I kept my distance, not wanting to itch and scratch and cover myself in soothing lotion.

It would have been an idyllic walk, if not for the constant buzz of traffic. The nearby busy street hummed, and tires clacked when they hit the road’s expansion cracks. Through the thinning foliage, bright flashes of speeding cars seeped into this simple setting. Still, it was more than this city-bound country girl could have hoped to find so close to her new home.

I missed the real outdoors, the silence and true solitude I had taken for granted in my youth. This slice of cultured homage was the best I could expect, but I yearned for more. Life never worked that way. I visited often through the seasons until the day the dozers returned. The easement lost, a wider road had won, and I longed for the trail I once endured.


Keep on writing.

Jo Hawk The Writer


Winter Storm – Weekend Writing Prompt

Title: Winter Storm
Source:  Weekend Writing Prompt #126 – Haven
Objective: Write a poem or piece of prose in exactly 32 words

The day grew wild, and the sea pummeled the rocky coast. On the misty horizon, a ship floundered, seeking safe harbor. The keeper scurried, storm-driven to his haven and the sailor’s salvation.


Keep on writing.

Jo Hawk The Writer


Masking Reality – Thursday Threads

filled white disposable cup on table

Photo by Fengyou Wan on Unsplash

Concentrate on the happy things they said.

But I don’t have happy things.

Nothing major. Something small that makes you smile. They bored me.

Jeremy was much more pragmatic. He was still a pain in my ass, and entirely too optimistic, for his own good. But there were the occasions when he was tired, or distracted, and I caught an edge of cynicism in his tone. I could work on him.

In the cafeteria, they served a strong, black, bitter coffee in thin, brown paper cups. Most drowned it with packets of sweetener and milk, disguising its true nature. That was the problem, we are all hiding the truth. I sipped, repressing my grimace.

I didn’t have to wait long, Jeremy, with his armload of green files and sporting his usual white coat soon joined me at my table.

“How are we this morning?”

“We are happy.”

“Is that so?” Jeremy lifted an eyebrow, “And why is that?”

I raised the flimsy coffee cup, my silent toast to my worthy adversary. I took a sip.

“I see,” he said, retrieving a cheap, disposable ballpoint from his jacket pocket. “And the new medication?”

I shrugged.

He flipped open my chart and began taking notes. I waited. When he looked at me, I regaled him with the fruit of my practice and smiled.

“How is it we are so happy today?”

“It’s easy. I block out the screams.”

Jeremy patted my hand.

“Sounds like we are making progress.”

Jeremy had no idea.


Keep on writing.

Jo Hawk The Writer