Discord

In response to The Daily Post’s photo challenge: “Broken.”

Discord ©mk17design

Discord ©mk17design

Nope.

In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Impossibility.”

A collection of re-written mini stories I heard / read from someone else / somewhere else. Feel free to claim if it’s originally yours. Unless the one I made. Feel free to guess which one is.

Will add more when I find a good one.
Especially the ones that makes you go “NOPE.”
…or just a “No. Way.”


1. Nightmare
‘I can’t sleep,’ she said, climbing into my bed.
I woke up the next morning holding the dress she’s buried in.


2. Doors
In the last 10 years I’ve lived in this house,
I have closed more doors than I’ve opened.


3. Monsters
Seek for the monsters.
Under your bed,
in the closet,
behind the bushes,
but never look up.
It doesn’t like to be seen.


4. Girl, Interrupted
My daughter couldn’t stop screaming every night.
Not even after I told her it was only a nightmare from the gravestone


5. First date
‘Don’t say that,’ he laughed, ‘I have the heart of a little boy.’
Little did she know that he kept it in a jar on his desk.

Silver Linings

In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt.
A rather snippet-ish sequel to this just because.
May the 4th be with you!
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In many cases, this shouldn’t be fine.

The car reeked of cigarette smoke mixed with the sickening sweetness of perfume and bitter ether. I wasn’t sure what the worst part in this scene is – that, or the fact that I’ve gotten used to it (no idea about the drunkard who joined me in the back seat this time though).

I sighed, leaning on the pile of things that was my bag and a bunch of papers from work in the middle of the backseat. Those, and a laptop. Not really comfortable. Nevertheless it’s the second most huggable thing in the vehicle after the fluffy neck pillow was snatched by that person leaning on the opposite door. Glancing aside, there’s no telling if he really passed out or just too nauseous to even budge. Not my business – I decided so as I tried to ignore the road bumps testing my skill in holding back those bottles of 19%.

Wasn’t sure why I agreed on another night of senseless drinking either.

The first time gave me a hard time in the morning. The second and third, then fourth and fifth were total damage to what’s left of my dignity. I lost count – and memories – after the sixth but so far I hadn’t found another half-filled Jägermeister in my bag. Which is… good. I think. But let’s forget about the fact that I still couldn’t hold my liquor that well because it started to feel so… good. Good. Good. Good. There’s no other word for it.

Funny thoughts led me to a slumber – and they became good friends until the traffic noise roared all of sudden.
Somebody opened the window.
I might be hearing wrong but it might’ve been a retch following after.
What do you know? For once I wasn’t the only one with a weak stomach.

Slightly awake but not enough to sit up straight, an amused grin crept across my face as I shifted – my head bumping against… something. I peeked and looked up just to find his drowsy face looking straight ahead, his sleeve messing with my hair as the car hit another bump and shook its passengers. Rather rudely. Setting it aside, I closed my eyes and snuggled, for the umpteenth time feeling the week’s lasting doubts, fears, and haunting thoughts flew out the open window along with my consciousness.

In many cases, this shouldn’t be fine.
But for now… it is.

Photo challenge: Intricate

In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Intricate.”

God is in the details ©mk17design

God is in the details ©mk17design

Photo challenge: Motion

In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Motion.”

Furballs in motion ©mk17design

Furballs in motion ©mk17design

Photo Challenge: Afloat

In response to The Daily Post’s photo challenge: “Afloat.”
Here’s a doodle to keep the memories of people I cared about. Stay afloat.

In memoriam ©mk17design

In memoriam ©mk17design

Daily Prompt: Happy Endings

In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Happy Endings.”
I just finished watching FF7 and “For Paul” is giving me the feels. As Dom says, it’s never goodbye.

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Airports: people either love this place or hate it.

For some people, it’s a place filled with hope.
In a few hours, they will meet their long-expected events, places, and people they’ve been longing to see. Workers going on holidays. Family members visiting one another. Long-distance lovers and the planned reunion. Friends checking their bucket list one at a time. Colourful suitcases, sunglasses, gifts, expectations, hopes.

For some others, it’s a desperate place.
Business trips separating them from their beloved. Different timezones. Awful airline meals instead of home cookings. Jetlags. All the “goodbye”s and “good luck”s, sobbing and laughter in the crowd that gives absolutely no hoot. A place where they will last see their certain someone.

She could write a book out of the things she sees in this blasted hub, but let’s save the paperback plans for later because right now… there’s this one thing she had to take care of. That one thing is standing right next to her with a trolley of suitcases and a backpack on his shoulder, looking over the queue to see whether she had led him to the correct check-in counter.

Luckily, she had.

He stopped the trolley and dug into his bag as she silently watched, somehow amused at the time he took to try fishing out his ticket and resulting in pulling out a lot of random things instead.
At times like this usually there is at least one banter about how unorganized he is.
That day, there were none.
There were also enough goodbye tears and see-you hugs there to write an entire novel with – there’s no use adding any to it.
That was what she thought.
That was what he thought, too.

So once he found his ticket, he sighed and stared at the long queues at the counters as if bracing himself against the possible chaos ahead. She merely stand there glancing at him every 10 seconds.

One minute.
Two.
Three.
Four.
Five.

Three times she wanted to turn on her heels and leave after a friendly “bye”, but even after five minutes passed her whole consciousness root her on the spot. Until he decided to break the silence.

‘You’re going to be okay.’ He smiled, finally taking his eyes off the long lines to look at her.
She took a deep breath. ‘How are you so sure?’

‘Because you’ll find someone better.’
‘I probably will.’

‘So you’ll be okay, right?’
‘Not really.’

‘Why?’
‘You know what the funny thing is?’

He knew the answer. He just couldn’t hear it coming from her of all people.
So he didn’t reply.
Thus she continued.

‘I’ve never dreamt for someone better.’

Airports: people either love this place or hate it.
For him, it’s where he last wished her the best and depart to seek his.
For her, it’s where her best kissed her goodbye and leave her with none.