Winner's Showcase - Page 8

Submit your creative works to Flashes >>HERE<< .

Page 8 of 8 FirstFirst 12345678
Results 71 to 72 of 72

Thread: Winner's Showcase

  1. #71
    April 2019 - "Silence" Challenge Winner

    Beneath the Sacristy Carpet (Mature Content) by Chester's Daughter

    Crumbs of evidence
    were silently swept
    beneath the sacristy carpet.

    No need for parishioners
    to be aware
    their Sunday sermons
    slithered past the guilty lips
    of a sly serpent.

    For thirty odd years -
    from as many
    different pulpits -
    Father misled his flock,
    the diocese never seeking
    to defrock
    a purveyor of pure evil.

    Hundreds of times
    his busy hands
    abandoned benediction
    to grope inside vestments
    tailored for children.

    Scarring souls,
    marring minds,
    leaving countless crumbs behind,
    as half-hearted spare prayers
    were offered up
    by tight-lipped brethren
    choked by stiff collars.

    Until little Greg McGee,
    now a strapping lad
    of twenty-three,
    tracked Father down
    and cornered him
    in his latest rectory.

    With a chalice of gold,
    from which Savior's blood
    was served to the fold,
    Father's skull was crushed.
    Bits of bone
    silently scattered
    amongst countless crumbs
    beneath the sacristy carpet.

    The church defiled
    hallowed ground
    with Father's burial,
    as Greg McGee, finally free,
    watched on in ecstasy,
    both his hands and soul
    unshackled

    for Pastor convinced police
    feeble Father had two left feet
    and was the cause
    of his demise.
    A little white lie
    set to rest beside
    serious sins

    all silently swept
    beneath the sacristy carpet.


  2. #72
    May 2019 - “Mom” Challenge Winner

    Mom’s Crop by Chester’s Daughter

    I found Mom out back,
    resplendent in a battered lawn chair,
    admiring her crop
    of eight yellow inhalers,
    (good God, she's hoarding empties)
    lovingly planted
    in freshly turned soil
    as dark as my dread.
    Orange caps
    resembled warped blooms.

    Dirt-encrusted
    inhaler number nine
    was loosely held
    in her muck-covered hand,
    her mouth smeared
    with loam lipstick.
    Seemed exertion encouraged
    enough lucidity
    for her to realize
    she needed a puff.

    Sunlight glinted off
    thick glasses
    sadly magnifying clueless eyes
    of brilliant blue
    which had been
    as sharp as a hawk's
    when we’d planted actual vegetables
    two decades before.

    Within three hours,
    a new regime came into power
    lorded over by illustrious
    Dr. Everything Gonnabealright.
    Wearing a smile of cubic zirconia,
    he deftly scribbled a scrip
    with a dainty hand
    as pasty as fresh plaster.
    One tablet b.i.d.,
    with a full glass of water
    if you please.
    Hearty claps upon our backs
    ushered us out the door.

    She never knew
    what the pills were for -
    clarity could not be coaxed
    from vocal chords encased
    in the concrete born of love -

    "Just vitamins.", we told her.

    Her paralyzing dismay
    at a three syllable word
    found on page
    twenty-six
    of her dog-eared paperback Webster's
    tethered the truth
    well within a corral of empathy,
    its swinging sign proclaiming
    "Leaky lips need not apply
    nor are welcome."

    Four years later,
    like her mind, her lungs abandoned her;
    I approached the subsurface abode
    which was hers to share with Dad,
    an almost empty vial clutched
    (practically crushed)
    in a clammy claw.

    With my free hand,
    I tossed a perfect pink rose,

    its petals still warm with
    the breath of my final farewell,
    onto ebony soil,
    the sight and scent of which
    brought forth a recollection
    of the plastic garden
    that had heralded
    the beginning of the end.
    My sister wrestled the bottle
    out of my death grip
    whispering
    "She doesn't need them anymore."

    Most of her traits were buried
    long before her body.
    She passed never remembering
    she had ever forgotten
    and without the stigma
    of a capital “a”
    emblazoned into what remained
    of her brain.

    Our silence had ensured her peace
    and protected what little was left
    of struggling cerebral cells.


    I've never once regretted it.


Page 8 of 8 FirstFirst 12345678

Bookmarks

Posting Permissions

  • You may not post new threads
  • You may not post replies
  • You may not post attachments
  • You may not edit your posts
  •  
This website uses cookies
We use cookies to store session information to facilitate remembering your login information, to allow you to save website preferences, to personalise content and ads, to provide social media features and to analyse our traffic. We also share information about your use of our site with our social media, advertising and analytics partners.