Mailbox Peak
The infamous mailbox. A bit overhyped.
2:10; 1:20
Flash Fiction #4
A long mahogany table
laden with food
weathered with age
A gathering place for four generations
for just as long
An empty spot
halfway down the table
set out of habit
or hope
A seat that’s been vacant
ever since I realized
I don’t have to deal with the bullshit
Prompt: A scene during a family meal.
Chaliapin Steak Don
Another Yukihira Souma recipe
Gotcha Pork Roast
Recipe credit to Yukihira Souma
Poo Poo Point
Paragliding looks fun.
Artifacts
An old box, tucked away in the corner, archives the memories of a bygone past. A pair of Harry Potter movie tickets from the first date. A personalized picture frame to commemorate the third anniversary. An unopened music box to mark the last occasion.
The scents of the past, laced with the damp of the storage unit, linger on the artifacts, and reanimate long-dead feelings.
A withered corsage, its petals kissed by decay. What vibrant shades did it once assume, to adorn the slender wrist of that special someone? A touch, and it crumbles.
A frayed scarf, hand-knit with cherished memories and youthful optimism. Its threads unwoven, its fabric feasted upon by moths.
A pair of broken watches, their batteries long dead. A token of foreverness, imprisoned in a single moment.
Cards to remember occasions. Cards to make the distance more bearable. Cards just because. Nestled within, promises made and then broken. Words which meant so much, which could not withstand the cruel warden they call time.
Who was there to lament at the funeral, as these feelings were buried and sent off to the nether realms? Who, other than the wisps of the night, shall bear witness to the tears that were shed?
Who shall be the arbiter, to judge in this game of no rights and wrongs?
The memories feel like an old friend, nostalgically familiar yet carries no relevance to the current life. Heartbreaks, passions, from a past life, barricaded by new walls. All that remains, cold indifference.
A boxful of treasured possessions turned painful relics turned meaningless objects. Yet they will provide warmth for the last time, a final tribute to the things that were, as they die a phoenix’s death.
红烧排骨豆腐
Adapted from a childhood memory.
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