He stole me.
He reached inside, breached the battlements, and stole me.
Took my heart, my body, my soul and stole me away.
Stole me away from here, from there, from then, from now.
I am his contraband.
Here is my latest entry – in poetic form – into the lovely Lillie’s Five Sentence Fiction, where she has provided this photo for our inspiration. Please do visit here to read the entries from other writers who love to keep it short too.
They say that full thickness burns are painless
though the epidermis never truly heals.
Tight scars engulf you –
if you’re lucky, you survive the onslaught.
Me, I look exactly as I was before,
so the immolation must have been minor,
or so others say.
Scratch beneath the surface
and you will reveal the echoes of what was said, or worse –
The air still hangs heavy between us,
leaden, oily, ready to ignite.
Oh, we had a spark alright
but left uncontrolled
with no firebreak between us
inflagration was inevitable.
To all, to all, but us.
Excise the superfluous.
Distil to the essence.
Strip away fat, reveal the bones.
Expose meaning to the light.
And then write.