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Printed from https://web1.writing.com/main/books/item_id/2338096-Angel-Feathers/month/9-1-2025
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Rated: 18+ · Book · Writing · #2338096

Brief prose and poetry lacking other categories...

Basically anything under 1k or 500 words that's not a Drabble, an Express It in Eight, or a Promptly Poetry. Enjoy *Smile*

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September 4, 2025 at 5:50am
September 4, 2025 at 5:50am
#1096583
Dear Time,
She scrawled upon a wrinkled page.
You expect me to treat you respectfully?
I'm not yet at a ripe old age
Having zero knowledge of what I might become.
I have no happy memories to thank you for
Only puzzles, painful conundrums, burning questions,
Untold motives, endless unanswered prayers.
Past lies tangled, no wisdom to be drawn,
Future fades foggy, unknown dangers hiding in shadows.

You expect gratitude
When all you do is suck lifeblood out of me.
Another day down the drain,
Another failure, another missed opportunity.
You and I are enemies – I end up killing you more often than not.
Yet there you are, standing in front of me, ghastly, beckoning.
If you are a Father, you're a deadbeat:
Never there when I need you, yet always lurking, haunting me.

What point is there in addressing you
As if you know anything?
You are cold, insensitive, inexorable, impersonal.
Why personify something so uncaring?
I'm not your child. I have a long road ahead of me,
And you are my enemy.
Instead of killing you, I will make you my slave.
Never to be,
Yours truly.

She threw down her pen
Took scrawled paper in her hands
Crumpled it up
Flushed it away in the toilet.
A brain drain, a reset, a deep breath of air:
Life sprouts anew once exaggerated emotions overflow.
Now, real work begins.

34 lines, 230 words, free verse.
Written for "Note: 48-HOUR CHALLENGE : Media Prompt Deadl..."

*Thought*  Comment
September 8, 2025 at 9:26am
September 8, 2025 at 9:26am
#1096935
He asks if I've given my heart to Jesus – I stand tongue-tied, flustered.
It's not that I'm an atheist – at least, not on a good day.
Nor do I rebelliously refuse religion because it misaligns with my “morals.”
I believe in Creator God, His Righteousness and Mercy,
His Hand in everything, suffusing life with purpose –
Otherwise, I would be a nihilist. I cling to faith, and yet…
Jesus. Who is He? Do I worship a Man? Isn't that idolatry?
Can someone die in my place? Didn't Jeremiah say “Every man's sins are his own?”1
Did He ever claim to be God Incarnate? Did he really rise again?
Questions hold me back – I'll wait another day
Afraid to take the risk of blaspheming the One who Exists
By believing He has a Son who may never have existed.
Yet it might be too late – I shouldn't linger forever on fences
Avoiding theological discussions by sinking into trivialities.
Someday, I may give my heart to Jesus.
In the meantime, I'll strive for devotion to God Himself.

16 lines, 174 words, free verse.
Written for "SCRIPTURE POETRY CONTEST" Open in new Window.
September 2025 Prompt: I am happy to say I gave my life to Christ sixty-six years ago. I remember it like it happened yesterday. Do you remember the day you were saved? Your prompt: Reflect back on when you gave your life to Jesus and write a poem about it.

Footnotes
1  Jeremiah 31:29-30

*Thought*  Comment
September 5, 2025 at 10:16pm
September 5, 2025 at 10:16pm
#1096748
Kiya's Wonderland Prompt:
Imagine a world where there are 25 hours in a day or 25 months in a year!
• Write a short story (no more than 500 words) or a poem (no more than 40 lines) of such an event occurring.
• Let the personification of Time be a part of your entry.
• Your item should not exceed the 18+ rating.
• Post link to your story or poem in the forum.


Myra stared at the elegant piece of parchment in her hands.

“Twenty-five months in a year,” she scoffed. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“It's an experiment the government is running,” her brother Sam said, adjusting his lab coat. “We want to see how much more a person can get done if a year is doubled over.”

“And whose great idea was this? I suppose it's being funded by taxpayers?”

“Naturally,” he replied. “Actually, it was Father Time's idea. He's been hired as head of the National Institute of Chronological Efficiency, or NICE.”

“Oh, indeed? I'll let him know what's nice. What could possibly be efficient about two cycles of seasons in one year? What happens to the holidays?” She gasped. “Sam! What about birthdays?”

“Relax, Myra, it's just an experiment. If this one doesn't work out, the rest will be normal years.”

“I guess I can't argue with skipping a year's birthday, if that's how it's going to work,” she said wryly.

***

And so the days passed. At first there was a major upheaval as computer systems, banks and other things dependent on dating adjusted to the upcoming longer year. Then, after a few months, everything settled down and seemed almost normal. January 1st was no longer New Year's Day, but instead they celebrated “Halfway Through day,” much to Myra's amusement. Her first birthday was marked with the usual fanfare, but as her second one drew closer, she began to be concerned. What if something went wrong? What if there was a massive glitch in the system? What if she ended up being two years older – or worse?

“Just treat it as you would any other day,” Sam assured her. “There's no need to celebrate if the year isn't over yet – you already had your birthday!”

Myra tried to convince herself that the ways they measured time didn't mean anything – a day was a day, and a month was a month, and years were somewhat subjective, right?

The night before, she sat up, waiting for midnight. When the clock chimed twelve, a knock sounded at her door. Myra looked out her upstairs window at the front porch. A guy wearing a long beard, a watch on a chain and a wizardly robe stood there, holding a book.

“Seriously? Are you Father Time?”

She opened the door. He smiled and handed her the book.

“This is for you on your unofficial birthday,” he said with a wink. “Your brother Sam wanted me to give it to you personally. From all of us at NICE.”

With that, he disappeared. Myra sat down and browsed through the pages, which held photos of her and Sam from childhood to the current time, along with handwritten notes and memories from family members.

“Well, this is nice, isn't it?” Myra chuckled. “I'll have to thank Sam. This twenty-five month year isn't so bad.”

Words: 480.

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