Road Trip Revenge III - a 55

Sitting on the edge of the bed,
with visions of a disemboweled body
left in an area know to inhabit wolves.
Mouth stuffed with its own intestines.
Eyes blinking in disbelief
as it slowly drained
of life giving fluids.
It all seemed so real,
yet he had to ask himself
– was it just a dream?
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This is a Flash Fiction Friday 55.
If you want to know what the hell that means visit g-man.
The challenge is on.
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Theme Thursday - Wrinkles

Standing before the mirror at twenty-five
he furrowed and unfurrowed his smooth, flawless brow.
"If my forehead had lines," he thought to himself,
"I would appear more wise and people will treat me with more respect."

He laughed heartily at the mirror,
carefully examining the edges of his eyes.
"With laugh lines people will know
my sense of humor is rich
and will perceive me a joy to be around,"
he said leaning in for a closer look,
cursing his baby skin and wishing he looked older.

Now well into his fifties,
he gazes at his stoic reflection
daring not to move a muscle
for fear yet another line
may crease his aging appearance.
His face relaxed
in an effort to halt the aging process,
keep wrinkles at bay
and recapture a fleeting youth.
He pines for the days
when his face was smooth
and his eyes were not perched on fleshy pillows.
When the only wrinkles he wore
were on his clothing
and hadn't migrated to his face.

Wings of dreams

As the morning sun blazes a trail
through the shear curtains of my room,
I roll over to see
the form sleeping next to me.
What dreams flutter through the mind?
Far away places.
Cold mountain lakes
caressed by melting snow.
Picnic tables overlooking a battered bridge
and a slow moving river.
Starlit skies
through the glass roof
of a downtown hotel.
Children's smiles and laughter.
The silly, silent actions
of a hand puppet
professing its love.
Reading a favorite bedtime story
to a child.
A full moon
trying desperately
to cast its glow
on roses in bloom.
A warm stone bench
in a hidden garden spot.
Beach grass swaying
in a warm summer breeze
with the echoing sound of waves
providing the rhythm for the dance.
A tango.
A soft, lingering kiss,
tender, full of love.
Strong but gentle arms
encircling, holding, loving.
A lone owl caught
in the headlights of a car,
silent, staring, wise and unafraid.
Raven.
Eagles.
Heron.
Falling then flying.
Soaring on wings.
Wings made from dreams.

Spare Change 160

Sitting splay legged
with her back to the curb,
she examines the dollar
she was handed
as if it were counterfeit
or perhaps
she had not seen paper money before.
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If you wish to take the challenge, here is a quick look at the rules.

For the original Sunday 160 post click here.
The Sunday 160 only uses 160 characters (including spaces).
Keep on schedule - post Sunday.
Let me know you have posted via a comment on my site.
Visit at least one other Sunday 160.
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