Monthly Archives: July 2012

#207 ~ One Hundred Words and a Photo: 17

“Tell me a story. Pa, tell me a story, go on….”

The whine seemed to entice the impressive stained windows to life. Fain’s flint grey eyes rose hesitantly to meet their looming gaze, cautious, tentative. Weak rays of light edged the vivacious colours as they sprang and leapt at him like unleashed animals, savage, clawing relentlessly at his eyes, imprinting their evocative identities – the rich, hot reds, the yellow which exuded a wealth beyond measure, and all around surrounded by the cool, silky, turquoise that seemed to sing a song of adventure, of life.

“There will be no more stories…”

Copyright: Victoria O

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#206 ~ One Hundred Words and a Photo : 16

Blood congealed into robust globules, the sheen reminiscent of the violent illumination of rusting iron through the jagged facets of a sanguine sunset. It caked over mottled toes, seeped between peeling skin, and latched bloodthirsty claws into silk wrappings. Poised, elegant and fearless, the cramping arch rolled high into an effortless elongation of the delicately muscled body. Wrapped securely by pale pink hands which melded with the opacity of fresh leggings, layer upon layer increased, built up, stretched and twisted into a muted dance of power and poise. Brute strength throbbed consistently beneath the pale exterior of a graceful aesthetic.

Copyright: Victoria O

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#205 ~ One Hundred Words and a Photo: 15

It was too bright. Not a blush pink, but a passion pink, deep, wholesome and searing in color. The petite creation exuded a warmth, a power, a delicate grace. In between the coiled snout of the rosebud, each petal rolling itself gently round a central point, invisible, yet not intangible, an aroma seeped out. It was gentle and lilting, it curved and swayed, intertwining alongside the fine wind currents, like grains of sand on a rugged beach. The rose’s aroma and the summer breeze sang a song which spread tentative fingers out, alongside chlorophyll veins, pulsating a hot pink passion.

Copyright: Victoria O

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#204 ~ One Hundred Words and a Photo: 14

Ice shot through worn jeans leaving a vicious imprint on the shivering flesh of an infant’s bottom. Small lips puckered like the red ringed mouth of an expectant maggot, into a howl. David smiled easily. He looked like the inversion of a dog dressed in human clothes, the Dalmatian coat reflecting the sapphire aura that shone beneath the vein laced knit-work of frozen water. Acutely aware of the deceptive fragility, blades gouged themselves into the seemingly impenetrable surface. David bent, grasping hold of childlike wrists in his thick gloved hands. “It’s just part of growing up son, that’s all.”

Copyright: Victoria. O

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#203 ~ INTERIM

Note: To all my beautiful subscribers, likers, commenters – thank you very much for all your support.

Unfortunately I will be away for 2 weeks and may have haphazard internet access. So, please be patient if you end up getting 3 posts in a day then no post for one day or so. I shall keep on, making sure it equals out into a post a year, but I ask your patience. Moreover, if you haven’t and are worried about missing my posts, simply click the big button which says FOLLOW bottom right of screen then you shall get an email every time one comes up.

So, onwards and upwards my friends – keep on the look out :)

Kehinde X

202 ~ One Hundred Words and a Photo: 13

“Did you love her?”

Parted lips blew out a gentle rattle, the mottled skin flushing with a faint pink hue. Eyelashes hovered over creamy pupils whilst pinched nostrils flared slowly, steadily.

“Her hair was so soft, it smelt like spring rain and crushed petals…” a gurgle, a little choke. “Her face wasn’t plastered with all that make up…beautiful, slender, her smile could light up a room. Lit up my face…when she walked down that aisle…” a gentle laugh shimmered its way through the wheezy breath; cream brightened to a dull blue.

“Yes, i loved your grandmother very much.”

Copyright: Victoria O

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#201 ~ One Hundred Words and a Photo : 12

Firelight graced the waning night. He leant back against the chilling stroke of a backstreet lamp post.

An acrid smell of combusting plastic singed flared nostrils as it mingled with the pungent aroma of ink and water based paint.

“So…do you know who did it….?”

“No-one would’ve had the time, it’s a cry for help, but not a literal sign.”

“Really”.

The night’s temperature rose, bristling under his chin, stretching under the leather jacket. Sweat trickled, leisurely.

“What if…”

Words stumbled around a clumsy tongue. Fingers had already traced the words, squeezed them out in purple ink. M’aidez.

Copyright: Victoria O

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