The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

Beyond the Hiding Meadow
by Amanda Worthington

I leave flowers at the point where she vanishes

In Miller’s Meadow

Named for some dead man, I assume

They never name anything for the women

But exotic blooms and new sins

They imagine us committing

.

We don’t call it that though

For us, it is only the Hiding Meadow

A place we go

To evade detection

When our souls are full-up

With insurrection

.

We are fruit not allowed to grow before it is plucked

And used for decoration

We all die slowly sitting under the harsh fluorescents

.

But I am different, I say

Because I leave her flowers under the true sun

But I am not different

Because I fail to ask who they are

And what life they lived before

I only want to adore her

Not envision her fate

.

When she went

Her eyes were full of fear

But also resolution

And the world is empty now

A vast sea in a transient state

Now that the last echo of her laughter

Has faded.

.

She told me not to come after her

And I obeyed

Her bike remains

Toppled

I right it and move it

So that the prairie grasses

Caress it whenever the wind blows

.

She was beautiful whether she knew it or not

Like the assortment of blossoms the basket of her bicycle now holds

Cold but determined

A woman whose worth can never be assessed

Or argued or sold

.

I loved her in anger

And though my rage divided us

I always hoped she knew

That this ferocity is impossible without love

That I would die for her

That she was perennial for me

I prayed for her emergence In March

And April and May and June

And lived to worship her

.

I pick a flower from the bouquet

Absently snap its head

Watch the petals drift to the earth

And wonder not where she went

But why

.

And what drove her to leave me behind.

I might kill her if I saw her again

Or kiss her – I’m not sure which

I’ve tried mounting the bike since

Dozens of times

Riding into the prairie

Begging the magic that stole her away to take me

But it denies me my egress

.

There is a rustle in the grass

That cannot be just wind

It has the weight of a man

Looking for something

Growing increasingly desperate in his search

Fury rising

.

I start

Sigh and turn

My story at the ready

Knowing the pain that comes

Will never match what is in my heart.

.

Fiction © Copyright Amanda Worthington.
Image courtesy of Pixabay

Wicked Deeds: Witches, Warlocks, Demons and Other Evil Doer’s

Sometimes wicked people do wicked things simply because they can… The twelve stories in Wicked Deeds tell tales of witches and warlocks with ill intent, devilish demons bent on destruction, and other doers of evil who make the world a terrifying place. What is a mother to do when her daughter is gifted but lives under the thumb of her fanatical preacher husband who will brook no talk of the supernatural? What of a demon so desperate to free himself of a trap that he will force another to repeat his atrocities and condemn a young boy to his demonic fate? Or maybe the story of a crotchety old witch with a score to settle against the town she lives in is more to your liking – what evil will the seemingly harmless town-crazy call upon when faced with an ultimatum? If you’re looking for wicked people with supernatural abilities doing wicked things, this is the collection for you!

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