for providing “Time Slips Away” for our writing prompt.
John Lightle is a Texas writer, poet, and photographer who spends many hours sitting on his woodpile contemplating. When away from his frame shop, he schleps his artwork among area art shows. The job takes him across the countryside, occasionally overseas, photographing the quiet resolve found within the golden hours.
She selects G9 on the ancient jukebox, and instantaneously teleports to 1958.
She finds herself in Al’s Creamery after school with ninth-grade friends, wearing black and white saddle shoes with heel taps, ghost-pale lipstick. Johnny Otis is on the turntable, and they’re all doing that crazy hand jive.
Great story and take on the prompt, Claire! That final line is hard-hitting. Your story makes me think back on all of the family vehicles in my life…memories galore!
They fought just when he got marching order's to report for duty. His heart ached since this eerie silence. The shell dropped right next to his bunker. Time was quickly slipping past him. Her kerchief which she had shoved in his combat pocket was clutched tightly in his frozen hand.
I cast a line in the water. I hadn’t been fishing in years and didn’t think I had the patience for it. But when Bob asked I couldn’t say no. Sitting there, my mind raced through a hundred things. Eventually, it settled down and I relaxed. I will be back.
All he needed was a little more, then he’d give it a real shot. It wasn’t a big dream, but he needed to be careful. Save a little more money. Put in a little more time.
Now he was retiring; comfortable, respected, safe – and the hole in him still empty.
It seems like yesterday driving into the dark abyss of the roadway so early in the morning. I didn’t know what I was getting into. A bunch of learning and a promotion along the way. Time slips away so fast. I can’t believe it’s been a year and a half.
Henry’s mother used to sit with him and they would look through the box. There were photos of Henry when he was young. She loved to tell him the story behind each photo. She took every photo and now he looked through them sad. He could only cry to himself.
At 90, he has far away eyes that peer more often into the distant past than the future or the now. He seems to travel in time, back to his Brooklyn boyhood days, to Johnny on the Pony and stoopball, to days when his old friends were more than memories.
I can feel the cold in my throat. It makes me cough a little. Not a choking cough, just enough to catch the attention of those around me. I know I shouldn’t be here but couldn’t help myself. I love ice cream, unfortunately like time, it’s gone in a flash.
Dazed, fiction
Wyatt spent his life on his phone: emails, scrolling, mindless videos. One day, glancing up, he realized Charlene and the kids had moved out.
He wept. A soothing YouTuber calmed him. He subscribed to her channel and fell in love all over again.
Wyatt never woke from this digital stupor.
Oof, reading this on my phone. Putting my phone down. Immediately. Hard hitting!
Reading this on my phone, too, Barrie! 😆 Thank you so much!
💛✍️💛
Some folks never learn.
Sad but true.
checking my screen time now...
Ha, that makes two of us! 😄
Oh, man! Brilliant. "One day, glancing up..... " Wow, anything can happen while we are all sleeping
Thank you, Sharron!
My Girl - Fiction
Where is she now?
She was here only a moment ago.
But I lost her.
Shame.
She was better than me, you know?
More of me.
She knew what she wanted.
Did she get it?
I hope so.
I wish she would come back to me.
Just once.
And always.
Cue the “if onlys…”
😭😭😭
THE TIME MACHINE, fiction
She selects G9 on the ancient jukebox, and instantaneously teleports to 1958.
She finds herself in Al’s Creamery after school with ninth-grade friends, wearing black and white saddle shoes with heel taps, ghost-pale lipstick. Johnny Otis is on the turntable, and they’re all doing that crazy hand jive.
She’s staying
Love this, Sharron. I’m sure many of us would stay, too!
Damn glad she is staying
The Truck - Fiction
It's not what you'd think of as a family car, that 1959 International pickup perpetually parked in the driveway.
Memories stir as he looks at it. Dad driving. Mom laughing. Siblings fighting. Splatters of mud still stuck to the fender.
A tear escapes as a new father takes the wheel.
Great story and take on the prompt, Claire! That final line is hard-hitting. Your story makes me think back on all of the family vehicles in my life…memories galore!
Funny how things can hold memories.
Time Slips, fiction
Memories faded, dreams evaporated, and sand from the hourglass of my life flowed from one chamber to the next.
A few grains later, the sun kissed the horizon, casting long shadows across the room.
My time was almost up.
“I’m ready,” I said to my love, as I slipped away.
Beautiful, Caro! Time is so very precious.
Life is ridiculously short. If only we realized it when we’re young. No, that would ruin the joy of youth. I suppose it is just the way of things.
If I knew then what I know now . . .
Poignant.
"The hourglass of my life" Yes. That's it.
Time slips away ( Fiction )
They fought just when he got marching order's to report for duty. His heart ached since this eerie silence. The shell dropped right next to his bunker. Time was quickly slipping past him. Her kerchief which she had shoved in his combat pocket was clutched tightly in his frozen hand.
Heart-wrenching, Sunil! I’m always impressed with how much emotion you’re able to pack into these short pieces.
I feel humbled by your words of encouragement 🙏
Fishing With A Friend - Fiction
I cast a line in the water. I hadn’t been fishing in years and didn’t think I had the patience for it. But when Bob asked I couldn’t say no. Sitting there, my mind raced through a hundred things. Eventually, it settled down and I relaxed. I will be back.
Loved this, Mark! Spending time in nature is never the wrong choice.
It is definitely good for the mind and soul.
A few hours without a phone? Might be just the thing! Nice one, Mark.
Couldn't hurt. Thanks, Sharron.
The Slip, Fiction
Time swirled around Holden Barnes; he had slipped. Lost control.
The numbers on his watch face peeled away; the glass case cracked.
"What happened?" Holden asked. The figures blurred around him, speeding through time.
Then, a voice. "Time has no master; and time will always tell."
Years. Days. Moments.
Gone.
Wow, Chris! This is excellent! One of my favorites of yours without question.
Ah thank you Justin! Really appreciate this!
Superb!
Thank you!
Yeah!
Time--poem
Is there a finish line in life?
Death?
What measure is that?
No, life is not a race to death.
Relish the moments, the events.
Look back, but do not lament lost moments.
Look forward, not in fear but in anticipation.
Live now, as if your life depended on it.
Lovely words to live by!
It’s not the right time, fiction
All he needed was a little more, then he’d give it a real shot. It wasn’t a big dream, but he needed to be careful. Save a little more money. Put in a little more time.
Now he was retiring; comfortable, respected, safe – and the hole in him still empty.
The idea of “more” has plagued society in many aspects, hasn’t it? This is such a powerful story, Stephanie. Excellent stuff!
Absolutely. If the goal is more, it'll probably never be enough.
Living for retirement is a wasted life. Live each day! Retire with great memories.
Right, you are!
Love this advice!
Take from an old geezer. 🤓🤣
😂 Learned wisdom!
"All he needed was a little more." Sad story, this "more" business. Nice work, Stephanie.
Thanks, Sharron!
The New Job (Creative Non-Fiction)
It seems like yesterday driving into the dark abyss of the roadway so early in the morning. I didn’t know what I was getting into. A bunch of learning and a promotion along the way. Time slips away so fast. I can’t believe it’s been a year and a half.
Time sure does fly, doesn’t it?! Thanks for sharing, Matthew. (And if the new job is yours, I hope it is going well!)
It is going well. It has its ups and downs, which is expected of any job.
A box of Photos - Fiction
Henry’s mother used to sit with him and they would look through the box. There were photos of Henry when he was young. She loved to tell him the story behind each photo. She took every photo and now he looked through them sad. He could only cry to himself.
Aww. Hopefully he can one day look back on the memories made with happiness.
Rewind Button, CNF
At 90, he has far away eyes that peer more often into the distant past than the future or the now. He seems to travel in time, back to his Brooklyn boyhood days, to Johnny on the Pony and stoopball, to days when his old friends were more than memories.
This is absolutely beautiful, Chele. 🥲
Lovely, Chele.
It's Too Late Fiction or Non-Fiction, could be either
missing the timeline for contact
we're very ancient beings
watching humans evolve
technology being mastered
but still a warlike species
too much to implant into humans
without blowing their circuits
the wisdom to save your planet
and still only a very few qualify
time to move on to another galaxy
I like how you classified this one as either fiction or non-fiction. I completely agree with you. Great piece of writing, my friend!
On my watch it's high time
I make timeless time with you
Time slips away all the time.
Time's tricky, iwears a diaper,
Climbs into a coffin (permanent timeout)
I'm on time but my time-card's missing. Time's up.Time to go. Better luck next time.
Time wounds all heels from time immemorial ; there is never enough time. But the diaper stopped me, Ernie. Which is good. Now I have to think ...
Time Rules Fiction
I can feel the cold in my throat. It makes me cough a little. Not a choking cough, just enough to catch the attention of those around me. I know I shouldn’t be here but couldn’t help myself. I love ice cream, unfortunately like time, it’s gone in a flash.