I left this week’s entry for the Sixes until the last minute because I have so much going on with my studies and personal life combined that what came out was more of a stream of thoughts laid out like they appear in my drafts, rather than a heavily thought-out story where I strip it down and replace words and paragraphs or turn it into a poem or whatever...
today is also the only day I can write and edit unfortunately...
But I liked it this way, so... it is coming up...
The weekly prompt is provided by Denise and you can read all the entries at the link-up.
Six Sentence Story #26
They never teach one, when it is time to retreat from the moving clock, the wisdom only comes when you have no more light to give—like a wick of a candle, burnt down to its core—one must make time for themselves, art, music, or knitting, or one will turn to ash.
And the wisdom comes from the same mouth that preaches: as a lady, one must be quiet and reserved, a lady never speaks unless spoken to, the only resemblance to a bird, its singing voice and its unmistakable beauty.
But what if one has the iridescent blue, fearless scarlet and crest gold feathers of a golden pheasant—among the hummingbirds—a rather foolish expression.
And yet, you can see them wearing the same coloured feathers in fashion journals—daring and loud—by the wisdom, a proper lady would never be caught strutting around in those...
Even more so, what if one twitters and twirls like a cockatiel on amphetamines—the only clock that ticks is the one inside their head—and funnily enough, they can't tell friendly banter apart from being made the laughing-stock.
And what if the modesty of a perfect bird only surfaces when one learns diffidence—what if the only place one can dance is in their private quarters—around a lover if they are as fortunate as to find one who prefers cockatiels anyway—someone who won't ask them to stop expressing their weird little self just so they could fit into a cage of birds considerably more demure.
There's more of my work:
All of the six-sentence stories.
The Nervous Poet Entries for the SSC&B.
There is also a page for all of the poetry.
More personal entries can be found at the Blog.
The IT studies blog in Estonian for a course at the university.
the Band "Chaos in Spring" is on YouTube, Spotify and other streaming services.
excellent Six!
“…they can’t tell friendly banter apart from being made the laughing-stock.”
! two words: aiiyyeee
surely that reflective concept haunts the minds of certain people
Thank you so much for the compliment, and unfortunately it does haunt certain people a lot.
As a youngling I never understood the difference.
That’s a wonderful Six, Reelika 👍 Those concepts really haunt the minds of certain people. Also, one must make their time for something useful.
Thank you, and yes one must make the time… Which a bit weird considering that not so long ago people woke up in the mid of the night to read or knit or do whatever fed their souls… That was until that revolutionary boom where we got the factory workers and all…
Ladies? No. Not ladies. We would talk about women. Interesting women. And that is bloody good.
Thank you and YES!!! WOMEN… Interesting, a bit feral and fierce it is!
Chris nailed it. I second her words.
Thank you, Nick.
Some can only dance in their private quarters. Nicely told.
I guess so. But… When you are old enough you no longer care if you a bit weird… I guess.
A perfect Six, Reelika. I love it.
Be yourself.
Be unique.
And only look over your shoulder
to see where you’ve been.
(big hug)
Thank you so much. Am glad you liked it and hugs to you too!
The first sentence is so true, and your tale became increasingly thought-provoking as it carried on. I really like it, Reelika.
Awwwwww, thank you so much Keith.
Good Six, Reelika. One day she’ll dance where she pleases, regardless who surrounds her. And she’ll not mind wearing “iridescent blue, fearless scarlet and crest gold” any damn way she pleases. To partially quote from that most famous of plays, “to thine own self be true” in the face of fear and uncertainty. To be different is not a failing, it is simply, not the same as.
Thank you. And hopefully so.
Keep expressing the weird little self until you find your cage of like-minded birds would be my suggestion.
And that is the correct way to go about it. I think.
But well-mannered women rarely make history, so don that plummage, sing in the stairwell, and eat and drink with gusto if you’re feeling it. You’ll find your right flick by being true. ❤️
Well mannered women rarely want to too. But I guess that’s why someone like me can not be considered well mannered. Because I do want to get somewhere, with both, my writing and in my career.