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  • ContactRida 5:25 am on May 23, 2014 Permalink | Reply
    Tags: DPchallenge   

    luck of the Irish 

      20140522_180449 There was a sudden downpour. Her hair and clothes clung heavily to her small frame. A puddle of blood formed beneath her bare feet. She clenched her left hand where her pinky and ring finger used to be. “Tell us where he hid the gold or lover boy takes his first and last flying lesson.” She had no idea where Rex hid the treasure and he wasn’t talking since he no longer had a tongue. She loved him fiercely and would move heaven and earth to save him. To save them both. From the rooftop of their coveted luxury highrise, the glamorous life seemed so meaningless now. The rains stopped as abruptly as they had begun.She looked desperately toward the skies for answers. A rainbow appeared. “I know where he hid the gold. I can take you there.” She only needed time. And a little bit of luck.

    new 5 22 14 035

    new 5 22 14 036






  • ContactRida 4:07 am on April 8, 2014 Permalink | Reply
    Tags: DPchallenge   

    oh your words… 

    your words bathe me in orgasmic ecstasy
    part my willing thighs with verse
    moisten my hidden treasure with metrics
    you penetrate the deepest with your poetry
    my back arches
    i moan YOUR name
    i am insatiable
    for every word you forge
    speak to me tonight
    make me

    photo credit: contactrida


  • ContactRida 7:02 am on March 20, 2014 Permalink | Reply
    Tags: DPchallenge   

    my name is wanted 

    my name is pain
    for all the unwarranted beatings you gave me
    my name is sorrow
    for telling me you wish i wasn’t born
    my name is shame
    for making me feel like i was the sole cause of all of your woes
    my name is damaged
    for what you let happen to me
    my name is worthless
    for never saying how much i meant to you
    my name is exposed
    for never feeling safe with you
    my name is anger
    for seeing what i missed out on
    my name is empty
    for having to start all over again
    my name is motion
    for destroying and laying my new foundation
    my name is persevere
    for always believing in more
    my name is open
    for allowing others to love me
    my name is forgive
    for seeing you did the best you could
    my name is querida
    it means “wanted”
    your name is Mom
    for now i see you always loved me


    photo credit: http://s37.photobucket.com/user/iwanttobeaphotographerwhenigrowup/media/Nudes/lolanbumpweb2.jpg.html


  • ContactRida 7:35 am on March 5, 2014 Permalink | Reply
    Tags: DPchallenge   

    i am telling you i’m not going 

    She played her favorite song by Jennifer Holliday for the last time. How could he tell her to get out of his life? “You’re obsessive! You’re suffocating me! You’re crazy!” he viciously screamed at her. “You weren’t at work. Where were you? Cheryl wasn’t there either.” she hurled back in his face. “I have never lied to you, never cheated on you. You don’t know what love is, do you?” he asked but she could tell he didn’t want to hear her answer.

    She lunged at him with such a fury, she startled him and he fell backward. She leapt forward and grabbed the glass Eiffel Tower. “I promise to love you forever,” he said when he gave her the tower. They were going to spend their honeymoon in Paris after they were married. But he kept pushing back the date, said there was no hurry. She loved him, so she waited, and waited.

    The edge of the Eiffel Tower caught his temple with a horrid precision. She let go of it but it stayed wedged into his skull. He stared at her. Tears streamed from his eyes, then the blood came. It seemed to caress his face. He tried to get up but he only managed to tumble the paintings and plants. She looked down at him. He was very still. His face was not contorted. He looked like he was sleeping with his eyes open.

    “I can fix this,” she whispered to him as she lovingly kissed his blood stained lips. She rushed to the kitchen and flung open the cabinet doors beneath the sink. He was always so orderly, she loved that about him. The lighter fluid was right where he always left it. She grabbed it and began squeezing the clear stream all over the furniture and carpet. She forced the last bit of fluid over the front door. She wanted no interruptions.

    She lit an incense and placed the kitchen knife block over the unlit end. When the embers fell they would seal their bond. She  slowly searched through her Ipod for Jennifer Holliday. She found it and the music filled the room. She removed the throw from the  sofa and placed it over her head as if it was a veil. She laid beside him and embraced him. “I do,” she softly said as she laid her head gently upon his shoulder. The tunes consumed the room, as did the smoke and flames.

    What remains is charred, broken and boarded up. An eerie reminder of the depths of a woman’s madness and a man’s promised love. Judgment was cast so easily but those among us who assign blame to her have never loved with an all consuming passion. True passion is an insidious virus that mutates the heart, the mind and the soul. True passion burns brightly, its flames eternal.

    2010-01-01 00.00.00-53




    • hemmingplay 12:37 pm on March 5, 2014 Permalink | Reply

      This was well-written, but that final paragraph stopped me. It reads as though you’re saying murder is understandable, that it was at least partly his fault because he was pulling back? Passion excuses all things? Feelings trump thinking? It could be that he was pulling back because she was obviously derranged. I don’t see a reason to make excuses for her behavior, even though she died, too.

      • ContactRida 5:17 am on March 6, 2014 Permalink | Reply

        thank you for your reply. that was the whole point, seeing through the eyes of the killer, not the victim. the song that many people love is sorta creepy and stalky, which is why i chose it.

  • ContactRida 3:05 am on February 7, 2014 Permalink | Reply
    Tags: DPchallenge   


    She always had a way with numbers. 14,741,926. She knew the exact number of bricks creating the archways into the stadium. She had a slight headache. “Probably didn’t hydrate enough,” she thought as she sipped her cola. 14,741,926. She read somewhere that π contains all of the numbers we will ever use in our lifetime. All of our addresses. All of our test scores. All of our anniversary dates. All of our heart beats. And when the numbers are converted to letters, π contains all of the words we will ever see, read, utter or dream. Pretty amazing. “Geek much?” she chuckled to herself. She loved numbers. Numbers came to her easier than words sometimes. Most times. 14,741,926. This Friday night game was going to be the most awesome. She knew he was going to propose to her. His sister gave her a head’s up. “What’s that expression? Chicks before dicks?” as she thought that, soda nearly shot from her nose. She looked around. No one saw her. 14,741,926. Her headache was not going away and the cola wasn’t helping. She was close to the archway. So many people. She was not a fan of crowds, somewhat phobic, hated the hive-like noise of thousands of voices.fort-point-archesThen she saw him. He was yelling something and frantically waving a large, white teddy bear in the air, one of those gaudy kinds you win at a back woods carnival. It had red polka dots. “God, I love you so much,” she whispered aloud to him. She couldn’t wait to pretend to be surprised about the ring. She winced. Her head was pounding now. 14,741,926. She was sweating. She never had a migraine but this clearly was one. She tried to smile and wave back to him. 14,741,926. As she stepped further into the archways, she felt a staggering wave of hot pain piercing through the back of her head and straight through her right eye. Thick sweat was burning her eyes, clouding her vision. She dropped her cola. The archways seemed so far now but she could almost make out what he was yelling through the crowd, “time,” she didn’t understand, she wasn’t late. A thick darkness filled the archways consuming all sound and air. She felt her body convulse as she collapsed to the ground. “I’m having a seizure,” she thought, as her body seized up again, and again. She arched her neck and tried to call for him, but there was only a dark presence  in the archway. Now it was moving quickly and steadily towards her. “Time?” the surgeon called. “19:26,” the nurse replied. “Time of death, 2014, July 4, 1900 hours 26 minutes. Let’s try to save the other gun shot victims,” the surgeon solemnly uttered as he pulled the mask from his mouth. 14,741,926. She always had a way with numbers.


    photo credit: Cheri Lucas Rowlands

  • ContactRida 2:21 am on November 29, 2013 Permalink | Reply
    Tags: DPchallenge,   

    like an animal 

    thrown against the wall
    neck breasts devoured by you
    insatiable me

    parted thighs reveal
    moist pleasure invites you in
    go deeper harder

    faster into me
    that’s the spot coming oh yes
    let’s do it again


  • ContactRida 11:50 pm on November 28, 2013 Permalink | Reply
    Tags: DPchallenge,   


    cataloged but not
    items for sale delicate
    fragile needing you

    a sanctuary
    and patience is required
    must be role model

    and give love that is
    unconditional to her
    or him forever


  • ContactRida 11:00 pm on November 27, 2013 Permalink | Reply
    Tags: DPchallenge,   

    swimming lesson 

    white long extended.
    i approach. knees betray me
    trembling. i’m frozen.

    my toes grip the edge.
    arms together straight pointed
    toward unknown depths.

    blue green and tranquil.
    don’t swallow. don’t breathe. “push me.”
    ripples created

    as i dive into
    a claustrophobic wetness.
    frantic. i panic.

    eyes open but blind.
    please god let me see the wall.
    so far yet so close.

    gulping. gasping. breathe!
    your hand. i see. grab for it!


  • ContactRida 11:57 pm on November 26, 2013 Permalink | Reply
    Tags: DPchallenge,   

    white virgin 

    brilliant white virgin
    i mark your territory
    glistening beauty

    no sounds but my own
    carving gliding and floating
    upon you with ease

    on your blue bird day
    i honor you with my spray
    to end these first tracks


  • ContactRida 11:20 pm on November 26, 2013 Permalink | Reply
    Tags: DPchallenge,   

    false words 

    false words you offered.
    your false words bring misery.
    false words, my sorrow.

    my pain can escape
    through the false words i offer
    to you, i forgive.


  • ContactRida 7:25 am on October 31, 2013 Permalink | Reply
    Tags: Dear Abby, DPchallenge,   

    dear abby 

    For this week’s writing challenge, channel your inner Abigail Von Buren. Experiment with the question and answer format. Taking inspiration from a question you’ve been asked recently, whether in conversation with a friend or sent in from a reader, don your best counselor hat and share your expertise.”


    Dear Abby,

    I’ve been in therapy for 4 months now. I’m in therapy because I was sexually assaulted 6 months ago. I wasn’t raped or viciously beaten, just groped. It happened at a clinic. For extra money, I would sometimes be a lab rat for clinical trials. For this one trial, on the day of sign-up, they said the clinic needed to perform breast exams as part of the physical, since it was a trial for birth control. There was a male nurse doing the exams on women with no one in the room with them. I should have said I wanted a female nurse, but I didn’t. When my name was called, I said I wanted a female present. It took them 10 minutes to find someone. When he examined me, it just didn’t feel right. I had breast exams before and I never had those feelings. What made me really know something was wrong is when he took my hand, without asking me, and pressed it against my breast, showing me how to perform self exams. There were no gowns or sheets, so I had to just pull up my shirt. When he was done, he kept talking to me and didn’t tell me to pull down my shirt. I had to ask if I could pull down my shirt. I went home that day and felt physically ill. I slept in my bra and a heavy t-shirt. I didn’t even want to look at myself. I filed a complaint with the clinic, but they said their review board found nothing inappropriate happened. I went to the police, but they said there was nothing they could do since I had no evidence. I called a lawyer and she said my case would have little to no chance of winning. I also filed a complaint with the nursing licensing board, but all they did was note that my complaint was filed.

    I can’t sleep. I lost weight. I hate people looking at me. TV shows I used to love, I now hate because they are too sexually graphic for me. I can’t stand being anywhere near a medical building; those florescent white lights make me anxious. I hate taking a shower. I hate looking in a mirror. My breasts don’t feel like they are connected to me anymore. I have violent thoughts now about killing every man I see. I’m always angry and always tense. I feel like I’m on the outside of myself, looking at me interact with people. I pretend nothing is wrong but on the inside, I am numb and I just want to disappear. And I feel really horrible about myself because there are women who have actually been brutally raped, and I can’t get over just having my breasts groped. Please help me get over this. I just want to go back to who I was before.

    Can’t stop hurting-

    Dear Can’t Stop Hurting,

    I am going to say this three times because I need you to truly hear me: I believe you. I believe you. I believe you. Something DID happen to you. Please do not diminish your experience by saying you were just groped. You were sexually assaulted and for you, it was a vicious attack against your body, against your spirit, against your soul. You don’t need to show physical wounds to be sexually assaulted. What you are experiencing, which I’m sure your therapist has discussed with you, is PTSD, post-traumatic stress disorder. This is not something you can ‘get over’ in six months. But you can get through it. It may take years. It may even take a lifetime. But you CAN get through it.

    Know that you did nothing wrong. That is one of the hardest parts for survivors of sexual assault: thinking that they are to blame. The system failed you, and for that I am deeply sorry. You are very strong for pursuing justice for yourself through all of those different avenues. Unfortunately, sometimes bad guys get away. But you were brave for speaking out and there is now a record on file of that nurse’s vile actions.

    What you are experiencing now with your emotions is normal. There is no wrong or right way to feel. Your emotions will run the gamut. Your therapist will be able to help navigate you through that emotional firestorm. One very important thing you need to do, is allow yourself to grieve for the person you once were. You suffered a traumatic loss that day; part of you died. But you can be reborn, like the mighty Phoenix and rise from the ashes strong, healthy, beautiful and whole again. The journey will be long and arduous, but I promise, if you continue with therapy and continue sharing your story, there will come a day when you hurt less. And less, and less. Then there will come a time when the good days greatly out number the bad days; and you will not only have survived, but you will thrive. I believe in you. Please, believe in yourself.

    With much love and faith,


    • tdawneightyone 9:32 am on October 31, 2013 Permalink | Reply

      I’ve never thought about the idea of grieving the person you once were. That is a powerful therapeutic tool.

      • ContactRida 5:41 pm on October 31, 2013 Permalink | Reply

        thank you. i was in therapy at the time The Brave One came out, http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0476964/

        i thought i was ‘over it’ but after the film ended i went into the bathroom and could not stop sobbing. i wanted ‘me’ back. it was the turning point in my therapy. when i could accept that the old me had died and it was ok to mourn her and miss her, i was able to finally breathe. trying to hold onto her and resuscitate her was keeping me trapped in the trauma. i had to let her go. several years later, i still miss me, i will always miss her. i will write more about ‘her’ in posts to come. thank you again for connecting to my words.

  • ContactRida 4:52 am on October 22, 2013 Permalink | Reply
    Tags: DPchallenge   

    out of view 

    A man in a wheelchair crosses the street. There are three lanes of traffic: in the north curb lane a woman in a Mercedes Benz observes, in the center lane a man in a beat-up half-ton pickup truck watches. In the south curb lane, a bike messenger waits for the light to turn.”

    Sandy straddles her bike at the light. She wipes sweat from the corner of her eye with her sun-weathered knuckle, slightly lifting her shades. “Shit!” she thought as she watched the man in the wheelchair cross the street. Seeing his black leather glove grip and release the chrome pushrim of his rear wheel, she realized she left her gloves at the reception counter on her last stop. Now she would have to double back after the next drop. It wasn’t a long ride but the sticky, breeze-less city air made the extra trip irritating. As the light changed, she clenched her handlebars almost as tightly as that man. “His gloves look brand new and a full size too large”, she thought as he rolled out of view.

    “Asshole!” Toni shrieked, as the florist minivan ahead of her slowed down at the yellow light but continued through the jammed intersection leaving her the red light. The sudden stop ejected her meticulously collated presentation to the passenger floor. “Not today” she barked as she watched the man in the wheelchair cross the street. As she reached down to retrieve her papers she stopped. On the side of his pale, thick neck she saw a crisp tattoo of a hooded grim reaper with a sickle. “Is that supposed to mean you cheated death tough guy? You merely placed it on law-away” she snarked out loud. His head turned slightly as she spoke. Had he heard her? It didn’t matter. As the light changed, she was relieved when that tattoo rolled out of view.

    Stopped at the red light, Mike released his grip on the steering wheel. He was listening to Henley’s Last Worthless Evening playing on his radio. He turned the volume up a little as he waited at the light. He painfully thought of his wife as he watched the man in the wheelchair cross the street. In the final stage of her cancer, he would hold her hand and play this song. It seemed to comfort her when the pain meds couldn’t. Looking at the man, he noticed how healthy his legs appeared in the wheelchair. Even though his track pants covered his legs, Mike could see noted definition in his calves and thighs. He knows how the body wastes away when the muscles aren’t used; how clothes eerily cling to the body. “Why does he look so healthy” Mike wondered. As the light changed and Henley crooned on, Mike couldn’t shake the feeling something was off. He drove off slowly, adjusting his rear view mirror to watch the man roll out of view.

    • ContactRida 5:30 am on December 27, 2013 Permalink | Reply

      Reblogged this on Work in Progress….

    • kayepringle 5:10 am on December 27, 2013 Permalink | Reply

      Great post!

    • LaNette Kincaid 1:14 am on October 27, 2013 Permalink | Reply

      Love your blog

    • KENDRA MICHELLE 11:19 pm on October 26, 2013 Permalink | Reply


      • ContactRida 12:17 am on October 27, 2013 Permalink | Reply

        thank you for your comments. get started on writing and share what you have.

    • seweverythingblog 7:00 pm on October 26, 2013 Permalink | Reply

      Nice post! Your post is making me wonder, if this were a part of a larger piece of work which character would you will follow to the end of the story. (This from a non-writer, except for my niche blog 🙂 )
      Congratulations on being freshly pressed.

      • ContactRida 12:23 am on October 27, 2013 Permalink | Reply

        thank you very much. from one non-writer to another, i would follow the darkest character since he is more complex and i like a challenge.

        • mindofchristopher2013 11:28 pm on October 28, 2013 Permalink | Reply

          Nice work! I’m curious to see where you would take this, especially after the observations from Mike in the last perspective.

          • ContactRida 12:30 am on October 29, 2013 Permalink | Reply

            thank you very much. i too am curious to see where i would take it. some place as dark as possible:)

    • Raj 10:54 am on October 26, 2013 Permalink | Reply

      A simple thought in a great way

    • JW 3:47 pm on October 25, 2013 Permalink | Reply

      I really like the three-perspective form of this piece. Each is so different from the other and yet so relatable to the average reader. Nicely done.

      • ContactRida 2:58 am on October 26, 2013 Permalink | Reply

        thank you very much. i pictured each character and created a life for them. it helped me get into their heads to see what they saw.

      • ContactRida 12:26 am on October 27, 2013 Permalink | Reply

        thank you very much.

    • moodsnmoments 3:17 pm on October 25, 2013 Permalink | Reply

      beautiful. congratulations on being freshly pressed.

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