Tag: The Drabble

Throwbacks

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Thanks to The Drabble for accepting another drabble of mine. I do love microfiction and brevity in writing, and I am honored to see another one of my creations hosted here.

By Tremaine L. Loadholt (Tre)

I perused the gently used and previously owned items of every aisle. Old toys re-gifted to a store ready to house their contents — books decades-old, thumbed by the ancestors of the world. One could get lost in a sea of G.I. Joe figurines and Luke Skywalker life-sized dolls … not dolls. My heart jumped ten feet ahead of me when I spotted vinyl stacked so high, it resembled a tower. Could I scale it? Would I scale it?

Imagining the songbirds of the past and their accompanying suitors in sound sent shivers up my spine. I would have them — all of them. But first, I must purchase a record player.

I search for one in this — the land of throwbacks. I find it.

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“I am more than breath & bones. I am nectar in waiting.” – the writer

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Gloomy Saturday

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Many thanks to The Drabble for hosting another offering of mine. I am always grateful.

Gloomy Saturday

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By Tremaine L. Loadholt

She doesn’t know what today will bring. She awakened to a cold, rainy morning. The dust is beginning to settle around her. Her dog barks. She signals a neighbor or the post. Whoever it is, it’s far too early for smiling. Coffee percolates, wafts through the air. She wraps her cold fingers around the base of the mug and gently sips. Rain catches her windows—taps at them hesitantly.

Should she get dressed?

She looks outside, views the slow and steady cars driving by, and thinks to herself, “Get dressed for what?”

            
Tremaine L. Loadholt lives in Southeast U.S. Her work has appeared in several literary journals, anthologies, and print magazines. She has also published three poetry books: Pinwheels and Hula Hoops, Dusting for Fingerprints, and A New Kind of Down.

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Festering

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The Drabble published a recent piece of mine. I am honored to share it here. Thank you for reading. Peace.

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By Tremaine L. Loadholt

he came home to an
empty space.
his condo, a quiet, chaotic hole
that gripped him tightly.

the memories of Claudia
pained him throughout each day.
he could see her swollen eyes,
clogged with tears, then
her mouth drawing in from pain.

the chemo had dulled her
insides—crushed her soul.
her voice, now an echoing
ghostly ghast
followed him
everywhere he went.

festering…
festering…

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