While shopping for groceries, I was surprised to see the tomatoes were mostlyorange and looked like sickly miniature pumpkins. Oh, how you mock me, my beloved red Heirlooms!
Written for Friday Fictioneers where our host Rochelle has asked us to use the photo below as inspiration to get creative in 100 words or less, making every word count. Hereβs my flash.
Written for Sammi’s Weekend Writing Prompt #383 where we are asked to get creative in exactly 80 words using any form of the required word “calculate”. Here is my flash.
Think about all the calculations involved in bridge building β not the least of which is the maximum weight a bridge can hold at any given time. Iβm not a mathematician or an engineer but itβs obvious the answer isnβt one you can get wrong … ever. No guessing allowed! One small miscalculation could spell disaster. Imagine tossing and turning in bed after handing in your numbers to the bridge committee, wondering if the decimal point was in the right place.
Written for Friday Fictioneers where our host Rochelle has asked us to use the photo below as inspiration and get creative in 100 words or less, making every word count. Hereβs my flash.
Punch β that misogynistic bastard β was out cold, spent from guzzling booze and pounding Judy like a side of beef. She slipped him Valium to keep him zonked and shackled his wrists.
Policeman Jack, Judyβs lover, stood guard outside; Punch would never escape before the tide washed him away.
Judy’s long gone now on a slow boat to a podunk beach town called Atlantic City.
A year went by; nobody asked about Punch or Judy. How quickly they forgot.
When Policeman Jack received a letter from the States, inside was a ticket to Atlantic City. Judy was true to her word.
Written for Sammiβs Weekend Writing Prompt #382 where we are asked to get down in exactly 22 words, using the required word βpleaseβ. Hereβs my flash.
Written for Friday Fictioneers where our gracious host, Rochelle, has asked us to use the photo below as inspiration to get creative in 100 words or less, making every word count. Hereβs my flash.
* In times of war or siege, Italian families would vacate their homes and rent apartments in safer areas. In order to protect themselves they would hire soldiers to sleep on the floor in shifts. The meaning of the phrase “going to the mattresses” symbolizes the association inΒ Italian folk-memory of mattresses with safety in wartime. The phrase wasn’t well known outside the US and Italy prior to the Godfather movies. It was used there, and later in The Sopranos, to mean “preparing for battle”.
When Kay met Michael, scenes from an Italian wedding (Godfather, 1972) featuring Al Martino as Johnny Fontane. This is “I Have But One Heart (O Marenariello)”
Written for Friday Fictioneers where our host Rochelle has asked us to use the photo below as inspiration to get creative in 100 words or less, making every word count. Hereβs my flash.
Jenny looked around the no-frills room which was now her home. A shy girl, sheβd never spent a single night away from home; now she was half-way across the country at an unfamiliar university with thousands of nameless faces.
At first she didnβt want her parents’ help moving but at the last minute she relented. They were on their way home now and all Jenny wanted was to grab her phone and beg them to come back and take her home.
The sound of girl’s excited laughter echoed in the hall; Jenny peeked out and someone happily waved her over.
My husband came home from grocery shopping and after putting away the ice cream said to me, βI stopped by the Chatsworth Auction House. Look what I found.β
He handed me a small box; inside were vintage lilac gemstone and silver filigree earrings.
I started to cry β¦ tears come easy β¦ and he asked βWhatβs wrong?β
βNothing. Theyβre perfectβ I sobbed. βJust like the ones I lost years ago.β
Written for Friday Fictioneers where Rochelle asks us to get creative in 100 words or less. Making every word count and using Dale’s photo below as inspiration, here is my flash.
Since we was kids it was just me and Roxie. Nobody wanted us but we didnβt care.Β We was crazy in love, wild about each other. We didnβt need nobody stickinβ their noses in our beeswax.
Long as we was together, nothin’ else much mattered, y’know?
We got a gig flippinβ flapjacks, a tin roof over our heads, a bed, and a hi-fi for spinninβ tunes.
We do our jobs each day, make mad love every night, and dance in the glittery moonlight.
We’re happy and there’s no hidin’ the signs. The whole shack shimmies.
The Sopranos, Episode 2.09. A post-surgery Christopher Moltisanti frantically pumps his morphine drip.
Those were my thoughts at 4AM after waking up in agony; my 8-Hour Tylenol had worn off two hours early, alerting the pain timepiece in my brain.
Clearly the Tylenol isn’t cutting it, but due to federal guidelines and crackdowns, a doctor’s ability to prescribe necessary painkillers has been seriously restricted and people like me living in the US are getting screwed.
Hi, kids! Iβm still here β¦ a little worse for wear but hanging on.
Itβs been just over one week since my spinal fusion surgery and Iβve asked myself the same question a few dozen times:
βWHY DID I DO THIS??β
I was talking to a friend today about back surgeries and, since my incision is centrally located on my lower back, I feel the pain everywhere regardless of my position or what Iβm doing β¦ and it hurts a lot.
Having gone through this herself a few times times, my friend reminded me that back surgery is a major deal and to cut myself some slack. I did what was necessary and recoup is going to be hard but I also need to remember it’s only been one week. I feel pretty dreadful right now but I realize that’s the norm.
“You’re strong … you got this” she said, and she’s right.
Well, on the bright side, I walk around the house with my walker every 90 minutes, then apply ice. I was walking every hour but by the time I finished walking and icing, there was little time to do anything else!
Thereβs no point in trying to play catch-up with your posts; once I start blogging regularly, Iβll begin reading your posts as well. But Iβm not back yet; this is just a note to say βHiβ and to let you know Iβm still here! And big hugs to those of you who scoped out my email address. It was really nice to hear from you.
I didn’t want to end this message with a downer of a song so hereβs one of my favorites … a classic R&B tune by Booker T. & The M.G.s to help us chill out. Itβs called βGreen Onionsβ.
It was 1965, a big year β my sisterβs graduation, the Beatles concert and our trip to Sicily.
We spent a day at Momβs cousin Concettaβs farmhouse outside Agrigento. Goats, sheep and a donkey grazed in the field among the olive trees. Chickens scurried around the barnyard like drunken spinning tops. They were extremely entertaining β our favorite.
We hung out with the animals all morning. In the afternoon we drove to Agrigento to explore the shops.
Upon returning to Concettaβs, we sat down for dinner. Pasta to start, of course. When she brought out the roast chickens, we burst into tears.
Here are three ridiculously talented Sicilian guys from Palermo playing a tune called “The Chicken”. They are Matteo Mancuso (guitar), Riccardo Oliva (bass) and Salvatore Lima (drums). Enjoy this one.
βStop lollygagging, you gang of pencil neck geeks, and get a move on! We donβt have a gazillion hours to waste. A performance awaits us so step lively. And speaking of step, watch yours. There’s goop about.
Greta! Grab hold of those goslings!
George! Stop giving Ginger googly eyes!
Glenda and Gloria! Quit gabbing!
Listen up, guys. Christmas will be here before you know it. If you donβt wanna get cooked, we gotta nail that βsix geese a-layingβ verse. We need two more geese in our gaggle to make three groups of six.
So, I was on the road early this morning and there was a good deal of traffic. Fortunately, the long version of “Light My Fire” came on SiriusXM followed by a Rush yawn-athon. I won’t inflict Rush on you but here are the Doors. Knock yourselves out, kids!
Mary went rigid and her soft brown eyes filled with tears when she saw the orthodontistβs bill. With no dental insurance, sheβd have to find some way to defray the expense.
Eileen gathered some boxes from the attic and began to pack up her late husbandβs belongings; Ned always told Eileen he wanted his things donated to the menβs shelter.
Now the drawer was empty except for a folder; inside Eileen found Nedβs sketches of their lake. Leafing through them, Eileen was outraged to see drawings of her sister Denise in the lake dated 2023 β the last time she visited. Ned and Denise had a fling years ago but Ned ended it β or so he said.
Eileen put the sketches back into the folder. Time for a little chat with Denise.
βDid you get it?β Ray asked when the door opened.
βYeah, but I had to shell out more money for itβ grumbled Joe-Bob.
βThat rat bastard! Hand it over β¦ and a flashlight.β Ray demanded.
βThis is primo, Joe-Bob! Gimme six Ds, will ya?β
Ray inserted the Ds and turned on his newly acquired battery-operated fan.
βListen, Joe-Bob. When Uncle Lester died, he left me a slew of money. Iβm gonna buy a state-of-the-art, solar-powered, non-electric RV. Iβm stocking up batteries βcos when that asshole gets elected, gas and electric prices will be insane. Iβm finally gonna beat the man!β
βLieutenant! Weβre getting a reading from the drone!β
βGimme that, Krebbs! It shows beyond these woods is a clearing with what appears to be life forms. Round up the team; letβs check this out.β
Guns drawn, the squad stealthily worked its way to the clearing. Slowly they emerged; the lieutenant pushed back his fedora and whistled through his teeth.
βWell, lookie here! Itβs the MIA grunge band, Rockit Gibraltar!β
βAre they dead, Lieutenant?β
βNah! Theyβre stoned. Must be that ramped-up drug β¦. Double Rubble. Call for a chopper, one equipped with a boulder holder. This ainβt no soft rock band!“
Written for Sammi’s Weekend Writing Prompt #371 where we are asked to get creative in exactly 54 words using the prompt word “timorous”. Here’s my story.
Nelly was a timorous sort; every little thing turned her into a nervous wreck.
So the other night at the dinner party when everyone except Nelly started feeling deathly ill while she stood off to the side calmly sipping her water, the truth became obvious.
Written for Friday Fictioneers where Rochelle encourages us to write creatively in 100 words or less using the photo below for inspiration. And would you look at that! Today’s photo is one of mine! Woot woot!! Here’s my story.
βOMG, Vern! People are starting to arrive. This is the most thrilling day of my life! Imagine me β¦. Hazel Heftybottoms …. a published author! I wonder how many of my friends will be here.
Oh no! Look whoβs prancing down the street like a prima donna. Itβs that cow Eloise and she’s wearing the same outfit as me! That pachyderm has really packed on the pounds! And provocative pink lipstick on her proboscis? What a slut!
I canβt believe she actually published her poetry book. What a pile of poppycock!
Yoo-hoo! Eloise D-A-R-L-I-N-G!! You look absolutely M-A-R-V-E-L-O-U-S!!
The fiery battle raged for days; in the end Evalyn, the Pirate Goddess, was victorious β¦ but at what cost?
While fighting on deck, there was a sudden cannon retort followed by grapeshot finding its mark β¦ Evalynβs beautiful face. Her eyes were spared but she was disfigured.
That one day changed Evalyn into a stronger woman. For her, nothing else mattered.
Fashioning a mask of solid gold, she became Evalyn, the Noble Pirate.
Written for Friday Fictioneers where Rochelle encourages us to get creative in 100 words or less using the photo below for inspiration. Here’s my story.
Triplet bumblebees Bizz, Bozz, and Buzz loved to bob from plant to flower to vine in the neighborhood alley. It was so bucolic, even the occasional visitor didnβt bother them.
Being such busy bees, they barely noticed the giant structure by the entrance.
βWhatβs that thing?β they asked in unison.
βKeep back! Itβs a trapβ warned Groucho the Grasshopper. βPeople say bad ideas are inside, dangerous goings-on about a Very Hungry Caterpillar, an Ant Bully and Bug Muldoon.β
The terrified triplets trembled, their little knees knocking.
βBugger off now, boys! You donβt wanna be here when the soldier bees arrive!β
Written for Friday Fictioneers where we are encouraged to get creative by writing a story of no more than 100 words using this photo as our inspiration. Here is my 100 word story.
It was the summer of β59 and I was going to spend July and August with my cousins at the shore. Iβd been packing since my last day of school, finishing two days before taking off.
The following morning I awoke with fever, sore throat, bumpy tongue and a facial rash. Scarlet fever, the doctor said. The disease was highly contagious. I was prescribed antibiotics and my parents were warned to keep me home.
My summer plans were abruptly cancelled; I was dejected. All I could do was watch my friends playing, my nose pressed up against the window screen.
We visited the Poe Cottage this week, former home of the poet Edgar Allan Poe. Itβs about a 30 minute drive from my house and I thought my two teenage grandchildren would enjoy the walk-around since theyβre both reading the works of Poe in school.
Itβs a quaint old place with small bedrooms, a common kitchen-parlor-dining room downstairs and an upstairs loft. My 6β tall grandson questioned how a grown man could sleep in the tiny bed.
At one point I realized my grandson had gone missing. Imagine my embarrassment when he was found napping in Poeβs bed!
There was a boy named Danny who sat directly in front of me in 5th grade. He had a perpetual case of ringworm which fascinated and repulsed me at the same time.
His beautiful black hair had been shaved to expose the circular rash on the back of his head. I imagined microscopic critters chasing each other around that stubbly maze.
The theory was that Danny caught the fungus while hunting frogs in the boggy bullrushes; somehow that didnβt make it any less gross.
I never could understand boys and their frog fetishes. Everyone knows that’s where warts come from!
Yesterday was our anniversary, wed 52 years. No partynecessary.
None of our friends who married around the same time are still together. How sad is that?
People have asked βWhatβs the secret to a long and happy marriage?β For us itβs pretty simple: respect, communication, honesty, having a sense of humor.
When you combine those ingredients, love happens. You can manage the lows and celebrate the peaks, watch the dawns and the sunsets, walk hand-in-hand through the ordinary and make it extraordinary.
Written for Friday Fictioneers where our gracious host, Rochelle, encourages us to get creative in 100 words or less using this photo as our inspiration. Here is my 100-word photo-inspired story.
Funny thing about dreams and memories; sometimes itβs difficult to tell them apart. Sometimes I just donβt want to.
That summer β¦. after the breakup β¦. I needed to be alone …. to think β¦. to put the hurt behind me. A few days at that motel on the beach seemed like a good idea at the time.
Everywhere I walked β¦. everything I saw β¦. reminded me of you. The scent of salt water. Scattered shells and seaweed. That song. Hot summer nights. Stars so close you could touch them.
Memories and dreams of you β¦. theyβre funny that way.
The Elephant's Trunk 