Two prompts today: Weekend Writing Prompt and Weekly Prompts Weekend Challenge ~ to include the words ‘bridge’ & ‘turmoil’, all in 53 words. Here is my story.
There are certain lines that exist in society, even among the closest of friends, lines not meant to be crossed.
She not only crossed the line …. she hurtled the bridge and jumped the shark.
And why? She’s only human and carelessly, regrettably didn’t think things through; now her brain is in turmoil.
We never went on vacation when I was a kid; that was for “rich people”.
You can imagine my unbearable glee when it was decided in the summer of ’59 that we would leave The Bronx for five glorious days in a place called Sunny Hill Farm.
Looking at the brochure we declared it to be “perfect” with lush rolling hills, horses, swimming, picnics, barbecues, fresh air and sunshine everywhere.
We loaded up the car, singing all the way to our vacation nirvana …. where it poured and poured for days.
“Good morning, Sunshine! Did you notice the wildflowers? It’s like they sprang up overnight. It’s awfully stuffy in here, don’t you think, Charlie? I’ll open the window a crack for some air if you promise to behave. One little yell from you and I’ll be forced to put your gag back in. Do you want that, Charlie? Ah, that’s a lovely breeze, isn’t it. Oh, now Charlie! You really shouldn’t have hollered like that! Just when I was gonna untie you. Why can’t you follow orders? That makes me angry. You remember what happens when I’m angry, don’t you, Charlie?”
Sammi at Weekend Writing Prompt is challenging us with the word “note”; in exactly 72 words, this is my response.
My mother was a terrific cook; her specialty was, of course, homemade Italian food – manicotti, arancini, etc.
She left me her ‘recipe book, which was really nothing more than scribbled notes. Her ‘detailed‘ cooking instructions read: “some cheese” and a “glass” of water.
I can remember the glass she used to add water to whatever she was cooking; it was an old Flintstones jelly jar.
Sammi at Weekend Writing Prompt is challenging us with the word “note”; in exactly 72 words, this is my response. 🍸
After thirty minutes and two martinis I began feeling paranoid. It was painfully obvious, at least to me, that everyone who saw me sitting by the bar thought I was either an elegant call girl just past her prime or a lonesome, tedious housewife who had been stood up.
I became aware of someone approaching. I looked up expectantly, smiling; it was just the concierge. Whispering discreetly, he handed me a note.
It’s been dreadfully cold lately; I seem to get a chill much easier now that I’m older. Maybe my “Senile Under-Skin Bleeding” is a direct result.
I spoke to my dermatologist about the thinning, drying and bruising skin on my lower legs; she suggested sauna bathing. The benefits include detoxification, increased metabolism, weight loss, increased blood circulation, pain reduction, anti-aging, skin rejuvenation, improved cardiovascular function, improved sleep, stress management and relaxation.
What could possibly go wrong?
I located a spa with a sauna. My glasses steamed up, I tripped and bumped into the frozen water bucket.
✦ Authors Note: “Senile Under-Skin Bleeding”, also known as “Senile Purpura”, occurs when the skin and blood vessels become more fragile as people age, making it easier for the skin to bruise from minor trauma. While it is mostly associated with older people, it is a common problem among those in their 30s and 40s. This frustrating and painful skin issue with a very ugly name can be improved slowly following a dedicated regimen of gentle exfoliation, daily Vitamin D and a skin lotion rich in Vitamin C. Staying out of the sun and wearing sunscreen, keeping hydrated and eating fruits and leafy greens are also extremely important and helpful.
Sammi at Weekend Writing Prompt has challenged us to write a piece of exactly 87 words, making sure to include the prompt “appointment”. This is my response to that challenge.
Leyland spoke softly as he comforted his weeping wife, Willow.
“Hush, darling. Another season has come and gone and I’m still here to protect you and the children. I realize I had a couple of close calls but so far, so good. I never thought I’d say this but I’m thankful for my disfigurement; it’s kept me from being selected and close to you.”
Willow sighed. “I feel terribly guilty. There’s no chance I will ever be chosen and I fear for our friends and family.”
“I know, darling. I’ll check on Douglas today. Pray the family is all safe.”
Author’s Note: Leyland and Douglas are very popular evergreens sold as Christmas trees. One of the saddest things is seeing all the dead and forgotten Christmas trees discarded by the curb after the season. Next time you go looking for a Christmas tree, consider buying one with its root ball intact instead of one that’s been chopped down; you can replant it in your yard or place it in a pot. Your tree gave you so much joy during the holidays; why not give it a chance to keep living?And BTW, artificial doesn’t need to have a negative connotation!
Dectina Refrain: This refrain is written as follows: 1st line – 1 syllable, 2nd line – 2 syllables 3rd line – 3 syllables, and so on for 9 lines; the 10th line is comprised of the first four lines as one stand-alone line.
Torn wrapping paper is scattered about. Let’s ring out the old and ring in the new year. Resolution-making time. Hit the gym and start that diet. I’ve never kept a resolution. Torn wrapping paper is scattered about.
As I sit here in my recliner looking out my bedroom window, wondering where Christmas has gone, I ask myself if I should venture out for my walk.
“It’s a bleak-looking day and awfully chilly. Stay inside where it’s warm and comfy.”
But then I remember that my wonky knee could use the exercise and time is fleeting. In just 83 days the beautiful blushing bride of nature will arrive and winter will be nothing but a distant memory.
Today Sadje is asking us “What do you see?“ Using her image along with Eugi’s word prompt “boundless” and Fandango’s word prompt “back”, this is my response.
Image credit: Jr Korpa @Unsplash
I stand at the doorway and watch as she stretches her legs from her car seat in the back of her daddy’s car, grunting with that Little Engine That Could determination until her fur-trimmed black ankle boots finally reach the curb. With the boundless spirit of a 3 year old, she runs up the path to our front door, stops for a second to wave at our North Pole decorations, and gaily calls out “Grammy! Grampy! It’s your Kukla! I’m here!” …. my nickname for our youngest granddaughter, Colette. She flings herself into my arms and we share a big warm Kukla Hug. Her hugs are the best and I don’t want to let go. Eyes smiling, she excitedly tells me she saw Santa and the elves outside and asks if we can bake Christmas cookies today. Every day with her really is the most wonderful time of the year.
“What is this place, Draco, and why have I never seen it before?”
“Ah, Natalia, this is the most prized room in the castle! Very few know of its existence …. only those whom I trust implicitly with my deepest secrets, those whom I know will never speak of this room to another living soul.”
“Oh, dearest Draco! Tell me truly. Does this mean you love me?”
“Love you, Natalia? No, my dear. It’s not love that rules my vampiric heart, but lust.”
And with that he ravished her atop the sarcophagus before sinking his teeth into her comely neck.
My mother was coming for a visit – just a couple of hours but enough time to give my house the once-over.
I gave up long ago trying to please Mom or meet her unreasonable expectations; nothing I did made her happy or proud so why even bother? Now that I was a mom, spending time with my kids was more important than keeping an immaculate house.
To my surprise, the afternoon with Mom was delightful. As she was leaving, she walked by the pile of shoes in my mudroom and announced with a huff, “Nancy, you are such a disappointment.”
Dad never learned to drive so mom had to take matters into her own hands.
She got her driver’s license in 1957 at age 40. Oh, she’d driven a bit when she was younger but women drivers in the 30s and 40s was unheard of.
Her first car was a Studebaker Golden Hawk and she ran that thing into the ground, literally.
One blindingly sunny day with the pedal to the metal, mom drove off the road, smashed into the cemetery and dug up a few floral arrangements along the way.
A provocative & evocative image from Jenne at The Unicorn Challenge; our mission, if we choose to accept it, is to write our reaction to this prompt. Here is mine.
Carry myself with pride, as my mama taught me. My name is Elizabeth but everyone calls me Betsy. I am sixteen, pretty and full of life. This is day one of my first paying job – working in the cotton mills. I’m lucky and so grateful.
Mama is home caring for my seven little siblings. Daddy left one day and never came back.
In my lunch sack is bread, an orange and a chunk of cheese; a plain lunch but it keeps me going. During my break I’ll sit by the banks of the river and splash my scorched face. Life is good.
Carry myself with stooped shoulders. I’ve been in the mill for eight months. It’s hotter inside than the blazing Georgia sun. Humid, too, to keep the thread from breaking. Boiled potatoes and river water for lunch. I’m sixteen. Maybe I’ll meet a husband here.
Carry myself on leaden feet. I work six days a week, twelve hours a day. I earn $1.00 each week. The air is thick with cotton dust. Nobody talks anymore; we keep our mouths covered but that doesn’t stop the coughing. I have no time or energy for anything else. I’m sixteen and feel like I’m sixty.
Carry myself with doom. I’m coughing up blood and see nothing in my future except dying in the mill. I think I’ll just walk into the river and never come out.
Carry my dead body to the graveyard. I was only sixteen and my name was Betsy.
The man stood off to the side, silently watching, seething.
They were neighbors, friends at one time …. brothers, a lifetime ago. When asked to go into business together, he turned his friend down saying it was a foolish venture, throwing good money after bad. He was afraid.
His friend was successful in his business and became wealthy beyond measure while his own life languished. Jealousy turned to self-pity which morphed into anger and hatred so deep and volatile, his head pounded at the sight of his once friend.
And look at her with that flashy red purse. Disgusting.
It was that little snot Petey and hislacklusterefforts in watering theendiveplants. One job and he failed miserably.
Well, after being told week after weekthat he was doing a lousy job, he’d finally found somegumption(ill-placed though it was) and hung me out to dry. What a mastertwit he turned out to be!
Here I am; I have no arms to pull myself up, no legs to jumpdown. Guess I’ll be here till the real thing comes along.
General Agricola was restless; for three nights he did not sleep. The Caledonians were plotting, of this he was certain. They were a pompous lot, thinking they could defeat his legions.
There was fire in his belly and he was determined to prove himself irreplaceable to the emperor, Vespasian.
Agricola summoned his first officer, Acilius. “I require the services of the scribe, Tertius. Depart immediately and bring him to me.”
Acilius did as commanded. The wizened scribe, Tertius, sat at the foot of Agricola, his calamus at the ready. He began the most crucial message of his life.
It was a tradition in my house when I was a kid; Mom made macaroni with gravy meat every Sunday and Thursday.
Nobody called it pasta; it was Ronzoni macaroni. And we didn’t say “sauce” either; it was “gravy”. Meatballs, pieces of pork, beef and lamb, sausages and bracciole – that’s Sicilian “gravy meat”.
Mom’s cooking was absolutely incredible. With the steamy kitchen window open just a crack, the aromas wafted out into the night, beckoning aunts, uncles, cousins and a few neighbors to dinner. Our apartment was always full.
The bright light wasn’t really necessary; everyone just followed their nose.
A four-line response to the photo-prompt challenge below from Greg @ Four Line Fiction
Image: Abandon Houses / Abandon, Decaying and Forgotten Group – Facebook
“Is there really such a thing as the perfect marriage?” Marcella wondered; at one time she believed the answer was “yes”.
Now, laying on her bed alone in her apartment, Marcella’s head was swimming; after 18 years of marriage, how could she have been so terribly mistaken?
She had discovered a loose thread, one which kept annoying her, and as she toyed with it, pulled on it, every neatly sewn stitch in the tapestry of her life began to unravel until there was nothing left but tatters.
“How does a man who seemed unwaveringly devoted to her and their daughter have another wife and children on the other side of town and everyone knew except her?” Marcella asked herself, her mind now numb; the very idea was staggering and she nearly laughed at how totally preposterous and unimaginable it all was.
Both men lived in the same apartment building, one on the ground floor and the other, two flights up. They would see each other in passing, nodding ‘hello’ or muttering the occasional “How ya doing?” They were approximately the same age and had seen each other often but a friendship never developed.
Then the corona virus hit and everything changed.
They happened upon each other in a nearby park, masked up, walking their dogs. One had a golden retriever, the other a chocolate lab. They struck up a socially distanced conversation, at first talking about their dogs then, of course, the craziness of COVID.
They were both unemployed computer engineers, laid off because of company closures. Each one contemplated moving back in with their parents but that was impossible; neither one came from accepting or understanding families.
They started biking and jogging together, often running the six miles that made up the full loop around Central Park. As they talked they discovered they had much in common: their nonexistent love lives, their passion for chess, a fascination with micro-brewing and their dream of working from home as computer app designers. And how gut-wrenching it was coming out as gay. Bittersweet commentaries.
The next step was so natural: moving in together. They could share one apartment and save money, work on ideas for app design programs, dabble in a little home-made beer and totally, passionately, fiercely fall in love.
A new year, a new start. Love in the time of corona.
Rochelle at “Friday Fictioneers” has challenged us to write a 100 word piece about how the image below inspired us. This is my original response to her challenge.
Devin and Charlie jumped out of her car, fiercely kissing and tearing at each other’s clothes.
What great luck for the teens with sex drives in hyper-mode; Devin’s cabin all to themselves while both sets of parents were far off on weekend vacations.
The teens planned to spend every minute in bed.
Devin retrieved the key from her pocket and unlocked the door.
The first shock was the romantic glow in the fireplace. The second? Finding all four parents getting it on …. and not with their own spouses.
And there stood Devin and Charlie letting it all hang out.
Rochelle at “Friday Fictioneers” has challenged us to write a 100 word piece about how the image below inspired us. This is my response to her challenge.
“We’re out of gas, Pepper.”
“Look, Brad! There’s a light! Let’s walk to it.”
“Good idea! Maybe someone can help.”
Arriving at a house, the couple was struck by its serene beauty. They dreamed of owning a home like this.
They knocked and a woman answered.
“May I help you?”
Brad explained their situation; the woman said there were full gasoline cans in the garage and invited them in.
The interior was breathtaking.
“Your house is gorgeous!” exclaimed Pepper.
“Oh, it’s not mine; I’m the selling agent. You interested?”
Brad and Pepper exchanged surprised and delighted glances.
The Elephant's Trunk 