Short Story – The Elephant's Trunk

Written for The Unicorn Challenge where we are asked to get
creative in 250 words or less using this photo as inspiration.
Here is my story. If you would like to read previous adventures
of George and Martha, you may click here and here.

“This can’t possibly be the right place, George.”

“Must you always be so negative, Martha?”

“Take a look around, George. Do you see any sign of fine dining?”

“Perhaps it’s the shabby chic part of town. The French are famous for that look.”

“You know, George, for a man who prides himself on having the navigation skills of a homing pigeon, you’ve achieved the impossible and gotten us lost …. again.”

“Objection! May I remind you, Madam, that you’re the one who wrote down the name and address of this place.”

“Overruled! What’s your point, George?”

“Isn’t it obvious? Is it my fault that your chicken scratch is indecipherable?”

“It’s called cursive writing, you plebian, and it’s perfectly legible.”

“Ha! That’s highly questionable, Martha! Looks like hieroglyphics to me.”

“Bottom line, George …. we are lost.”

“Speaking of lost, Martha, I do believe we just passed a bar. I’m going to lose myself in a nice dry martini.”

“Don’t even think about it, George! We came all this way for a decadent dessert at ‘Le Sugar Factory’, the most exclusive pâtisserie in Saint-Tropez. I’m not leaving until I have it.”

“Settle down, Martha. I’ve heard hippopotami pass a kidney stone quieter than you!”

“Look, George! What’s the name on that building?”

“Mon dieu! That’s the same name you wrote down, Martha. See …. we’re not lost!”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, George! That says, ‘serrurerie’, locksmith; I wrote ‘sucrerie’, Sugar Factory! We’re still lost!”

“Chicken scratch, Martha. And I still need a martini!”

NAR©2024
250 Words

The Unicorn Challenge-10/05/24

This is “Sugar Shack” by Jimmy Gilmer and the Fireballs

Short Story

View From The Bridge

May 4, 2024May 4, 2024 The Sicilian Storyteller

Written in response to The Unicorn Challenge
where we are asked to be creative in 250 words or less
by using the photo you see below. This is my story.

NB. My story is another perspective prompted by C.E. Ayr’s intriguing response to this week’s Unicorn Challenge. Please check out C.E.’s story here and/or here. I hope you enjoy my version and his.

Contrary to popular opinion, sometimes these things really do just happen – at least that’s how it was for me.

My husband was out for the day … the monthly visit with his son from his first marriage. I never fault him this time alone; it’s good for him and it gives me the chance to spend a day in my favorite book store.

One day while on my way home, I paused to watch the swans; from the bridge I saw a man emerge from his boat. As if drawn by my presence, he glanced up at me and waved. I waved back. Then the most unexpected thing happened: he beckoned me. I went down to greet him and that was the beginning of our affair.

Now I live for my husband’s monthly visits with his son.

This month my husband’s son is backpacking with friends and there is no visit. He busies himself with tennis and darts at the pub. Desperate to meet my lover, I bailed on our tennis game, pretending to be sick, and my husband went off alone to find a partner.

The afternoon with my lover was heavenly; half-way home I turned around and returned to the boat.

How could I know my husband had paused on the bridge to watch the swans and saw me leave the boat?

How could my husband know that while he was plotting his jealous revenge, I had returned to the boat and was inside when he torched it?

NAR©2024
250 Words

The Unicorn Challenge-03/05/24

This is “Diary Of Hate” by Michael Nyman

Short Story

Lower Forty Soliloquy

April 27, 2024April 26, 2024 The Sicilian Storyteller

Written for The Unicorn Challenge where we are asked to be creative
in 250 words or less, using this image as inspiration. This is my story

“Where you been, girl? You got anythin’ goin’ on in that head of yours besides them nonsense rhymes? Your Ma’s been cookin’ all day and she sure coulda used your help with them black-eyed peas but you was nowhere to be found. You best not-a been hangin’ ‘round that good-for-nuthin’ boy again, girl. If I told you once, I told you a thousand times … keep away from him! There’s somethin’ not right with that boy! He’ll bring nuthin’ but misery. You start messin’ around with him and you’re gonna live to regret it. Then try and find yourself a decent husband! No man I know wants used goods!
Now stop makin’ excuses, girl! I’m your Pa and I know when you’re lyin’ … just like you was lyin’ about not bein’ out by the river. You know how I know that? ‘Cause somebody done seen ya. I see by the look in your eyes that it’s true. Yeah, you was seen by that new preacher man. And that ain’t all, girl. He said you was with that troublemaker and you had your heads together like you was plottin’ somethin’ real private-like.
I swear, girl, you ain’t got a lick a sense between ya. Stop this dang foolishness ‘cause it’s gonna lead to no good! C’mon now, girl … dinner’s waitin‘.
Anna, your cookin’ is fit for a king!
What you goin’ on about, woman? Jesus! I seen that boy just yesterday. Now, why’d he go do a fool thing like that!”

NAR©2024
250 Words

The Unicorn Challenge-26/04/24

This is “Ode To Billie Joe” by Bobbie Gentry

NB: Bobbie Gentry remarked that the message in Ode To Billie Joe revolved around the “nonchalant way” the family discussed Billie Joe’s suicide. She also said she included the verse about something being thrown off the bridge because it established a relationship between Billie Joe and the daughter, providing “a possible motivation for his suicide after meeting with her“. Gentry told The New York Times in 1969: “I had my own idea what was thrown off the bridge while I was writing it, but it’s not that important. Actually it was something symbolic. But I’ve never told anyone what it was.” The last time Bobbie Gentry appeared in public was at the Academy of Country Music Awards on April 30, 1982, almost 42 years ago to the day. Since that time, she has not recorded, performed or been interviewed. A 2016 news report stated that Gentry lives a secluded lifestyle in Los Angeles; she has refused to speak to reporters about Ode To Billie Joe or to give interviews.

Short Story

It’s All Going To Be OK

April 24, 2024April 24, 2024 The Sicilian Storyteller

Written for Six Sentence Story ~ “tonic” and
Mindlovemisery’s Menagerie, Sunday Confessionals ~ “sweet”

It doesn’t happen very often but last Sunday was a rare babysitting day for us; our usual days to watch our 4-year-old granddaughter Colette are Tuesday and Thursday but both our son and daughter-in-law (Colette’s mom & dad) had to work over the weekend. That was a rarity for them as well, but one is a librarian and the other a doctor and with both the library and the hospital open every day of the week, they sometimes pull a weekend shift but seldom do their rotations coincide as they did last Sunday.

My husband Bill has been having good and bad days this month, thinking about and missing his twin brother who died suddenly on April 2, so our son has been extra considerate, asking if watching Colette at this time is too much of an imposition; we answer without hesitation “Not at all …. in fact, just the opposite!”

Colette is always fun to be with but recently she has been a true blessing and a much-needed distraction …. a tonic, a balm for our sad and broken hearts, a healing magical concoction of love, joy, sunshine and humor blended with a combination of innocent wisdom and an intuitive nature that defies her tender age.

We were looking through some old photo albums with Colette …. snapshots of Bill and his brother as babies, as kids growing up on City Island, our wedding photos …. and even though Colette knew Bill’s brother and saw them together many times, seeing those photos left an impression on her, especially the ones of Bill and Jim when they were babies; it’s true, you know, that when our kids and grandkids are little and they look at us, they only see us as we are and have no idea we were ever any younger than we are right now.

One particularly sweet photo of Bill and Jim brought tears to my husband’s eyes and though he tried to hide his tears, they spilled through his fingers causing Colette to ask why he was so sad and we explained that Uncle Jim was gone, that he had left us to be with God in heaven; she thought for a second, put her little hand on Bill’s and said “Well, that’s ok, Grampy; don’t worry because God will take good care of him and it’s all going to be ok.”

Sunday Confessionals : Sweet

Sunday’s Six Sentence Story Word Prompt!

This is Stevie Wonder with “You Are The Sunshine Of My Life”

Bill and Jim, suntanned towheads in Montauk, 1950

Short Story

On The Rocks – Part 2

April 23, 2024April 23, 2024 The Sicilian Storyteller

The story continues.
Here’s Part 1.

The waiter silently glided up to my table carrying a silver tray with an empty glass, a decanter of ice cubes and a bottle of chilled limoncello. I watched as he expertly filled my glass halfway with ice, then with ease poured the moonglow yellow nectar over the cubes. I watched, mesmerized, as the oro liquido trickled down the inside of the glass and gently caressed the ice. A little twist of the wrist and he was done.

Not making eye contact, I thanked the waiter and told him to leave the bottle. He obliged.

I reached into my breast pocket and retrieved my silver cigarette case. Selecting a Muratti, I tapped it three times on the case and placed it between my lips. There was an ashtray and a book of matches on the table, compliments of the hotel; I lit my cigarette and inhaled deeply. I always got a rush from the feel of the slow burn of that first drag. I exhaled slowly watching the smoke rings break away and drift off.

Raising the glass of limoncello, I took a healthy sip and swirled it around in my mouth, savoring the refreshing lemony sweetness as I swallowed. I immediately began to feel a calm wash over me and I took another generous pull; it was unexpectedly heady. Placing the glass on the table, my hand remained suspended in midair as I spied the cursive inscription on my cigarette case:

To Nigel
From Camilla
Christmas, 2010

Plain, boring and emotionless …. exactly like Camilla was to me …. and I to her, no doubt. I quickly realized I hadn’t thought about her since that afternoon, since the accident. Even if there was anything left, which was doubtful considering the height of the cliffs and the number of times her frail body hit the rocks before disappearing into the choppy Mediterranean, there was no reason to assume it was anything but an accident. And that’s exactly what it was …. difficult to prove, though, if certain facts came to light

I put the cigarette case back into my pocket and thought about my next move. I refilled my glass, lit another Muratti and stared at the lights from the ships on the water. The longer I sat the more comfortable I became with my plan of action. It was imperative that nothing be rushed, not even a whiff of anything unusual lingering in the air.

Tomorrow I will leave Agrigento as planned. After lunch I’ll check out of the hotel; if anyone asks about Camilla, she had personal business to attend to. The concierge will arrange for my rental to be out front. Camilla preferred to travel light; it will be easy to add her bag to mine.

The waiter floated to my table, filled my glass with the last bit of limoncello, nodded politely and left, taking the empty bottle with him. I felt all traces of tension leave my body.

Tonight I will sleep peacefully.

To be continued….

This is Umberto Tabbi with “Ciao Siciliano”

Short Story

The Ambush

April 22, 2024April 22, 2024 The Sicilian Storyteller

Otis sensed it before Sam even heard it – tires crunching through the snow slowly approaching the diner’s driveway. The black lab growled, knowing instinctively it wasn’t Deb and the kids; it was much too early. They weren’t due back until around 10:00. Besides, Otis would have recognized the sound of Deb’s Jeep.

But there was one definitive reason why Otis knew it wasn’t Deb and the kids returning from their ski trip; Deb never drove in the dark with her lights off.

The instant Sam heard the vehicle, a knot started forming in his gut. “It’s ok, boy” he whispered soothingly to Otis while reaching for the service revolver he kept hidden in the cupboard and slipped it into the pocket of his Washington Wizards sweatshirt. Sam squinted in the darkness at the LED clock on the diner’s microwave – 5:10AM – too early, even for diehard customers. Tapping at his other pocket, Sam was reassured knowing his cell phone was there.

Careful not to knock over anything that would make noise, Sam quickly strode to the window and with one finger eased back the curtain ever so slightly. In the bleak pre-dawn hours he could barely make out the shape of a hulking SUV parked outside the diner. This was not just a business to Sam and Deb; the spacious second floor was home to them and their kids. If anyone tried to break in or cause harm, Sam took it very personally.

Otis growled again; Sam hushed the skittish dog and together they crept back to the counter and slid behind it. Sam fingered the gun in his pocket; he was ready if it came to that.

Footsteps on the front stairs were followed by a quick rap on the window. Otis was more nervous than ever and Sam spoke softly to him while slipping him a treat to keep him quiet. One more rap on the window, then the front door handle jiggled. Then jiggled again, this time with attitude. Sam decided he needed to go on the offensive.

“We’re closed” he called out. “If you need help, the police station’s just down the road. I can call them.”

“No need for that, champ” came a voice from the other side of the door. “I just ended my shift there. Saw a car leaving your parking lot and wanted to make sure everything was ok.”

“Thanks, we’re fine.” Sam replied through the door. Something about the way this guy said “champ” made the hair on his arms stand up.

“Hey, it’s my job. I’d feel better if you let me take a look around” declared the guy outside.

“And I’d feel better if you showed me some I.D. Just slip it under the door.”

“No problem, champ.” A shiny laminated wallet-size rectangle slid across the floor.

Glancing to make sure the deadbolt on the front door was secure, Sam quickly retrieved the card and checked it out in the glow of his cell. The I.D. confirmed the guy was a trooper and the photo staring back proved what Sam feared – this guy was no stranger.

“Son of a bitch! Dan McGinty!”

The same Dan McGinty from New York. Sam could never forget his brother officer from their days in the NYPD. A dirty cop, that piece of scum almost got Sam and his partner Frank killed in an ambush. Their testimony at Dan’s trial helped get a conviction but Frank would never walk again. What was McGinty doing out of jail and out here in the boonies? How the hell did he ever land a job as a state trooper? Sam had a really bad feeling about this.

Otis sprang to his feet, jolting Sam out of his momentary reverie. The black lab stared in the direction of the kitchen and growled loudly. And Sam knew. In the stillness of the early morning he heard that familiar voice behind him.

“Hey, champ. Been a real long time.”

It was the last thing Sam heard before the room went black.

This is “The Messiah Will Come Again” by Roy Buchanan

Short Story

Angel Eyes

April 20, 2024April 20, 2024 The Sicilian Storyteller

Written for The Unicorn Challenge
where we are asked to be creative in 250 words or less,
using this photo as our inspiration. Here is my story.

It was Friday night and my paycheck was burning a hole in my pocket. As it turns out, my on again/off again boyfriend, Jagger, was off again so I was free as the proverbial bird. Just as well; I was getting tired of the slouch anyway. But it was New Year’s Eve 1946 and I didn’t want to be alone.

Anxious to hit the tables and ring in the new year, I got myself all dolled up in an outfit that was quite possibly illegal in 33 states – a lowcut slinky little black number with a high side slit, silk stockings with lacy garters and red satin stilettos. Maybe I’d run into a high roller ready, willing and monetarily able to treat me to a bourbon, a thick juicy steak and a slice of pie a la mode.

I grabbed a taxi to the casino, the driver giving me the once-over in the rearview. I wasn’t interested in any two-bit palooka so I played it cool. Averting my eyes, I glanced out the window, snuggled deeper into my fur coat and lit a Chesterfield. The smoke encircled my head and my bright red lipstick left a perfect kiss around the filter.

When we arrived, I tossed a fiver at the cabbie and stepped out onto the sidewalk. The staccato of my heels alerted the man in black .… Special Agent Sam Bishop.

“Evening, Candace. You’re looking angelic, if you don’t mind my saying. I don’t suppose you’ve heard from Jagger.”

NAR©2024
250 Words

The Unicorn Challenge-19/04/24

This is Kenny Burrell with “Angel Eyes”

Short Story

The Floor Lamp

April 17, 2024April 16, 2024 The Sicilian Storyteller

Written for Six Sentence Story
where the prompt word is “present”

When little Summer was just a few days old, her mother Laura started the tradition of sitting with her in the nursery to read stories before bed; in the corner of the nursery was an old floor lamp that used to belong to Laura’s grandparents, Momma and Poppy, and it filled the nursery with a soft, soothing glow.

As a little girl, Laura spent a lot of time with Momma and Poppy and the three of them developed a deep and loving bond so when Momma and Poppy passed away, the one thing Laura asked for was the floor lamp which was in the bedroom of their house where little Laura napped; now, each night Laura would tell baby Summer all about her beloved Momma and Poppy.

This one particular night as Laura and Summer were sitting in the nursery, the glow from the floor lamp caught the baby’s attention and she was captivated by it, something Laura thought was a sweet connection, especially since the lamp originally belonged to Momma and Poppy, Summer’s great-grandparents, but then Laura noticed a pattern developing, a pattern that would repeat two or three times most nights at Summer’s bedtime where the baby would gaze calmly and quietly at the lamp, then slowly begin to coo, gurgle and giggle for a few minutes before becoming animated – smiling, eyes glowing, arms waving, laughing and babbling loudly – then back again to quietness but still very much attracted to and aware of the lamp …. even when the floor lamp was off, Summer was attracted to it.

One afternoon when Summer was around 3 years old, Laura heard her talking and laughing, just like she did when playing with her stuffed animals, and when Laura peeked into Summer’s room expecting to find her little girl on the bed, she was surprised to see her in the big over-stuffed chair where Laura read bedtime stories; the floor lamp was lit and Summer appeared to be having a happy and lively conversation – not with her stuffed animals but with the lamp.

When Laura asked Summer who she was so happily talking to, the little girl was quick to reply “Momma and Poppy, of course; can’t you see them, Mommy?”

Laura caught her breath for a moment but she was not completely shocked for she knew Momma and Poppy’s lamp was special – the very reason Laura wanted it in her own home, but she didn’t realize how special it was; Laura never tried to stop Summer from talking to the lamp for she truly believed the spirits of Momma and Poppy were present and Summer’s conversations with them were real …. and who are we to say they weren’t. 🪽

Sunday’s Six Sentence Story Word Prompt!

This is “Guardian Angels” performed by John McLaughlin, Larry Coryell and Paco De Lucia

Short Story

The Cruelest Joke

April 13, 2024April 12, 2024 The Sicilian Storyteller

Written for The Unicorn Challenge, where we are asked
to write something creative in 250 words or less
by using the photo below for inspiration.
This is my story.

The moment we stepped out of our car, the temperature felt like it dropped twenty degrees and a cold wind whipped my black-stockinged legs. We cringed at the frigid slap in the face and huddled deeper into our jackets as we climbed the steps to the church.

We found the seats reserved for us …. second pew directly off the center aisle. I clutched my husband’s hand and felt his body quiver as he raggedly exhaled, desperately trying not to cry. The tears would come, but on his terms.

The pews on both sides of the church were filled with people celebrating a life and mourning a loss. Everything leading to this moment had been a maelstrom of emotions; there are very few things that shake us to our core like a sudden death.

A man appeared at our pew; I recognized him as the manager of the funeral home. He spoke softly to my husband and together they started to walk to the back of the church. I looked up at my husband’s face and he gave me a sad smile.

There was a heavy silence in the church, mourners sitting side-by-side lost in a fog of grief. Had someone played us the cruelest joke?

As one, the pallbearers heaved the casket onto their shoulders and the organ began to play. That’s when I saw my husband walking behind his brother’s coffin, our widowed sister-in-law on his arm, and there were tears.

Now we will try to move forward.

NAR©2024
250 Words

The Unicorn Challenge-12/04/24

This is Al Green with “How Can You Mend A Broken Heart”

Short Story

Tools Of The Trade

April 10, 2024April 11, 2024 The Sicilian Storyteller

Written for Six Sentence Story #309; the required word is “core”

John Black always keeps his tools in the finest condition, each one hanging on the rack with incredible precision like soldiers standing at attention, lined up by size depending on his needs, clean, sharp and at the ready at all times.

There are saws that could cut down the largest tree and mallets strong enough to pound huge spikes into boulders, screwdrivers and files of every shape and size, pliers to yank out the longest of nails and wrenches to loosen joints rusted together, planes that could shave off the thinnest slice of wood and blades that could cut through the toughest leather.

John Black scrubs his tools clean after each use so they are gleaming, polished and waiting for his next job, whenever that might be .… every day and into the night …. and he is ready, a busy man who never waits to be called, a man who easily finds his own clientele.

John Black is not a carpenter or a plumber, not a roofer or a mason, not a mechanic or a custodian – no, his job is of a different nature, his instruments weapons meant to inflict the most pain a human could endure – for you see, John Black is a psychopath, a stalker of the innocent, a torturer, a murderer; oh, yes, his tools serve him well, sate his sadistic needs and, being an unassuming man, his victims are so very easy to find.

John Black lives nowhere yet everywhere, next to your sister or your daughter or your mother or you, so keep your doors locked and never go out alone, even to check your mailbox or collect your newspaper or to bring in the cat, for he is ever vigilant, constantly at the ready, waiting patiently to show you in the minutest of detail what every last one of his tools can do in the hands of a master.

Come now, don’t look at me like that …. I’m just the storyteller telling the story of John Black who’s a bad seed, the devil’s spawn, a blot on the escutcheon, a moldering apple, rotten to the core.

Sunday’s Six Sentence Story Word Prompt!

This is AC/DC with “Dirty Deeds Done Dirt Cheap”

Short Story

Dinner Out

March 30, 2024March 29, 2024 The Sicilian Storyteller

This is The Unicorn Challenge
where we are asked to be creative
in 250 words or less, with this photo
as our inspiration. Here is my story.

The smell of old cooking oil reheated too many times stuck in his throat and clung to every inch of the Chinese food takeout joint. He hated being here, his uncomfortable demeanor only making him feel ridiculously out of place. And why were there only two tables in the whole shop when there was clearly room for more. He felt naked, center stage, all eyes on him yet no one paid him any attention.

How the hell did he let himself get roped into this? His granddaughter, a 15 year old package of rebellion and maladjustment, talked him into a dinner out. He didn’t like eating anywhere but at home but he realized in the fourteen years since she was in his care, he’d never taken his granddaughter out to eat, not even for an ice cream.

He wondered if he resented her. In truth it was his daughter, the girl’s mother, he resented for running off like she did and leaving her year old tot with him. What kind of mother does that? One just a kid herself, stuck with an unwanted baby and a desperate need to be a teenager. Well, she took off one night and never came back.

Now, here he sat, waiting for this willful girl who was too much like her mother for her own good to return from the toilet. She’d been in there far too long and he sat staring at his past knowing she’d run off, leaving him alone again.

NAR
250 Words

The Unicorn Challenge-29/03/24

This is Del Shannon with “Runaway”

Short Story

Matinee Idol

March 30, 2024May 12, 2024 The Sicilian Storyteller

This is The Unicorn Challenge
where we are asked to be creative
in 250 words or less using this photo
as inspiration. Here is my story.

There was never a time when my father didn’t sport a mustache. A thin, elegant line when he was a young man, a bit more pronounced as he grew older but always neat, always refined.

Dressed in his army uniform, he was every bit the matinee idol and it was obvious why Mom fell for him.

When we visited him in Albany Medical Center the morning of his surgery for multiple aneurisms – both abdominal and aortic – his grey hair was neatly combed, mustache trimmed. He was 82 years old and the doctors gave him a bleak 6% chance of surviving the operation. Yet, survive he did.

My sister’s daughter – my father’s eldest grandchild – gave serious thought to postponing her wedding until my father was stronger. He insisted she “do nothing of the kind”. He told us all, in no uncertain terms, that he would never miss his first grandchild’s wedding …. and he didn’t. Dressed to the nines in his tux and bow tie, perfectly groomed silver mustache, we all held our breath as they walked hand in hand onto the dance floor for what would be their last spin together.

When my dad died, we provided the undertaker with a photo for reference. The inexperienced mortician did a lovely job tending Dad but, looking back and forth from the photo to my father at peace his coffin, the undertaker knew something was amiss.

It was the first time any of us had ever seen Dad without his dashing mustache.

NAR©2024
250 Words

The Unicorn Challenge-29/03/24

This is “Celluloid Heroes” by the Kinks

Short Story

The Playground

March 26, 2024March 27, 2024 The Sicilian Storyteller

Written for Six Sentence Story, incorporating the word “slide”,
Fandango’s Story Starter #141 and four additional word prompts

Allison arrived home to discover, propped up against her front door, a mysterious package addressed to her but with no return address; in these dangerous times, opening a strange package with no identification is a reckless thing to do and Allison isn’t the type to take chances, no matter how curious she was about this unexpected delivery.

Unlocking the front door, Allison gave the package one last glance and went inside but she couldn’t think of anything other than the box on her porch and eventually gave up, heading back out; the more she looked at the box, the more one sticking point nagged at her: the print on the hand-written shipping label looked extremely familiar.

Suddenly, like a bolt out of the blue, Allison realized the handwriting was her father’s; a thousand thoughts flew through her mind as she tried to figure out what he could have sent her, finally coming to the conclusion that her dad must have packed away a few items for her which belonged to her late mother .… items of sentimental value …. before he sold the old family house and settled into a senior living facility.

No longer wary, Allison excitedly picked up the package and brought it into the kitchen where she placed it on the counter and with a knife carefully followed the taped-up folds until she was able to open the box; resting atop the packing material was a small envelope with her name on it written in the same handwriting as the shipping label and inside the envelope was a note which read, “Dear Ali, I remember how much you loved these and I wanted you to have them, maybe one day for your own little girl” ~ Love, Dad.

Puzzlement creased Allison’s forehead as she gently pushed away the bubble wrap to discover one of her favorite toys – a miniature playground set complete with working swings, a seesaw, monkey bars, a slide and sandbox; there was even the little family with their pet dog which she had named Tess.

Now all smiles, Allison carried the pieces into the sunroom and placed them on the side table next to her chair near the window; they looked so happy and gay with the sun shining on them and Allison sighed, not at all surprised to feel a tear running down her cheek.

Sunday’s Six Sentence Story Word Prompt!

Fandango’s Story Starter #141

FOWC with Fandango — Stick

Weekly Prompts Weekend Challenge – Miniature

FOWC with Fandango — Print

Weekly Prompts Wednesday Challenge – Smiles

This is “Lazy Day” by Spanky and Our Gang

Short Story

The Continuing Adventures of George and Martha

March 25, 2024March 25, 2024 The Sicilian Storyteller

Written for Photo Challenge, Mindlovemisery’s Menagerie #507

“Do I need to point out the obvious, George?”

“I’d rather you didn’t, Martha, but seeing as how I’m a captive audience, I have no choice, now do I?”

“None. Clearly you’ve managed to get us lost …. again.”

“Nonsense! I know exactly where we are.”

“Of course you do. It’s the same road we’ve been on for the last hour.”

“I’m rather fond of this road, Martha. I believe the beauty of the straight line is lost on most people.”

“You are a blathering idiot, George. The only thing lost is us. Just admit you made a wrong turn 100 miles back.”

“Never! The only wrong turn I ever made, Martha, was the one down the aisle on our wedding day.”

“You are a beast and I loathe you! Turn the car around, George.”

“I will do nothing of the kind. I am the master of my steed and I say “Onward!”

“What you are is a master asshole, George, with about as much sense as that cactus.”

“And you, Martha, are a bellowing cow in the throes of labor.”

“You do realize we’re going to die out here, don’t you, George? The vultures are already circling overhead.”

“Oh, don’t be so melodramatic, Martha.”

“Look! There seems to be some sort of rest area up ahead. Stop and ask for directions, George.”

“Over my dead body, Martha! Over my dead body!”

NB: This is my first story about George & Martha. They’re so much fun, I need to write about them more often.

Photo Challenge #507

This is Steppenwolf and “Born To Be Wild”

Short Story

Fiasco In Florence

March 25, 2024March 24, 2024 The Sicilian Storyteller

When my sister Rosemarie had her 16^th birthday, our parents decided it was the perfect time for our first family vacation in Italy. Plans were made for the summer …. three weeks traveling around Italy and another three weeks visiting family in Sicily.

One of our stops was Florence where we stayed in a breathtaking guesthouse called Pensione Mona Lisa. Our accommodations were similar to an apartment but without a kitchen; all meals were served in the communal dining room. Our parents took the master bedroom on the first floor while Rosemarie and I shared a loft bedroom which also had its own bathroom.

All the rooms were exquisitely decorated with beautiful furnishings and expensive rugs. In our bathroom there was a claw-foot tub, separate shower, a pedestal sink and an enclosed area with the toilet. Next to the toilet was an odd-looking fixture neither of us had ever seen before. It was the same size as the toilet but with extra faucets and handles and a strange sprinkler contraption in the center of the bowl. When we turned the faucets on, water shot out straight from the sprinkler; we immediately turned off the water, then sat there trying to figure out just what the hell the damn thing was.

After considerable thought, we came to the conclusion it was for foot-washing. Happily kicking off our sandals, we turned on the water and bathed our hot, tired feet. We dried off with the small paper guest towels in the bathroom and tossed them into the bowl, then pulled one of the levers expecting the towels to flush away. Well, they didn’t. In fact the ‘footwasher’ very quickly filled with water and overflowed as Rosemarie and I tried desperately to stop it.

Before we knew it, the bathroom floor was covered with water which leaked out into the bedroom, soaking the rug. We watched helplessly as the water trickled down the stairs into the main living section, drenching the gorgeous rugs. Our mother saw what was happening and rang the front desk for help but it was pretty much a lost cause.

The pensione staff arrived and started yelling and screaming at us in Italian as other guests hurried over to see what all the commotion was about. The rugs were ruined and we were responsible for the damages. The rooms became uninhabitable and when we inquired about other lodgings, the pensione manager told us they were all booked and we had to find another place to say for the remainder of our time in Florence. After paying off the front desk clerk, he begrudgingly made a few calls for us; we were told there was a small hotel in Pisa that could accommodate us.

Despite all the angry hotel personnel, the name-calling, the expense for damages, the inconvenience of relocating and our parents general frustration, nothing could have prepared them for the embarrassment and mortification they felt explaining to their sixteen year old daughter and her tween sister the purpose of a bidet.

This is “Only Sixteen” by Sam Cooke

Short Story

Tall Ships

March 23, 2024March 22, 2024 The Sicilian Storyteller

This is The Unicorn Challenge.
Our objective: to be creative in
250 words or less, prompted by
the photo below. This is my story.

Battery Park. The glittering lights of tall ships parading up the Hudson River. New York at its brightest. The Big Apple – excitement and energy down to its core.

So how the hell did I end up in Pennsylvania Dutch Country, hopelessly in love with my Amish husband Abel, married for four years with three kids and twins on the way?

Good old revenge. I wouldn’t play ball with my boss so instead of being assigned to photograph the tall ships in New York Harbor, I was banished for a month to cover the “Plain People’s” Summer County Fair.

What I thought was going to be a nightmare was a delicious surprise. When the handsome, lusty Abel Jansen and I locked eyes, it was “Goed gevoel” – a “good feeling” from head to toe and all parts in between.

Being accepted into the Amish community, let alone marrying, is difficult but we had a few things going for us. I was a city girl, not afraid of getting my hands dirty. We were mature. Most Amish were married before age 20; Abel and I were both 26.

But the clincher was the serendipity attached to my name …. Menno Jakob.

The most revered men among the Amish were Menno Simons and Jakob Ammann. The elders were convinced I was descended from them when I was actually an Italian Jew from Canarsie! Who was I to argue?

Abel was my tall ship and I was his splash of Manhattan sparkle. Nothing else mattered.

NAR©2024
250 Words

The Unicorn Challenge-22/03/24

This is “Sailing” by Christopher Cross

Short Story

Transgression

March 20, 2024March 19, 2024 The Sicilian Storyteller

Written for Sadje’s “What Do You See” #230 – March 18, 2024

The young man, rail thin and incredibly tall, ran through the courtyard like a gangling, indelicate giraffe. One hand planted firmly on his head kept his cap from flying off …. a common occurrence .… while the other hand jutting out to his side performed the function of a human rudder keeping him on course. An over-large cowl flapped disobediently from one shoulder to the other. On his feet he wore simple sandals and his spindly legs took giant strides in an exaggerated attempt to keep them on his feet.

From a distance he could have easily been mistaken for an apoplectic ostrich.

A quick glance at the sun and the shadows cast by the stone columns confirmed what the young man already knew – he was late. Again. He quickened his pace, awkwardly darting between the pillars, and spied the grated entrance to his right. He flew toward it, nearly falling flat on his face onto the cobblestones beneath his feet.

The young man flung open the gate and quickly entered, hunching over to prevent his head from hitting the doorframe. He stood for a few seconds in the shadows to collect himself, then quietly opened the chapel door and slipped into the one empty space at the end of the stone bench.

None of his brothers dared acknowledge his late arrival but he knew he would be called to task for this transgression.

NB: When I saw Sadje’s photo prompt, I was immediately reminded of The Cloisters in the Bronx, NY, an extension of the Metropolitan Museum of Art. It’s a fascinating place which I have visited many times. To take a look inside The Met Cloisters, click here.

#WDYS

What do you see # 230- March 18, 2024

This is Gregorian Chant Music – “Monks of the Monastery”

Short Story

Nowhere Man

March 20, 2024March 19, 2024 The Sicilian Storyteller

Written for Six Sentence Story
incorporating the prompt word “bank”.

Ruth looked up from her book and stared at her husband Fred as he fiddled with his iPod; at one time, he knew every little detail about that thing but now the device totally confused him and in frustration Fred cursed as he threw the iPod across the room yelling “Damn thing’s busted!”

Ruth sighed and retrieved the iPod, placing it on the table between their recliners and glanced sadly at Fred who sat in his chair looking straight ahead; Ruth asked herself “Where is my husband of 55 years?” because for her it was like he was gone, replaced by this ‘nowhere man’.

In an attempt to help Fred settle down, Ruth calmly suggested they look at the iPod together after dinner to figure out what was wrong but that only seemed to anger Fred even more and he shouted back at Ruth that he was not a child and she shouldn’t patronize him; when Ruth apologized and told Fred she was going into the kitchen to make dinner, he snapped at her saying it didn’t matter because he wasn’t hungry anyway.

In the kitchen Ruth wept silently; it was like this ever since Fred’s diagnosis of early onset dementia and now they squabbled over everything, especially things he used to do without so much as a second thought, like paying the bills, but these days he got lost walking to the bank on the corner.

Fred used to be very handy but now he couldn’t even set his alarm clock and when Ruth offered to sort out his meds for him, he lashed out saying he could do it himself but he mixed up the dosage and had a terrible reaction leaving him feeling hopeless and helpless.

Fred came into the kitchen and, without being told, went straight to the spot where Ruth stored her cutting boards and knives and started helping her prepare the salad, perfectly chopping vegetables and chatting amiably about a movie his friend Jack thought they might enjoy; the old Fred was back .… at least for the moment.

Sunday’s Six Sentence Story Word Prompt!

This is the Beatles with “Nowhere Man”

Short Story

Muffins And Croissants

March 16, 2024March 16, 2024 The Sicilian Storyteller

Our gracious host Jenne at The Unicorn Challenge
has offered up this photo prompt hoping to inspire us
to creatively write something in 250 words or less.
This is my 250-word response to the photo prompt.

The year was 1987. Bill and I were celebrating our 15^th wedding anniversary by going on a cruise to the Bahamas with our sons, aged 10 and 8.

On the third day we made plans to disembark at our next port of call …. St. Thomas …. and asked one of the stewards to recommend a nice beach. He gave us a name, saying it was not a touristy place and if we were lucky, we’d see some iguanas. Having had a pet iguana before, the boys were excited.

We ate breakfast in an outdoor cafe with thatched umbrellas before heading to the beach, bringing with us some leftover croissants and muffins too delicious to leave behind. The steward was right; the beach was deserted. It was pristine with the clearest, bluest water we’d ever seen. After a couple of hours, there was still no sign of iguanas anywhere and our boys were sorely disappointed. We searched a large rock outcropping, knowing the little lizards like hiding in crevices, but none were there.

Rounding the rocks to check out what was on the other side, we stopped dead in our tracks. It was like a land before time with iguanas the size of small dinosaurs sunning themselves on the beach. They were magnificent and, aside from their enormous whip-like tails, appeared harmless.

Cautious yet unafraid, we slowly approached as the herbivores watched from heavy-lidded eyes. To our sons’ utter delight and amazement, iguanas enjoy being fed leftover muffins and croissants!

NAR©2024
250 Words

The Unicorn Challenge-15/03/24

This is “Island Boy” by Kenny Chesney

Short Story

The Panic Button

March 14, 2024March 14, 2024 The Sicilian Storyteller

Yesterday, as I was driving up into the gated parking lot of a medical facility, I was faced with a dilemma: from my position in the driver’s seat, I was unable to reach the OPEN BUTTON. I stretched as far as I could, with no luck. Finally, I opened my door just a bit, reached out and successfully pushed the button. I closed my door, drove through the now open gate and went in search of a parking spot.

I found a spot quickly and, since we were early, my husband and I stayed in the car for a few minutes chatting. When I reached for my purse, my heart sank and I felt sick to my stomach. My purse wasn’t where I always keep it …. tucked into the space between my seat and the driver’s door. I’m sure you see where this is going. Yes, when I opened my car door to push the button which opens the security gate, I didn’t realize my purse had fallen out of the car!

Thank goodness I immediately figured out what happened and Bill took the short walk to the parking lot entrance to make sure my purse was still there. It was gone and when he returned empty handed, I almost pushed the panic button. Just like most women, my life is in my purse. It’s not big but inside was my cell phone, my wallet with my ID, driver’s license, insurance cards, credit cards and cash. My car key, a pen, lip gloss and Advil are also inside the purse. Not a lot of things but very important things. In fact, some are vital.

I tried to stay calm as Bill went into the lobby of the building to check with the security guard at the front desk. Against all odds, he had my purse in a box beneath his desk; nothing was missing. Bill had to sign for it and when he brought my purse back to me in the parking lot, I thought I would cry with relief.

All this transpired in the course of 10 minutes. Incredible good fortune which could have gone south just as easily and I was reminded of the classic line by Blanche DuBois from “Streetcar Named Desire” about the kindness of strangers. Whoever the person was who found my purse and turned it in to the front desk, I thank them with my whole being. They saved my life today and if that sounds like a ridiculous exaggeration, just think about what it would be like piecing everything together and then try not to push the panic button.

This is the Kinks with “Strangers”

Short Story

Just An Average Junkie

March 13, 2024March 13, 2024 The Sicilian Storyteller

Alright, alright, alright!
It’s time once again for a Six Sentence Story,
this time incorporating the word ‘remote’.
Here’s mine, with a few other prompts just for fun.

The reflection of my timeworn face in the bathroom mirror is harrowing, one I still can’t accept is me .… someone who was always strikingly attractive, impeccably dressed with my designer labels neatly tucked away and out of sight; these days I see only one person on a regular basis and he doesn’t give a shit what I look like as long as I have the money to pay him.

There’s that old twitch in my left eye, an unwelcome reminder that a killer headache and nausea are about to overtake me if I don’t eat some Skittles, a much more socially acceptable term than that hushed-up, dirty little name that makes all the so-called ‘well-adjusted’ people cringe as though in the presence of a leper; fucking hypocrites who gleefully suck up their gummies and hemp oil and legalized medical marijuana while sipping on their “superb organic Pouilly-Fiussé”.

My hands are shaking in equal amounts of excitement and desperation as I check out what my guy has delivered today – reds, blues and yellows – a difficult choice, to be sure, but the numerous voices in my head have made a unanimous decision: mellow yellow to match my jaundiced skintone and disposition; yes, I’ve read the headlines and the fine print warnings – I’m not an idiot, you know, and that makes me laugh out loud!

Let’s see what’s in the magician’s box to fix this sallow complexion …. spackle-like primer to fill in the yawning crevices around my mouth, foundation with a bit of a dewy finish (or so the advertisements promise), creamy rosy blush for my cheeks, glossy brush-on plumper for luscious lips, pencil to fill in my threadbare brows, glittery highlighter to lessen the deep-set appearance of my eyes and layer upon layer of mascara on my straggly lashes.

Looking at my reflection once again, I see that I’m now back .… returned from the dead, if you will …. and I look sensational, provocative and sensual with just the right touch of promiscuousness, yet there are two burned-out, remote eyes blankly staring back at me.

I slip into my work clothes, ready for another night hitting the pavement, when I feel that familiar sensation and I’m faced with the recurring stalemate – whether I should just take all the pretty candy, lie down and pray I never wake up or put myself back on the meat market to earn enough money for another bag of Skittles; “Fuck it, I’m already dressed” I think as I pop a red and slam the door behind me.

Sunday’s Six Sentence Story Word Prompt!

FOWC with Fandango — Superb

FOWC with Fandango — Attractive

Weekly Prompts Weekend Challenge – Timeworn

FOWC with Fandango — Headline

FOWC with Fandango — Unanimous

Weekly Prompts Wednesday Challenge – Labels

FOWC with Fandango — Thread

FOWC with Fandango — Stalemate

FOWC with Fandango — Harrowing

This is “The Pusher” by Steppenwolf

Short Story

Ooh, Baby!

March 10, 2024March 10, 2024 The Sicilian Storyteller

In response to a prompt from Carrot Ranch,
write a 99 word story (no more, no less)
about an awkward situation.

When I was newly married, my husband and I lived in an apartment building. It was a nice place, quiet, and we only saw the people who lived on our floor.

I’d run into Meg by the elevator every so often; she was extremely pregnant.

This one particular day I saw Meg and realized it had been a while since our last elevator meeting. Noticing her protruding belly, I said “You must be getting close now, eh?”

She stared at me and bluntly responded “I had the baby three weeks ago.”

Eyes darting, mumbling “Congratulations”, I fled the scene!

NAR©2024
99 Words

https://carrotranch.com/2024/03/05/march-5-story-challenge-in-99-words/

This is Brenda Lee with “Baby Face”

Short Story

Champagne On Ice

March 9, 2024March 8, 2024 The Sicilian Storyteller

Jenne, our delightful host at The Unicorn Challenge,
has once again asked us to write something creative
in no more than 250 words based on how
the photo below inspires us.
This is my response.

The pathway to my future seemed incredibly long and I could easily imagine myself escaping down a side aisle. What kind of thought was that for a bride on her wedding day?

“Well, we got lucky, sweetheart; the rain held off. Emme, are you ready? The musicians are waiting for my signal.”

I turned to face my father. “Daddy” was all I managed to eke out before the tears started. I hadn’t called my father Daddy in years.

Dad motioned for the music to keep playing and magically produced a handkerchief. “What’s going on, kiddo?”

“This doesn’t feel right, Dad. I’m about to marry Gregory because of a promise I made to Mom.”

“Emme, if you want to back out, I’ll stand by whatever decision you make. But it’s best for everyone if you do it now, not after you’re married.”

“But you spent so much money to make this day perfect.”

Dad put his hands on my shoulders. “Damn the money and damn the promises. All I want is for you to be happy. If you think this is a mistake, say the word. My car is parked right outside.”

“What about Gregory?” I asked biting my bottom lip.

“I’ll talk to him privately, Emme. Don’t worry about that.”

I looked at my father and quickly nodded. He reached into his pocket and handed me the keys to his car.

“Go on now. I have some explaining to do.” He kissed my cheek and took off down the path.

The Unicorn Challenge-08/03/24

This is “Hotel California” by the Eagles

Short Story

Spring Ahead

March 7, 2024March 6, 2024 The Sicilian Storyteller

Are you ready to cast off the winter doldrums and rejoin the land of the living? I know I am! Although daylight has been lasting a bit longer each day, the change is imperceptible. However, on Sunday here in The States we will turn our clocks ahead one hour as Daylight Saving Time begins. Spring ahead, fall back. Losing that one precious hour of sleep will be worth it just to close the door on Old Man Winter.

It seems the older I get the less I like cold weather. I’ve never been a fan of winter, not even as a child. While all the other kids were sledding and skating, I’d be watching them from my window under a cozy blanket drinking hot cocoa. Not much has changed! I’m a “beach bum”, not a “snow bunny” and much prefer walking into the surf than trudging through the drifts.

Winter is when everything turns grey and fades away. The birds fly south and the trees go bare. The deserted playground swings get tossed about in the cold wind and wisps of smoke spiral out from chimney tops as families enjoy the warmth of their fireplaces.

It takes forever for people to get dressed to go outside – donning boots, parkas, scarves, hats and gloves – then they make a mad dash from the house to the car and another dash when they arrive at their destination, hoping they don’t suffer a “mad dash ass smash” in their icy haste. Believe me – the ‘slip-sliding away’ happens and it ain’t pretty! How about the hundreds of people waiting for public transportation? Fur-lined hoods pulled up over their heads, faces red and chafed, lips cracked and sore, noses dripping and eyes tearing from the wind. Talk about “your huddled masses yearning to breathe free”!

In less than two weeks spring will arrive. Boots will be replaced with sandals, snowsuits with bathing suits, winter skis with water skis, hot chocolate with lemonade, sleds with bicycles, snowballs with baseballs and winter mittens with gardening gloves.

March winds bring April showers and April showers bring May flowers. Is there anything lovelier than a sunny day in spring? The birds have returned and are chirping their little hearts out. The resilient crocuses and daffodils have popped up through the defrosting earth and tiny buds are forming on the trees. Now is the time for planting seeds and saplings that were started months ago inside warm houses. The sky is clear, the sun is shining and there’s just a hint of a breeze. Couples walk hand-in-hand through the park and the playgrounds have come back to life. Children pitch tents in their backyards and dads grill the first hot dogs of the season.

I’ve often said I don’t like February; it’s the shortest month but to me it feels like the longest and the loneliest. Now March is here and it came in more like a lamb than a lion with temps in the 40s and only a slight breeze.

You’ll get no complaining from me – not yet, anyway. But it’s still early; why, it’s not even April. Just wait for the blazing summer sun, the mad dashes to our cars to blast the AC, the scalding hot sand at the beach, the highways jammed with people escaping the city for a week at the shore, the lines at the ice cream stands, the agony of a blistering sunburn and the howling dog days of August.

When will autumn get here? There’s just no pleasing some people!

This is Nina Simone with “It Might As Well Be Spring”

Short Story

Sock It To Me

March 6, 2024March 6, 2024 The Sicilian Storyteller

Denise at GirlieOnTheEdge is once again
challenging us to write a Six Sentence Story
using the word “ace”. This is my story.

The other night as I was getting undressed and ready for bed, I pulled off my sock and saw something on the sole that looked like a bit of fuzz or a piece of string but upon closer inspection I realized it was something imprinted on the bottom of the sock itself; since I can’t see a thing without my glasses, I thought it was the letter A for the company name which is Ace USA but I soon found out it was the letter L, obviously for LEFT.

“What are the odds!” I declared to myself, rather tickled by the fact that I put the LEFT sock on my left foot without even checking the bottom of the sock, but when I took off the other sock, fully expecting to see the letter R indicating the RIGHT sock, I was confounded when I saw another L!

“Just my luck” I again proclaimed to myself, somewhat annoyed that I would be the one to get a defective pair of socks, with two LEFT socks and no RIGHT sock!

I promised myself that in the morning I would call Ace USA and encourage them to correct their oversight by sending me two RIGHT socks, one as a mate for one of the LEFT socks and the other as a mate for the other LEFT sock, leaving me with two perfectly functioning pairs of socks.

The next morning I called Ace USA, explained my problem to Eleanor in customer services and requested two RIGHT socks to match my two LEFT socks; well, I’m sure you can imagine what a good laugh I had when Eleanor sweetly explained that the L on the bottom of my socks did not stand for LEFT but rather for LARGE.

Now I find myself rethinking that box in the front closet full of defective mittens.

Sunday’s Six Sentence Story Word Prompt!

This is Aretha Franklin with “Respect”

Short Story

Club Kashmir

March 2, 2024March 1, 2024 The Sicilian Storyteller

Lovely Jenne from The Unicorn Challenge
is teasing us once again with this photo.
We are to get creative in 250 words or less.
In exactly 250 words, this is my response.

“Coroner? What do we need the coroner for?” asked Police Sergeant Jeffries. “It’s obvious this poor slob jumped off the roof. Just look at him!”

“Not so fast, Jeffries” snapped Police Captain Russo. “Take a close look at his hand.”

Knowing his boss was expecting him to man up, Jeffries crouched down near the splattered corpse. God, he hated jumpers.

“You know what I think, Cap? This guy was some sort of perv into the kinky stuff. That bottle in his hand is from Club Kashmir, the notorious sex den.” Jeffries looked up at his superior hoping to have made a good impression.

“Jeffries, sometimes I wonder how you ever made it onto the force” sneered Russo. “If you hope to be Lieutenant someday, you better prove you have what it takes. Pervert, my ass!”

Humiliated, Jeffries was beginning to think he wasn’t cut out for this line of work – always tripping over himself to impress the captain.

“ Jeffries! Make yourself useful. Put that bottle in an evidence bag. And for Christ’s sake, put on a pair of gloves first!” Russo shouted.

Jeffries felt like an idiot but did as he was told.

Captain Russo ordered everyone back to the station. “Not you, Jeffries. You’re done for tonight. Go home. Report back tomorrow.”

Jeffries nodded curtly but smiled to himself as he fingered the Club Kashmir passkey in his pocket which he pilfered off the dead guy. At least some hot chickie will show him a little appreciation tonight.

The Unicorn Challenge-01/03/24

This is Led Zeppelin with “Kashmir”

Short Story

The Beachcomber

February 27, 2024February 27, 2024 The Sicilian Storyteller

I guessed that something was wrong as soon as I saw the look of shocked disbelief on my husband David’s face.

“Babe, what’s wrong?”

With tears in his eyes David whispered “I lost my wedding ring!”

It was our last night in Cape Cod. After dinner we went for a walk on the beach. There was a lot of seaweed in the ocean from a storm a few days before. We walked along the shore, teasing each other with clumps of seaweed; that’s when the ring must have slipped off his finger. But exactly where we had no idea. We crawled around searching but it was dark and we couldn’t see anything. David was devastated.

“Hon, I know your wedding ring means the world to you but we can always replace it.”

“I know, Jess, but it just won’t be the same.”

Dejected, we returned to our room and went to bed. After hours of trying to get to sleep, I grabbed my laptop and Googled “Will a ring wash ashore after falling in the ocean?”

Almost immediately there was a *ding* on my laptop … a response from “TheRingFinders.com”. It read: “We can help find any lost metallic object on the beach or in the water. Enter your zip code and we’ll get back to you ASAP .”

I entered the zip code for Cape Cod and 10 minutes later I heard from Rick at “RingFinders”. After explaining our situation, Rick said he’d be at our B&B at 7:00 AM to start his search. Thank God for the Internet!

True to his word, Rick was already on the beach at 7:00. We ate breakfast on the veranda, never taking our eyes off Rick as he searched everywhere with no luck. It was almost checkout time when he trudged up to the B&B.

“No luck, folks. You’re gonna get socked in traffic if you don’t leave now. I’m sorry to disappoint you but I’m not giving up. I’ll keep in touch with you either way.”

Disheartened, we checked out and loaded up the car. Taking one last look at Rick, we waved goodbye when we realized he wasn’t waving goodbye … he was waving in excitement. He ran up the beach with his arm in the air, hand clenched in a fist.

“I found it, folks! I found your ring” he shouted.

We ran to meet him and he grinned as he placed a wet, sandy ring in David’s hand.

The ring was under 11 inches of water and seaweed!

Overjoyed, David hugged Rick and we asked how much we owed him.

“This is a free service we provide but we gladly accept donations” Rick explained. “Its very rewarding to see the joy on people’s faces when they’re reunited with their precious lost items.”

I don’t remember how much we gave Rick … that’s not important. What I do remember is David glancing at his ring all the way home and smiling.

What an experience and certainly an incredible act of kindness. Thanks, Rick!

Authors Note: Every word of this story is true. David is my son and Jess is my daughter-in-law. Theringfinders.com is a real organization and Rick, a stranger to David and Jess, did them a service they will remember for the rest of their lives. Sometimes fact is stranger than fiction!

This is Acker Bilk with “Stranger On The Shore”

Short Story

Far Away Land

February 24, 2024February 23, 2024 The Sicilian Storyteller

Jenne, our genial host at The Unicorn Challenge,
has offered up the photo below as our inspiration
to write a story of no more than 250 words.
This is my 250-word response to that challenge.

There was once a land so very far away from every other land that it was almost completely forgotten by all the inhabitants of the world.

And on that land there were trees and bushes and plants of every type imaginable. Each tree, plant and bush bore the most incredible edibles … luscious fruits of every variety known and unknown to man. There were at least 10,000 kinds of grapes, 8,000 sorts of apples, 3,000 types of pears, 2,000 varieties of peaches, 1,000 kinds of bananas, 400 types of berries, 400 varieties of oranges, etc. There were many sorts of vegetables that grew underground as well as on trees. There were streams, lakes and rivers with crystal clear water abundant with fish.

And on that very far away land lived a cyclops … giant, of course, as all cyclopes are. He was left there years ago by his parents who knew he would never survive life in the city, a life of ridicule and torment and loneliness. They also knew they would never be able to show him any kind of love or affection; indeed, his mother was repulsed by the feel of his rough skin, and unable to look into his one large, blood red eye.

But the cyclops was not forgotten. Every birthday his parents would travel thousands of miles to bring him candy. He would greedily eat the candy and they would leave. Until the last visit when he ate the candy and for dessert, his parents.

The Unicorn Challenge-23/02/24

This is Cream with “Tales of Brave Ulysses”

Short Story

Death In The Family

February 21, 2024February 21, 2024 The Sicilian Storyteller

Denise at GirlieOnTheEdge is asking us to
write a Six Sentence Story using the word “pass”.
This is my six sentence story.

The house is quiet tonight ….eerily quiet …. for all the lights are off and only the glow of candles shines dimly through the curtained windows, performing a ballet of shadows on the walls and ceiling; every so often a door softly opens, barely perceptible murmurings are audible, then the door gently closes as intermittent muted sobbing creeps up from the parlor.

I sit on my bed huddled under a blanket, a tiny flashlight flickering a pale yellow beam on my diary as I jot down my memories of the day; I must be quiet because my mother will be very upset with me if she discovers I’m still awake at this late hour.

My window is open just enough to let in some fresh air and the distinct smell of cigarette smoke wafts up into my room; I peek out to see my mother’s uncles sitting on the back steps silently smoking their unfiltered Lucky Strike cigarettes, their black armbands starkly visible against their plain starched white shirts.

I tip-toe across the length of my bedroom, praying the old wooden floorboards beneath the well-worn rug will not creak and ever so slowly I turn the glass doorknob; the hallway is dark but I can detect a muted light downstairs and I scurry nearer to the staircase railing for a better look as I sit there hugging my knees asking myself if I should creep downstairs and take a peek.

A few hours earlier the ambience of the house was much different, still subdued but active as delivery men came and went and acquaintances passed through the hallway into the parlor to pay their respects while my mother and the other women labored in the kitchen like mute worker bees, preparing trays of food for the constant flow of visitors, and my father, along with my uncles, positioned the many floral arrangements throughout the parlor; we children sat quietly on the two enormous matching sofas along the side walls, eyes downcast, confused and uncharacteristically subdued, occasionally glancing toward the walnut casket resting atop a platform in the center of the room and quickly look away.

Around 6:00 we were quietly whisked away into the dining room where we silently ate our supper, then returned to the parlor to continue our vigil; it had been a long and sorrowful day, the longest day in our young lives, for the family matriarch, my great-grandmother had died.

Sunday’s Six Sentence Story Word Prompt!

This is Enrico Caruso singing “Mamma mia, che vo’sapé” (“My mother, what did you know?”)

This recording was made in September 1920, less than a year before Caruso’s death. His health was failing and the recording equipment was, by our standards, primitive. Despite all that, the power and beauty of his voice remain unmatched.

This portfolio (including text, graphics and videos) is copyright for The Sicilian Storyteller, The Elephant’s Trunk and The Rhythm Section and is not for use by anyone without permission. NAR © 2017-present.

Short Story

Driving Lessons

February 20, 2024February 19, 2024 The Sicilian Storyteller

“Danielle wants to learn how to drive, Bob”

“Don’t look at me, Helen. Last year’s lessons with Vanessa nearly put me over the edge.”

“Well, I can’t do it! Ever since Marcia Morelli snatched that promotion for Real Estate Agent of the Year away from me, I’m spending all my time at work playing catch up.”

“That’s not my problem, Helen. Anyway, I signed on to coach Brandon’s baseball team this season, remember?”

“Oh, cry me a river, Bob! You’re the one who took an early retirement; your schedule is much more flexible than mine.”

“That’s right, I retired so I could do things I enjoy like playing golf and going fishing. It’s important to stay mobile after retirement so we don’t become dust in the wind.”

“Well, if you can’t do it and I can’t do it, why don’t we get Vanessa to teach Danielle how to drive?”

“Are you out of your mind, woman! Vanessa’s been driving less than a year. She can’t take Danielle out driving! Can you imagine the mayhem when those two hit the streets?”

“At least I’m making suggestions, Bob. All you’re doing is justifying why you can’t do it.”

“Oh, Helen, save your breath and don’t look at me with such contempt. I’m right and you know it. I won’t idly sit by and watch both our daughters driving without an adult in the car. It’s out of the question.”

“You won’t? Oh, that’s wonderful, Bob! I knew you’d come around!”

“Now hold on there, Helen. I didn’t agree to anything.”

“Why, sure you did, Bob. You said you wouldn’t sit idly by while the girls are driving around without an adult in the car.”

“But I didn’t mean…..”

“Look at it this way, Bob. Danielle is used to being driven everywhere she goes. If you don’t teach her how to drive, you’ll just have to drive here wherever she wants to go. I’d say this is a win/win situation.”

“And how do you figure that, Helen?”

“Simple! By giving Danielle driving lessons, you’ll be doing your part to keep our insurance rates down, you’ll be able to coach Brandon’s baseball team and still have time to do the things you enjoy and you won’t turn into dust in the wind. And all it takes is just one daily one-hour driving lesson! You’re a genius, Bob!”

“I am? Yeah, I guess I am. Hey! Wait just a gosh darn minute, Helen!”

FOWC with Fandango — Learn

Weekly Prompts Weekend Challenge – Edge

FOWC with Fandango — Snatch

FOWC with Fandango — Flexible

FOWC with Fandango — Mobile

Weekly Prompts Wednesday Challenge – Streets

FOWC with Fandango — Contempt

FOWC with Fandango — Driven

This is Kansas with “Dust In The Wind”

Category: Short Story

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Just An Average Junkie

Ooh, Baby!

Champagne On Ice

Spring Ahead

Sock It To Me

Club Kashmir

The Beachcomber

Far Away Land

Death In The Family

Driving Lessons

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