Written for Sammi’s Weekend Writing Prompt
#443 where we’re asked to be creative in
exactly words using the word ‘vision’.
Here’s where the prompt took me.
Tag: Beach
June, July, August
This week at Glyn Wilton’s Mixed Music Bag,
he’s asking us to write about a song in which
the title or a line mentions the current month.
Here’s my featured August artist and his song.
Couldn’t Get Away
Written for The Unicorn Challenge
and also for Melissa’s Fandango
Flash Fiction Challenge #319. This
week I am inspired by two photos.
In exactly 250 words, this is my story.
A Sudden Slip Of The Tongue
Written for The Unicorn Challenge where we are
asked to get creative in 250 words or less using
the photo below as inspiration. This is my story.
With Friends Like Gonzo
Written for The Unicorn Challenge where we are
asked to get creative in 250 words or less
using this photo as inspiration. Here’s my story.
“Kevin! Wake up, man! You gotta see this. Wake up!”
“Quit it, Luke! I’m trying to sleep!” Kevin mumbled crossly. The disgusting smell of stale beer, Slim Jims and weed slammed Kevin in the face; gagging, he pushed his brother away.
“C’mon, Kev. Something heavy happened down at the beach, man. I swear it’s not of this world, bro!”
“The only thing ‘not of this world, bro’ is your breath. You’re stoned, Luke; go to sleep.”
“I swear on the Bible, Kevin. If you don’t see this, you’re gonna kick yourself.”
Kevin sighed deeply and swung his legs out of bed. “Alright, man. I’m up. Let’s get this over with.”
Kevin and Luke drove out to the Pacific Palisades beach where Luke had his sighting. Kevin recognized the beach right away.
“Hey, Luke … doesn’t your buddy Gonzo clean this beach?”
“Far out, man! I forgot about that. This is gonna blow his mind!”
When they reached Luke’s spot, he dropped to the sand and began to belly crawl to the top, motioning for Kevin to do the same.
“Check it out, Kev. Have you ever seen anything like this, man? They’re crop circles, like in that movie!”
“You got that right, Luke. This really is something else! Could be an alien vehicle way out on the left side. If I squint I can make out the words ‘GONZO’S LUNAR ROVER. I BRAKE FOR WEED!’ Brilliant detective work, Carl Sagan! C’mon, bro. I’m buying breakfast. I’ll explain it on the way.”
NAR©2024
250 Words
This is a delightful video of a Japanese pufferfish creating underwater sand art. Photography by Yogi Ookata. Check it out, dudes!
Here is a rare rap song by Carl Sagan. Enjoy, yo! 😎
All text, graphics and videos are copyright for The Sicilian Storyteller, The Elephant’s Trunk and The Rhythm Section and are not to be used without permission. NAR©2017-present.
Here’s To You, Mr. Robinson: A Cinquain
Seagull
Ballsy beach bird
Boss other birds around
Thinks he’s Edward G Robinson
Tough guy
NAR©2024
This is “Mr. Big Stuff” by Jean Knight
*Cinquain is a short, usually unrhymed poem consisting of 22 syllables distributed as 2, 4, 6, 8, 2 in 5 lines. Line 1: Noun; Line 2: Description of opening noun; Line 3: Action; Line 4: Feeling or effect; Line 5: Synonym of the opening noun. The cinquain, also known as a quintain or quintet, is a poem or stanza found in many European languages; the origin of the form dates back to medieval French poetry.
** Edward G. Robinson was an American actor who was popular during Hollywood’s Golden Age and is best remembered for his tough-guy roles as gangsters in such films as Little Caesar and Key Largo.
All text, graphics and videos are copyright for The Sicilian Storyteller, The Elephant’s Trunk and The Rhythm Section and are not to be used without permission. NAR©2017-present.
Paradise Found
Written for The Unicorn Challenge where we ar1
asked to get creative in 250 words or less using
the photo below as inspiration. This is my story.
Eastern-most Long Island, New York. A little village called Montauk. “The End”, according to locals. Drive to the tip of the peninsula, walk a few steps and you’re in the Atlantic Ocean … literally.
1984 was our first visit. “Let’s go out for a weekend. If we don’t like it, we won’t go back.” Famous last words. We stayed at a no frills family motel on the beach; it was paradise.
Step outside the motel and watch your toes disappear into the sand. Big pool filled with sunburned families having the time of their lives. Huge towels and colorful umbrellas cover the beach.
An old salt regales us with tales about the first German U-boats arriving off Montauk in June, 1942. Psyched, we ride our bikes to the lighthouse where we discover WWII bunkers buried deep in the woods.
Montauk’s pizza place and ice cream joint are constantly busy. Drive five minutes west on ‘the stretch’ to a place known simply as “LUNCH” for a mouth-watering lobster roll or puffers and chips.
At night little fires dot the beach, glowing and crackling. Kids stab marshmallows with long sticks and plunge them into the flames for a gooey sweet treat that won’t be eaten again till next summer. Our boys’ hair is sun-streaked, skin bronzed, feet perpetually coated in sand. They’re happy as clams.
In time we started renting a house with a pool; vacations lasted six weeks; 35+ years of unforgettable family memories made, Montauk style.
Man, it was paradise!
NAR©2024
250 Words
The Memory Motel has been a fixture in Montauk since the mid-1920s. When the Rolling Stones were out at the east end, they would visit the bar at the motel for some heavy drinking, dancing, shooting pool, tussling, scuffling, and playing the only piano in town until sunrise.
This is “Memory Motel” by the Rolling Stones.
https://youtu.be/FJ4be-0Nt0s?si=mP0lpYtWe2zg_AFA
All text, graphics and videos are copyright for The Sicilian Storyteller, The Elephant’s Trunk and The Rhythm Section and are not to be used without permission. NAR©2017-present.
Of Memories And Dreams
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 it’s difficult to tell them apart. Sometimes I just don’t want to.
That summer …. after the breakup …. I needed to be alone …. to think …. 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 …. everything I saw …. 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 …. they’re funny that way.
NAR©2024
100 Words
This is “In Dreams” by Roy Orbison
All text, graphics and videos are copyright for The Sicilian Storyteller, The Elephant’s Trunk and The Rhythm Section and are not to be used without permission. NAR©2017-present.
And Then He Knows – Revisited
Written for The Unicorn Challenge
(with a timely lead-in from yesterday’s
Friday Fictioneers). Here we are challenged
to be creative in 250 words or less
using the photo below. This is my story.
‘Domestic animals, even on leads, are banned from the beach from 6am – 9pm’
He walked on the beach with his dog just as he always did. He saw the sign but ignored it, happy to see someone had vandalized it. Damn rules!
He threw the ball but when the dog returned, he had a purse hanging from his mouth. He dropped the purse and ran back to where he found it.
Looking in the purse, the man saw a cell phone. Hers. Last call was to him. Chasing the dog, he saw a body sprawled on the rocks near the water.
And before he got any closer, he knew it was his wife.
A flood of questions hit him like a tsunami. What happened? Why didn’t he get her call? What was she doing here …. not just here on the beach .… here in Cannes?
She was supposed to be in Lyon finalizing the sale of her late mother’s apartment. Her mother died five years ago and for reasons only she could explain but never did, she refused to get rid of the place.
He quickened his pace to the body. The dog kept nudging her head and running around wildly on the deserted beach. The man looked at her phone again; there were numerous calls to someone named Roman. An unfamiliar name.
He heard a voice. “Monsieur! You are not supposed to be here with that dog! There are rules.” The local gendarmerie. Then louder, more urgently – “What have you done, monsieur? Do not move! Ici! Dépêchez-vous!”
And the whistles blew.
NAR©2024
250 Words
This is “Who Let The Dogs Out” by Baha Men. Hey, hippie-ye-yo!
All text, graphics and videos are copyright for The Sicilian Storyteller, The Elephant’s Trunk and The Rhythm Section and are not for use by anyone without permission. NAR©2017-present.
And Then He Knows
Written for Friday Fictioneers where we are asked to
write something creative in 100 words or less using
the photo below as inspiration. This is my story.
He walks on the beach with his dog, just as he always does. They have a routine. He tosses the ball, the dog brings it back. It’s all very natural and civilized.
Except for this night.
When the dog returns, he has a purse hanging from his mouth. He drops the purse and runs back to where he found it.
Looking in the purse, he sees a cell phone. Hers. The last call dialed was to him. He chases the dog; there’s a body sprawled on the rocks near the water.
And before he sees her, he knows who it is.
NAR©2024
100 Words
This is “O Fortuna” from Carmina Burana by Carl Orff
All text, graphics and videos are copyright for The Sicilian Storyteller, The Elephant’s Trunk and The Rhythm Section and are not for use by anyone without permission. NAR©2017-present.
SELF-PRESERVATION
“’Settlers or Sellers’, that antiques show is coming on. Wanna watch, Doug?”
Just then the phone rang. It’s our daughter Chrissy talking about how tomorrow’s going to be a gorgeous day and our five grandkids really want us to go to the beach with them.
“Ok, honey. Sounds wonderful. We’ll see you in the morning. Yes, we’re looking forward to it.”
Doug, who had been happily watching “Seinfeld”, was now sitting imperially on the edge of the couch scowling at me.
“What was that remark ‘’we’ll see you in the morning’’? I don’t know about you, Helen, but the only people I’ll be seeing in the morning are my golf buddies. We’re going to rent a couple of carts, play 18 holes, drink martinis with lunch, talk sports and smoke cigars. I’m begging you, Helen. Don’t take my day away!”
“Oh, don’t be so dramatic! You can play golf any day. When do we get to go to the beach with the kids.”
“As infrequently as possible!” Doug groused. “And I’d like to keep it that way.”
“Oh, come on! Summer’s almost over and the kids are so looking forward to a day with us.”
“And I’m looking forward to seeing my buddies! We’ve had this outing planned for two weeks. Helen, must I remind you what hell it is going to the beach with the kids?”
“Doug, you’re making it sound horrible.”
“Helen, my love, it is horrible! We’ve been to the beach with the kids exactly three times. Do you know why? Because it’s HELL!”
“But Doug, I hate to disappoint them.”
“And that, my dear, is your Achilles Heel. We start off excited for a great beach day and within an hour it turns into hell. Chrissy brings so much stuff we’re like the Israelites crossing the desert. Who complains the sand is too hot? Who needs a diaper change? Who drops their lunch in the sand? Who fights over the sand toys? Before you know it, everyone’s crying, they want to go home and our wonderful day at the beach is kaput.”
“And you’re the one crying the loudest, Doug” I laughed.
“Damn right I am, woman. It’s a nightmare and you know it! Listen, why don’t I call the guys and suggest our lovely wives join us tomorrow? You haven’t played in months. How about it?”
The idea was very appealing. “Doug, do they still serve those delicious Celtic Guey Cocktails and Waldorf salads?”
“You bet they do! I know they’re you’re favorites. What do you say? Are we on?”
“Yes! We certainly are on! You call the guys and I’ll call Chrissy. I hope the kids aren’t too disappointed.”
Doug kissed the top of my head. “Honey, it may not seem like it now but you’re doing us all a favor. The kids will be just fine – and so will we. Now call Chrissy.”
Feeling just a wee bit guilty, I dialed Chrissy’s number.
“Chrissy, sweetheart. About tomorrow. So sorry to disappoint but your dad just reminded me ……”
NAR © 2023
Come on over today to
In The Groove
for more summertime fun!
https://rhythmsection.blog/
BOYS WILL BE BOYS
He wasn’t a bad boy, the tearful mother professed to the crowd who gathered on the beach. Yes, he was precocious, as his teachers would attest, but he was a bright and friendly child with a clever imagination. Surely you can see that; just look at him happily playing tag with his new friends by the water.
It was dreadful, no denying, but it was a horrible accident, the weeping woman explained. A simple game of hide and seek gone terribly awry. Teams of two, boys against girls. Her son and his little friend Jack took turns hiding in a hollow on the beach, each one covering the other with sand and rocks. It was really the perfect spot to hide.
Her son scampered off behind a nearby dune to wait in hiding when the girls called out “Ready or not, here I come!” They quickly found him behind the dune and he chased them, forgetting all about his friend buried beneath the sand and rocks. Only when he heard urgent voices yelling “JACK! JACK!” did he remember his friend.
He ran to the spot where Jack was hiding, desperate parents on his heels, but it was sadly too late for his little friend. Of course no one blamed him; it was a game turned deadly, fun between innocent children.
Later, as the boy sat on his bed, he removed a slip of paper taped behind his bedpost. With a red crayon, he crossed off the name “Jack” from the list.
NAR © 2023
250 words
THE DOWER BOX
“Course of action for today – tackle the basement!” announced my husband Ned. “Care to join me, Jan?”
“Why not? I’ve got writer’s block anyway” I replied glumly.
“After you, madame” said Ned, bowing extravagantly.
Seven months ago we moved into our little beach house. It’s in good condition and Ned’s handy so employing a repairman wasn’t necessary. The former owners left a few things behind; it would be nice to find a treasure or two. After sifting through mostly junk, we decided on a floor lamp, a wine rack and a hammock.
“Jan, look at this old dower box. Want to store your blankets in it? If not, I can use it for something.”
“I don’t think so, hon. Looks kinda beat up to me. It’s all yours. What are your plans?”
“Ah … you’ll see” Ned answered inscrutably.
“Ok, mystery man. I’m heading back up. Have fun!”
Still putting off writing, I tossed the ingredients for beef stew into the slow cooker for dinner this chilly December night. Glancing out the kitchen window I caught a glimpse of Mr. Sandman, the stray cat who hangs out in the beachgrass surrounding our house. After making a pot of tea I set off to the sunroom, my blank laptop mocking me.
By the sounds of sawing, drilling and hammering coming from the basement, Ned was having a grand time working on that beat up dower box. A couple of hours later he wandered up from his workshop, a sprinkling of sawdust icing his hair. Ned grinned and twitched his nose, appreciatively sniffing the aroma enveloping the kitchen.
“Mmm – beef stew! How’s the writing, hon.”
“Don’t ask. Hey, guess who I saw today. Mr. Sandman.”
“You don’t say” Ned replied. “I was thinking about him just the other day.”
I ladled the stew into bowls while my husband sliced the freshly baked bread and poured glasses of pinot noir. “So, when can I see what you’ve been working on?” I inquired.
“Right after dinner” Ned replied. “I think it’s damn good!”
We finished up and Ned anxiously led me downstairs. “Well, there it is. What do you think?”
I was speechless; there in the window was a home for Mr. Sandman!
Ned had opened the old hopper window at the top of the basement wall and, using a carabiner, secured the heavy window pane to a beam in the ceiling. He carefully inserted the dower box into the window opening; it was a perfect fit! Ned had sawed a doorway facing outside; a piece of an old rubber car mat with vertical cuts served as the front door curtain. A carpet remnant covered the wood floor of the box and a soft baby blanket provided a cozy nook in the corner. Ned had removed the back of the dower box and reattached it with hinges on one side and a latch on the other, giving us easy access to the box. A peephole drilled into the back panel allowed us to peek inside to make sure all was well. Ned had anchored the box to the wall with several short, sturdy bungee ties. There was even a small safety heater attached to the ‘ceiling’ of the box. He had thought of everything!
Giving me a wink, Ned opened the latch on the back panel, slid in a small plate of cat food and secured the latch.
“Oh, my soulful, sensitive man!” I exclaimed, hugging my husband tightly.
It snowed lightly that night and there were paw prints leading to the dower box. Ned and I exchanged looks and raced downstairs as quietly as possible. We tiptoed to the box and peeked through the peephole. A sleepy and very contented Mr. Sandman had found his way home.
NAR © 2019
Reposted for One-Word Challenge#FOWC, workshop
The Elephant's Trunk 