Tag: Drama

Short Story

Eunice Blackthorne

Nancy's Notes 🖊️♬

Written for Six Sentence Story where we are
challenged to incorporate the word “frequency”
into a story of exactly six sentences. Here’s my six.

Immediately upon arriving at their destination, Camilla bolted from the car, slammed the door and stormed off, leaving a bewildered Nigel alone to weigh his options: go after her, call her after she’s had a chance to cool down or declare this date a complete failure and forget about Camilla all together, something he was not keen on as he was not the quitting type …. plus, he couldn’t get Camilla’s amazing breasts out of his head; after some thought, Nigel decided to go after her but first he needed to find a parking spot and then purchase two cappuccinos, one for him and one for her, in lieu of an awkward verbal apology. 

Camilla was at her desk, obviously engrossed in a conversation of great importance as she was speaking rapidly in an animated manner to a tall, thin woman with blonde hair when she noticed Nigel coming her way and quicky ushered the woman into a back room, closing the door behind them; however, Nigel was determined to wait it out when just then an unidentified man approached and informed him that “Ms. Saunders had left the building and gave no indication when or if she would be returning that day”; this new intel pissed Nigel off royally since he was not prepared to have Camilla pull a disappearing act on him .… a position he found alien, embarrassing and profoundly uncomfortable. 

In a huff, Nigel stormed out of the library and quickly walked to his car, arriving just in time to see Camilla and the blonde woman sliding into a white convertible which, of course, he followed, managing to stay far enough away without losing sight of the car which travelled a route which was extremely familiar to Nigel; the more they drove the more convinced Nigel became that he knew were the white car was headed but when the convertible abruptly turned off the road into a parking garage, Nigel was none-the-less astounded when he realized that Camilla’s companion lived in the same apartment building as he did …. or perhaps it was Camilla who lived there …. and just as the convertible entered the garage, Camilla glanced over her shoulder and, spotting Nigel’s car, was filled with consternation. 

Nigel kicked himself for not having learned more about Ms. Camilla Saunders while on their coffee dates for if he had he would have known this mystery woman was Camilla’s oldest and dearest friend from college, Eunice Blackthorne, who was also Camilla’s roommate right here in his apartment building; the agenda now was for Nigel to increase the frequency of his visits to his buddy, Vince, the doorman …. shoot the breeze …. buy him a coffee …. give him a few hot tips on the ponies and get him to spill the beans about Camilla, her blonde friend and which apartment was theirs.  

Meanwhile, Camilla was pacing the floor of the apartment she shared with Eunice; men like Nigel enervated her, demoralized, frightened and reminded her entirely too much of her overbearing, demanding, unprincipled father, brothers, classmates, boyfriends, bosses …. in fact, every man she had ever known in her life …. and knowing Camilla had had it with men was exactly what Eunice wanted to hear.

Little did any of them know they were headed for rocky times.

NAR©2024

Sunday’s Six Sentence Story Word Prompt!

This is “Before He Cheats” by Carrie Underwood

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.

Flash

Bad Medicine

Nancy's Notes 🖊️♬

Written for Sammi’s Weekend Writing Prompt #369
where we are challenged to write something clever
in exactly 33 words using the word “spoonful”.

Identical medicine bottles was how my non-English speaking grandfather almost killed my grandmother.

Alone for 15 minutes resulted in administering a near-fatal spoonful of massaging oil of wintergreen instead of dextromethorphan for coughs.

NAR©2024
33 Words

Weekend Writing Prompt #369 – Spoonful

This is “Bad Medicine” by Bon Jovi

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.

Short Story

Affaire de Famille

Nancy's Notes 🖊️♬

Written for The Unicorn Challenge were Jenne encourages us
to write something magically creative in 250 words or less
using the photo below for inspiration. Here is my story.

© Ayr/Gray

The letter arrived the other day. Terse, to the point of being almost rude. Where have people’s manners gone in today’s society?

You see, this building .… the one with the orange shutters and the sign which reads MOULIN À HOUILE …. has been in my family for generations. We were among the best olive oil makers in the region for more years than I can count.

My twin brother, Marcel, and I grew up here at the elbows of our grandfather, father and uncle as they worked the presses in the mill to produce the purest of olive oils. The huile d’olive was then bottled and prepared for distribution to fine-end stores and restaurants. We had a thriving family business.

As is the nature of all familial enterprises, there was no question that Marcel and I would take our place working in the mill. It was as innate as taking our next breath. Then the unthinkable happened; our father died suddenly leaving no will and, during our grief, his brother secretly arranged for the takeover of the business, employing only his sons and kicking Marcel and me to the curb. We tried having the decision reversed but were unsuccessful.

One by one our uncle’s sons abandoned the business leaving him alone with strangers in his employ. Now it is our time for payback.

My gun is aimed at the open window while Marcel keeps guard. Our uncle appears, my finger teases the trigger and abruptly I’m plunged into darkness.

NAR©2024
250 Words

The Unicorn Challenge-21/06/24

This is “Family Affair” by Sly and The Family Stone

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.

Flash

Feeling The Burn

Nancy's Notes 🖊️♬

Written for Friday Fictioneers where we are
encouraged to get creative by writing a story
of no more than 100 words using this photo
as our inspiration. Here is my 100 word story.

© Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

It was the summer of ’59 and I was going to spend July and August with my cousins at the shore. I’d been packing since my last day of school, finishing two days before taking off.

The following morning I awoke with fever, sore throat, bumpy tongue and a facial rash. Scarlet fever, the doctor said. The disease was highly contagious. I was prescribed antibiotics and my parents were warned to keep me home.

My summer plans were abruptly cancelled; I was dejected. All I could do was watch my friends playing, my nose pressed up against the window screen.

NAR©2024
100 Words

21 June 2024

This is “Fever” by Little Willie John

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.

Uncategorized

On The Rocks – Part 3: In The Beginning

Nancy's Notes 🖊️♬

Written for The Unicorn Challenge where we are
encouraged to write a story in 250 words or less
using this photo as our inspiration. Here is my story.

© Ayr/Gray

Handsome Nigel Forsythe taught history at the university where Camilla Saunders was the librarian. His penchant for crime novels brought him to Camilla’s desk every week. She was a mousy thing with dull hair and thin lips but splendid breasts for which Nigel had a hankering.

When he asked her out for coffee, she accepted. Getting to know one another was excruciating but Nigel persevered, no doubt spurred on by the thought of getting into Camilla’s blouse.

On their fourth coffee date, Nigel suggested they do “something different”; Camilla was apprehensive but went along. They drove to a secluded park with meandering pathways and steps that seemingly led to nowhere.

“Aren’t the flowers lovely, Camilla?” Nigel asked and was rewarded with a thunderous sneeze.

“Allergies” Camilla complained.

“Watch the ivy, Camilla. We wouldn’t want you getting your heels caught up in it.”

“Nigel, this looks like poison ivy. I’m allergic and don’t have my EpiPen! Why did you insist on bringing me to this horrible jungle?”

“It’s hardly a jungle, Camilla, and the view from the top is to die for.”

With each step Camilla’s breathing became more labored until she was near collapse.

Camilla turned. Nigel was stunned to see her blouse soaked with sweat and clinging to her heaving breasts. He grabbed her shoulders, planting a hungry kiss on her cadaverous lips.

Camilla broke away, slapped Nigel and ran down the steps to the car. They drove back to the university in stony silence.

Nigel was not deterred.

Here is Part 1 & Part 2

NAR©2024
250 Words

The Unicorn Challenge-14/06/24

This is “Love Bites” by Def Leppard with the Royal Philharmonic Orchestra

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.

Short Story

The Condo

Nancy's Notes 🖊️♬

Written for Six Sentence Story where this week
we are challenged to use the word “faint”
in a story of exactly six sentences. Here’s mine.

After the boating accident, I returned to New York but didn’t have the heart to stay in the condo where Kevin and I used to live; I drove to my parents’ beach house in Amagansett, leaving the apartment untouched, thinking to return one day when I summoned the courage.

Too many memories and sleepless nights at the beach house brought me no comfort or closure …. an impossibility since Kevin’s body was never recovered …. and I now found myself back in Manhattan staring up at the window of my old condo and seeing ghosts …. ghosts of Kevin.

An overwhelming force drew me closer and I slowly entered the building and climbed the stairs to the apartment we once shared. Approaching the door, I could hear faint music, laughter and the sound of familiar voices; a man and a woman were inside, unaware of my presence as I stood outside the door for what seemed a lifetime …. and in that passage of time I knew beyond a doubt who they were.

Blood pounding in my head, I raised my fist to knock on the door, then stepped back.

Resolutely and silently, I walked away.

NAR©2024

Sunday’s Six Sentence Story Word Prompt!

This is “Ghost Behind My Eyes” by Ozzy Osbourne

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.

Short Story

The Apartment: The Continuing Story of Harvey and Fiona

Nancy's Notes 🖊️♬

Written for The Unicorn Challenge where we are encouraged
to get creative in 250 words or less using the photo prompt
as inspiration. This is my 2nd story of Harvey and Fiona.
For another look at the 1st installment, click here.

© Ayr/Gray

Harvey and Fiona were as different as a gorilla and a swan but they had an undeniable chemistry and started falling in love. No one was more surprised than Fiona .… except her parents.

There was a major obstacle her parents couldn’t overlook – Harvey was Jewish. Fiona’s very Irish-Catholic father hated Harvey, calling him ‘Christ killer’ and ‘kike’.  Her mother was crushed. “Jesus, Mary and Joseph! Can’t you see he’s no good for you? I don’t trust him, Fina girl!” she warned, crying into her apron. Fiona would not be dissuaded; with a heavy heart she closed the door of her childhood home behind her and never looked back.

Harvey and Fiona were married in city hall, the judge and his clerk their only guests and witnesses. After a weekend honeymoon in Niagara Falls, the couple settled into Harvey’s tiny apartment – a walk-up on the fifth floor with a depressing view of factories and government buildings.

Harvey worked the graveyard shift as a printer at the local newspaper, seven days a week from midnight till 8:00 AM. His fingernails were perpetually stained with black ink. The first morning he came home from work and saw the newly decorated apartment, he yelled furiously at Fiona for spending his money on unnecessary things. Uncaring, he left ink stains on the new bedspread when he sat down to remove his shoes.

Fiona cried silently in the kitchen. Harvey sidled up behind her, kissed a spot below her ear and she leaned into him.

NAR©2024
250 Words

The Unicorn Challenge-07/06/24

This is “Love With The Proper Stranger” by Jack Jones

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.

Prose, Short Prose

Descent Into Madness

Nancy's Notes 🖊️♬

Melissa is our host for dVerse Prosery Monday. She has asked us to write a prose story of up to 144 words using the quote “I pray to God that she may lie forever with unopened eye” by Edgar Allan Poe. Here is my prose in exactly 144 words.

It was no secret that Frederick’s father committed suicide, due, in no small part, to his wife’s constant belittling. The note he left read “The vile bitch! I pray to God that she may lie forever with unopened eye”.

Not wanting his mother to be alone, and despite his wife Helene’s protests, Frederick moved his mother into their home. He hoped the two women might provide some companionship for each other but they soon began arguing.

Helene could do nothing right in her mother-in-law’s eyes. The old woman went so far as to flaunt Helene’s inability to have a baby, goading her on by calling her wretched, a desiccated vessel, a disappointing failure.

Now the pain and humiliation had taken its toll and Helene began her descent into madness. One day while Frederick was at work, she bludgeoned his mother to a bloody pulp.

NAR©2024
144 Words

Forever with unopened eye

This is “Song by Edgar Allan Poe”

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.

Ovi Poem

Get A Grip: An Ovi Peace Rap

Nancy's Notes 🖊️♬

Written for Weekly Prompts Wednesday Challenge – ‘safety’
and Weekly Prompts Colour Challenge – ‘blue’. Here’s my piece.

Photo Credit © Caters

What the hell, are you nuts
You trying to prove you got guts
 Spare me the ifs, ands or buts
This is a big mistake, dude

Listen man, I’m doing fine
I’m in the zone, behind the line
My head is clear, my thoughts are mine
Just go somewhere and chill

You ain’t got a safety net
Is this some sort of crazy bet
You’re gonna kill yourself yet
You got a wife and kid at home

Blue skies, nothing is amiss
Clouds float by like lazy fish
Believe me, I have no death wish
I’ve never felt so free

You may think you got a grip
All it takes is one small slip
A twitchy little fingertip
You won’t survive the fall

This world is one insane rat race
We should respect our brother’s space
And live our days in peace and grace
It could be as simple as that

NAR©2024

Weekly Prompts Wednesday Challenge – Safety
Weekly Prompts Colour Challenge – Blue

This is “Mr. Blue Sky” by ELO

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.

Short Story

The Escort

Nancy's Notes 🖊️♬

Written for The Unicorn Challenge where we are
asked to get creative in 250 words or less, using the
photo prompt as inspiration. This is my 250-word story.

© Ayr/Gray

Fiona was late for Mass. Seeing an unfamiliar man leaning against the wall outside Sully’s Bar, she quickened her pace. As she passed she heard him chuckle and say “What’s yer hurry, Irish?” She walked even faster, opening the side door to St. Brigid’s.

An hour later Fiona exited the church and noticed the same man from the bar standing at the corner. Had he been waiting for her all this time? Wary, she stepped backwards, teetering on the curb and losing her shoe in the process.

Suddenly the man was by her side. She was taken aback as he reached around her waist and stopped her fall.

“Name’s Harvey Rubin and yer one fine lookin’ dish. Ya need somebody like me to drive ya home, Irish. It can be dangerous for a good Catholic girl like yerself walkin’ alone in this neck o’ the woods.”

“Keep your thoughts …. and hands …. to yourself, buster!” Fiona snapped. “Besides, how do you know I’m a good Catholic girl?”

“Well, I ain’t no Albert Einstein but I seen ya practically racin’ to St. Brigid’s like yer panties was on fire and I’m guessin‘ ya ain’t no altar boy – not with them gorgeous gams.” Harvey replied in an unhurried way.

Glancing down, he smiled at her missing shoe; his tough “Bogie” persona became surprisingly charming. Fiona found it difficult to resist this rough-hewn stranger and she shocked herself by allowing him to escort her home.

She knew her parents would be livid.

NAR©2024
250 Words

The Unicorn Challenge-31/05/24

This is “Bogie & Bacall: Key Largo” by Bertie Higgins

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.

Short Story

Suspended Animation

Nancy's Notes 🖊️♬

Written for Six Sentence Story where we are given a word,
in this case ‘lift’, and asked to incorporate it into a story of
no more than six sentences. This is my true story of family.

Concetta, my mother, 1920
© NAR

“Mangia il cibo sul tuo piatto, Concetta, o lo mangerai dal pavimento” – (“Eat the food on your plate, Concetta, or you will eat it off the floor.”)

Without changing her expression or taking her huge brown eyes off her father Domenico’s face, three year old Concetta picked up a meatball, extended her arm over the side of her highchair and very calmly let it drop to the floor. 

Silence.

Everyone sat in suspended animation as Domenico deliberately put down his knife and fork and removed the napkin which was tucked into the neck of his shirt; slowly he stood up, walked behind Concetta’s chair, grabbed the back of her dress and lifted her up. 

Holding her feet with his other hand, Domenico lowered Concetta’s face to the floor until her mouth touched the meatball; she tried to turn away, but Domenico pushed her face into the food, forcing her to take the meatball into her mouth, then, satisfied, he sat her back in her highchair, returned to his seat and resumed eating while Concetta languidly chewed what was in her mouth. 

Hesitantly, self-consciously, everyone resumed eating and talking except Concetta’s mother Rosa who sat watching her daughter closely; at the end of the meal as the women cleared the table, Rosa placed a napkin over her defiant daughter’s mouth so she could spit out the uneaten meatball and whispered in her ear “Mai più, Concetta; obbedisci a tuo padre!” – (“Never again, Concetta; obey your father!”) 

NAR©2024

Sunday’s Six Sentence Story Word Prompt!

This is a Sicilian folksong called “Mi votu e mi rivotu” (“I toss and I turn”)

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.

Poem, Quadrille

Fade To Black

Nancy's Notes 🖊️♬

Written for dVerse Poets Quadrille #202
– Hello Darkness –
where we are asked to embrace the dark
in 44 poetic words.

Death creeps
in the night,
hiding in the
darkest of places
where junkies
shoot up
in the alleys
by dim light.

But no one
is around
to see
the relief
on their faces
when they fade
to black
and softly give up
the fight.

NAR©2024
44 Words

Quadrille #202: Hello Darkness


This is Metallica with “Fade To Black”, live from Pinnacle Bank Arena, Lincoln, Nebraska

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.

Short Story

Fallen Soldier

Nancy's Notes 🖊️♬

Written for The Unicorn Challenge where we are
encouraged to be creative in 250 words or less
using the photo prompt below. Originally written in 2022
as a 750-word story, this is my revamped submission.

© Ayr/Gray

I stood at the bedroom window staring at the devastation caused by the previous night’s storm. My wife Dianna is going to be crushed when she sees what happened during the night – Mother Nature at her fiercest. I heard Dianna stirring in bed.

“Mike, it’s so early. What’s wrong?” she asked sleepily.

“We had a pretty bad storm last night. It’s not good, hon. We lost some trees” I replied.

She threw off the covers and sat on the edge of the bed, feet skimming the floor searching for discarded slippers. “Not Red. Please don’t say we lost Red!”

Dianna gasped loudly at the sight before her, then the tears came. She cried for a long time. I held her and let her cry; this was not something carelessly brushed aside or easily forgotten.

Finally her sobs lessened and with a broken heart and a weakened voice she sighed, “Poor Red! How I loved that beautiful old tree. Look at him now, a fallen soldier.”

We sat on the bed side by side; I spoke tenderly. “There’s no shame in mourning the loss of a tree. It’s not silly. It is, after all, a living thing. Does it feel pain when a leaf is plucked or a branch broken? Does it thirstily lap the rain after a dry spell? Does it feel your heartbeat as you rest a weary back against its old, sturdy trunk? How can we presume such things are not possible? No, it’s not silly at all.“

NAR©2024
250 Words

The Unicorn Challenge-24/05/24

This is “Falling (Death Of A Tree)” by Over The Rhine

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.

Flash

Carla’s Big Night

Nancy's Notes 🖊️♬

Written for Friday Fictioneers where we’re given a photo
and asked to let it inspire us to create something magical
in 100 words or less. This is my 100-word inspired creation.

© Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

“Ungrateful … bastard … son-of-a-bitch … always telling me what to do … when to do it … waiting on him like a motherless child … picking up after him … cooking three meals a day … seven days a week … cleaning … cleaning … cleaning … and what’s my reward … an unwelcome fuck at 3 AM … pig … I … have … had … enough!”

Carla’s thoughts raced through her head like a locomotive engulfed in flames.

“You gonna cook that pizza or beat it to death?’ he snarled.

He died instantly. Death by rolling pin.

NAR©2024
100 Words

24 May 2024

This is a live acoustic cover of The Allman Brothers’ “Whipping Post” performed by Matie Cummings and Jeremy Edge

Another muse: my usually stoic mother
making an attempt at humor. Circa 1965.

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.

Short Story

Perfect Day For Planting

Nancy's Notes 🖊️♬

Written for Six Sentence Story where we are asked
to be creative in no more than six sentences
using the word “light”. This is my story.

Colette, typically looking away the second I snap a photo! Eyeroll!

We got a late start with spring cleaning in our yard, especially along the side of the house where our attached garage is located; even though the gardeners had cleared a lot of old shrubbery away for some new plants and bushes, it was just not meant to be after we were derailed by the sudden death of my husband’s twin brother on April 2 and me being sidelined since the first week of May by a major sinus infection (the heavy-duty antibiotics have left me “out of commission” and able to eat only extremely light meals or, at times, nothing at all).

In mid-May, we put in a couple of small white azaleas, relocated a baby rhododendron which wasn’t doing well in the far back corner of the yard and planted a bit of Blue Bugle and Lilies of the Valley for light ground cover (along the side of the house, not visible in this pic), but that’s as far as our broken spirits and depleted bodies would allow us go.

When Colette is here with us (Tuesdays, Thursdays and the occasional Saturday or Sunday) and the weather is good, she wants to be outside; hell, even if the weather isn’t good, she wants to be outside – a phenomenon about most children that escapes me as they (well, she definitely) seem to be impervious to heat or cold or rain or snow or wind – all the elements, times when Bill and I would prefer being inside nestled in our recliners with a lightweight blanket.

Speaking of nestled, we discovered that sparrows had made their nest in an old watering can in the corner of Colette’s playhouse; the mama and papa birds are very resourceful, building the new home in a location almost invisible to us, one which I discovered quite by accident when I heard a faint chirping noise coming from the playhouse and …. with my trusty flashlight in hand …. I went to take a peek but was immediately dive-bombed by a wildly protective kamikaze sparrow which, when it sped just inches by my head, had me believing it was a small bat …. terrifying!

Tuesday the temps soared to a scorching 86ºF – a leap from the mild low-70s of just the day before – so it was, according to Colette, the “perfect day for planting!” …. a concept I did not agree with thinking it was too hot and we would be in direct blazing sunlight for the entire time …. but I did not object (mainly because the child could not be dissuaded and it was far less taxing than yet another round of the Disney edition of Monopoly); armed with our faithful spades, Bill with his macho shovel and pitchfork, we planted another azalea along the side of the house, then Colette and I pulled all the weeds and detritus from the two ancient cement planters on either side of the bench you see in the above photo, replacing all of what was growing in them as haphazardly as Albert Einstein’s hair with two bright pink kalanchoe plants, then stood back to proudly bask in the glory of our gardening prowess.

Of course, manual labor such as that demands a reward and certainly not a monetary one which would be looked upon with disdain and confusion by a 4-year-old whose idea of recompense consists solely of instant gratification in the form of ice cream – the I-don’t-give-a-hoot-how-messy-I-get kind – and after getting Colette situated in her pink fairy chair, pinning up her waist-length hair and snapping on the 15-year-old bib we originally used for our first grandchild, Mckenna, I disappeared into the kitchen and returned with fudge-covered vanilla ice cream pops for Colette and Bill and a lemon ice for me; judging by the look on her face and the twinkling, totally satisfied light in her eyes (photo below), Colette was over the moon with her sweet, sloppy treat and …. you know …. she was right after all about it being the “perfect day for planting!”

What being a kid is all about!

NAR©2024

It’s Thursday’s Six Sentence Story Link Up!

This is “Let It Grow” by Eric Clapton

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.

Short Story

And Then He Knows – Revisited

Nancy's Notes 🖊️♬

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.

© Ayr/Gray
‘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

The Unicorn Challenge-17/05/24

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.

Flash

And Then He Knows

Nancy's Notes 🖊️♬

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

17 May 2024

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.

Flash

More Time

Nancy's Notes 🖊️♬

Written for Weekly Writing Prompt #363
where we are asked to write something in exactly
42 words, incorporating the word “cabinet”.
This is my story in 42 words.

When the landlord came calling for the rent, she pleaded for more time.

He refused and viciously slapped her across the face.

She fell against the cabinet and a rage grew in her like never before.

Grabbing the hidden gun, she turned.

NAR©2024
42 Words

Weekend Writing Prompt #363 – Cabinet

This is “The Landlord” [UNCENSORED]

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.

Short Prose

Blessed

Nancy's Notes 🖊️♬

Written for dVerse Poetics – May 7, 2024 –
Pilgrimage, Wandering and Walkabout

Chapel, St. Joseph’s Seminary © NAR

Did you ever find yourself in a situation that was so intense, everything around you ceased to exist? It’s an extraordinary feeling, one that’s difficult to explain without using every adverb and adjective and superlative in the English language.

The date was October 5, 1995 – a most inauspicious day – and yet I remember every detail of the events of that evening almost 30 years ago. At the time I was quite active in my church as a choir member, leader of song, and director of the children’s choir. Our adult choir was one of the best in the county and we were selected by Cardinal O’Connor of New York to sing for His Holiness Pope John Paul II during his visit to St. Joseph’s Seminary in Yonkers, New York. When the Cardinal requests someone’s services, it is an honor and should be treated as such.

For those of you old enough to remember Pope John Paul II, he was universally beloved and is now Saint John Paul II after his beatification on May 1, 2011. He possessed a spirituality that is rare among men, a divine nature of love, peace, kindness and forgiveness.

On that October day in ‘95, in the evening after vespers, it was arranged for John Paul II to have a walkabout around the grounds of the seminary. It was then that I had the greatest honor of my life .… to meet His Holiness and to receive his blessing. The moment I placed my hand in his and looked into his most serene and forgiving blue eyes, I knew I was in the presence of a divine being. There is no other way to describe how I felt other than to say it was rapturous; I had never felt that way before or since.

I have led a charmed life when it comes to meeting famous people …. just a matter of being in the right place at the right time …. but there is nothing that will ever surpass this encounter.

Time and events have a way of changing our perspective and I am no longer a member of the Catholic Church; however, my break from Catholicism has not and never will change the events of October 5, 1995 nor how I felt that day. It is something that will remain with me until my final days on earth.

NAR©2024

dVerse Poetics — Pilgrimage, Wandering, and Walkabout

This is Kenny Chesney with “Song For The Saints”

His Holiness Pope John Paul II

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Haibun

Moonspell: A Haibun

Nancy's Notes 🖊️♬

Written for Mindlovemisery’s Menagerie Photo Challenge #513,
Weekly Prompts Colour Challenge (orange), Moonwashed Weekly
Prompt (hazy moon) & Weekly Prompts Wednesday Challenge (regret)

Image Credit Sarah Whiley

I was lost, a bit frightened and filled with regret for not making a note of the address. A hazy moon began to make her appearance in the evening sky, leaving the tiny Palermo street awash in a warm orange glow. Squinting in the darkness, I saw what appeared to be a tunnel at the end of the street; there was no way I was going to walk into the black unknown. Slowly I inched closer and discovered the tunnel was actually a stairway. Just as I quickened my pace, an arm shot out of a hidden doorway and pulled me inside, pinning me against a wall. A deep voice I knew intimately whispered in honeyed Sicilian tones “Picchì ci haiu misu tantu tempu, amuri miu? Ti vogghiu beni!”º Passionate kisses drifted down my neck. Breathless, I murmured “I’m here now, my love. Show me.”

Kiss me now, my love,
In the warm glow of the moon
You possess my heart

NAR©2024

º“What took you so long, my love? I am burning for you.”

Photo Challenge #513
Weekly Prompts Colour Challenge – Orange
Moonwashed Weekly Prompt – Hazy moon
Weekly Prompts Wednesday Challenge – Regret

This is the Flamingos with “I Only Have Eyes For You”

All text, graphics and videos are 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

View From The Bridge

Nancy's Notes 🖊️♬

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.

© Ayr/Gray

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

All text, graphics and videos are 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

Lower Forty Soliloquy

Nancy's Notes 🖊️♬

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

© Ayr/Gray

“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.  

All text, graphics and videos are 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

On The Rocks – Part 2: After The Fall

Nancy's Notes 🖊️♬

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….

NAR©2024

This is Umberto Tabbi with “Ciao Siciliano”

All text, graphics and videos are 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

The Ambush

Nancy's Notes 🖊️♬

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.

NAR©2024

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

All text, graphics and videos are 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

Angel Eyes

Nancy's Notes 🖊️♬

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.

© Ayr/Gray

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”

All text, graphics and videos are 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

The Floor Lamp

Nancy's Notes 🖊️♬

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. 🪽

NAR©2024

Sunday’s Six Sentence Story Word Prompt!

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

All text, graphics and videos are 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.

Uncategorized

Fall From Grace: Kevin Spacey

Nancy's Notes 🖊️♬

Written for Friday Faithfuls at Mindlovemiserysmenagerie
where the prompt is “celebrities that fell from grace”.

In the fall of 2017, Kevin Spacey’s life and his astronomical career in acting, writing, directing and production (and more) came crashing down with devastating swiftness and near Shakespearean consequences. The reason: sexual assault allegations from 30 years ago.

On October 29, 2017, actor Anthony Rapp alleged that Spacey, while appearing intoxicated, made a sexual advance toward him at a party in 1986, when Rapp was 14 and Spacey was 26. Spacey stated on Twitter that he did not remember the encounter, but that he owed Rapp “the sincerest apology for what would have been deeply inappropriate drunken behavior” if he had behaved as asserted.

Almost three years later, on September 9, 2020, Rapp sued Spacey for sexual assault, sexual battery and intentional infliction of emotional distress under the Child Victims Act. In the subsequent federal civil court proceeding, a jury found that Spacey did not molest Rapp and was found not liable on all counts, with Rapp subsequently ordered by the court to pay Spacey $39,089 in damages.

Fifteen other accusers emerged from the woodwork and jumped on the bandwagon alleging similar abuse. The Guardian was contacted by “a number of people” who alleged that Spacey “groped and behaved in an inappropriate way with young men” while he was artistic director of The Old Vic theatre. 

On the same day as Rapp’s allegations against him, Kevin Spacey came out as gay when apologizing to Rapp. His decision to come out via his statement was criticized by gay celebrities as an attempt to change the subject and shift focus from Rapp’s accusation, for using his own drunkenness as an excuse for making a sexual advance on a minor and for implying a connection between homosexuality and child sexual abuse. Spacey expressed regret over the way he came out and said that it was “never his intention” to deflect from the allegations against him or conflate them with his sexual orientation.

Amid the allegations, filming was suspended on the sixth and final season of House of Cards starring Kevin Spacey. His livelihood, public acceptance, reputation, peace of mind and very existence was hanging by an excruciatingly slender thread.

As Rapp’s trial lawsuit against Spacey commenced in October 2022, it was revealed Rapp had given an inaccurate description of the apartment where he alleged the abuse took place. The judge dismissed the emotional-distress charges as a “duplicate” of the battery charges and a jury found Spacey not liable of all charges.

On May 26, 2022, Spacey was charged by the Crown Prosecution Service (CPS) in the UK with four counts of sexual assault against three complainants which were said to have taken place between 2005 and 2013 in Gloucestershire and London. According to the CPS, it would be possible to formally charge Spacey only if he entered England or Wales either voluntarily or through an extradition request. In a statement to Good Morning America on May 31, 2022, Spacey said he would “voluntarily appear in the UK”.

In his first British court appearance, on June 16, Spacey denied the allegations against him. On July 14, he pleaded not guilty to the charges in London. During the hearings, the complainant gave conflicting reports, false information regarding deleted text messages on his phone and eventually refused to answer any other questions, invoking the Fifth Amendment. On November 16, the CPS authorized an additional seven charges against Spacey, all related to a single complainant arising from incidents alleged to have occurred between 2001 and 2004. Three charges were dismissed before or during the trial, which began on June 28, 2023, and, on July 26, 2023, a jury found Kevin Spacey not guilty of the remaining nine charges.

Kevin Spacey has received countless accolades, including two Academy Awards, a BAFTA Award, a Golden Globe Award, a Tony Award and two Laurence Olivier Awards. He was named an honorary Commander and Knight Commander of the Order of the British Empire in 2010 and 2015, respectively. 

Kevin Spacey’s brother, Randy Fowler, has stated that their father was sexually, physically and emotionally abusive and that young Kevin shut down emotionally and became “very sly and smart” to avoid beatings. Spacey addressed the matter in October 2022, saying that his father was a white supremacist and a neo-Nazi who beat him regularly and called him derogatory names, including ‘faggot‘. Spacey stated that the abuse at the hands of his father caused him to become extremely private about his personal life which, in turn, resulted in him choosing not to come out as gay earlier in his life.

The following video aired prior to Kevin Spacey’s hearings in the UK where he was found not guilty of all charges. There are other videos available for viewing on YouTube if you so desire. I went with this one, choosing to avoid the sleazy and salacious nature of “entertainment news”.

This next video is a clip from the movie “Beyond The Sea” with Kevin Spacey portraying Bobby Darin. Spacey did all his own singing which is rather impressive. I could have gone with songs like “Mack The Knife” or “Beyond The Sea” but the name of this video tickled my funny bone.

Here is Kevin Spacey as Bobby Darin singing “Dream Lover”.

NAR©2024

Celebrities That Fell from Grace

All text, graphics and videos are 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

The Cruelest Joke

Nancy's Notes 🖊️♬

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.

© Ayr/Gray

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”

All text, graphics and videos are 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.

Flash

Halcyon Days

Nancy's Notes 🖊️♬

Written for Friday Fictioneers.
The challenge: to write a story of 100 words or less,
as inspired by the photo prompt below. Here is my story.

Photo Prompt © Susan Rouchard

After the wake, a few of us went back to our sister-in-law’s house. A question tap-danced in my brain: now that my husband’s brother was dead, was his widow still our sister-in-law or will she eventually be erased from the familial slate, ties severed, connections lost?

The room which they call ‘the office’ was a confusion of books, photo albums and memorabilia piled high like Babel.

Flipping through yellowed snapshots, we spotted her, the widow, in every image …. halcyon days when we all spoke the language of youth and happiness …. and my question was answered.

She is family.

NAR©2024
100 Words

12 April 2024

This is Jim Capaldi with “Old Photographs”

All text, graphics and videos are 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

Tools Of The Trade

Nancy's Notes 🖊️♬

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.

NAR©2024

Sunday’s Six Sentence Story Word Prompt!

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

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