Short Story

The Confrontation

Written for Weekly Prompts – The One-Day Prompt (6)
and The Sunday Whirl – Wordle 673 incorporating the
twelve required words shown below. Here’s my story.

β€œSecrets, lies, glimpses at your messages, the way you jump for the phone every time it rings. You’re living a secret life, Kenneth, and it’s destroying us.” June’s lips quivered, her eyelashes were wet with tears. She walked across the living room to stoke the slowly dying fire …. an ironic symbol of their languishing nine year marriage.

Kenneth stood by the window looking down at the street below. As much as he tried to avoid talking about it, he knew one day it would come to this.

June wondered if he was even listening.

β€œYou had another dream last night, Kenneth; the bed was soaked with sweat. Don’t you think I have a right to know?”

Slowly Kenneth turned to face June; he let out a ragged breath. β€œYes, darling. It’s time you knew the truth. Come, sit with me.”

They sat together on the couch for a few moments in silence. Finally Kenneth turned to June and took her hand in his.

β€œI’m leaving, June. I’m going back to the Congo.”

June was stunned; of all the things Kenneth could have said, she never expected that. β€œAnd back to the arms of your lover Sunda, no doubt” she spat out bitterly. β€œHow could you, Kenneth!”

β€œSunda’s dead, June. The fevers returned with greater intensity and frequency. She didn’t make it.”

β€œDead?! Then what other reason could you possibly have for going back?” June asked, bewildered.

β€œThe messages I’ve been getting .… they’re all from my doctor. Twelve years ago Sunda and I nearly died from the plague in the Congo while doing research. We both miraculously survived. Now she’s dead and I also have the fevers. I’m dying. The doctor confirmed my fears.”

β€œNo! It can’t be true! I don’t understand, Kenneth. Why must you return to the Congo? Stay here with me. We’ll find the best doctors and fight this together!” June sobbed.

β€œOh, darling June. If only it were that easy. There’s just one cure and it lies in the Cinchona plant hidden deep in the western swamp forests of the Congo. I refuse to expose you to the danger. I leave tonight.”

NARΒ©2024

wet, jump, secret, dream, bed, breath, secrets, lashes, fire, plague, glimpses, lies

This is β€œJungle Fever” by Stevie Wonder

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Short Prose

When Push Comes To Shove: The Continuing Story of Harvey and Fiona

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 4th story about Harvey
and Fiona; for my previous stories, please click here.

Β© Ayr/Gray

Early each morning on her way to work, Fiona passed the busy bakery in the heart of town. She loved the shamrock-green storefront and the delicious aroma of baked goods, and imagined herself working there.

Maneuvering the heavy pressing machines at her job took its toll on Fiona; she was exhausted and complained of backaches. Harvey barked that she better toughen up because no way was she quitting that job. And for the first time, he slapped her.

On Sunday morning Fiona asked Harvey to bring down the mixing bowl from the top shelf in the kitchen so she could make an apple pie. Grousing, but inwardly delighting at the prospect of dessert, Harvey took a long swig of his beer and got the stepladder out of the closet. As he started to climb, Fiona managed to hoist a five pound sack of apples, grimacing at the awful pain in her back, and bashed Harvey as hard as she could on the back of his head. He fell backwards onto the kitchen floor, vacant eyes staring at the ceiling. He would never slap her again.

Fiona tore open the sack of apples, dumped them into the colander on the counter and shoved the empty sack into the trash. She looked at Harvey’s dead body; blood had pooled under his head and she felt sick to her stomach. Fiona vomited in the sink, then washed her face and hands; she lifted the receiver of the wall phone and called the police.

NARΒ©2024
250 Words

This is β€œPush Comes To Shove” by Van Halen.

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Short Story

Bisnonna*

Written for The Unicorn Challenge where we are
asked to get creative in 250 words or less using
the photo below as inspiration. Here is my story.

Β© Ayr/Gray

The ambience in our house was different today, quietly busy as delivery men and acquaintances paying their respects came and went. My father and mother’s uncles directed the traffic of floral deliveries and positioned the many arrangements throughout the parlor. My mother and her aunts labored in the kitchen like silent worker bees preparing trays of food for the funeral dinner tomorrow.

We children sat meekly on the two enormous matching sofas along the side walls, eyes downcast, confused and uncharacteristically restrained. Occasionally we would glance toward the elevated casket in the center of the room and quickly look away. At 6:00 we were whisked off to the dining room where we wordlessly ate our evening meal, then returned to the parlor to continue our vigil.

There seemed to be a never-ending flow of people, a soft parade of mourners entering our house. Veiled women dabbed their eyes and men removed their hats, heads bowed. This stream flowed seamlessly from 2:00 in the afternoon until 9:30 that evening, many people lingering to reflect while caressing their rosary beads. A priest arrived shortly after 9:30; he spoke softly in our native Sicilian dialect, offering prayers and words of consolation. When he was finished, everyone except my mother’s aunts and uncles departed. My little cousins, some no longer able to stay awake, were carried home and my sister and I were shooed off to our bedroom upstairs.

It had been a long and sorrowful day. My great-grandmother, the family matriarch, had died.

NARΒ©2024
250 Words

*Bisnonna is the Sicilian word for “great-grandmother”.

Author’s Note: I was nine years old when my great-grandmother died. Much of that day is etched in my mind; in particular, I remember being unable to sleep that night knowing there was a dead body in a coffin downstairs in my parlor. Never ever will I forget the cold and waxy feel of my bisnonna’s skin on my lips as I, along with all the other children, lined up to place a kiss on her forehead … not something we did willingly.

This is β€œPaint It Black” by the Rolling Stones

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Short Story

Day 10 or It’s A Process

Ten days out from spinal fusion surgery and my lower back still hurts like a bitch on wheels. This is a much more difficult surgery/recovery than I expected; bearing in mind what’s involved …. what has been cut through, ground down, fused together with various types of hardware, and stapled, sutured and bandaged closed …. I should have realized it would not be easy. And my doctor sent me home with Tylenol …. not even extra strength but regular Tylenol. Really?

Getting around the house with a walker, dressing myself and doing basic toilette is not problematic; beyond basic, it’s damn near impossible. What’s not allowed: stomach sleeping, bending or twisting at the waist, lifting anything heavier than 5 pounds. And, apparently, pain medication.

These days, I just about live in my electric recliner, getting up every hour or so to walk around, followed by icing my back. I tried eating my meals in the kitchen with Bill; it’s good to have a change of scenery and some normal time with him. The chairs, however, are not comfortable just yet so we eat together in the living room where there’s an over-large electric recliner with my name on it.

Making myself comfortable in a recliner is easier than in bed but still more difficult than I would have thought; the vertical 6″ incision is centrally located on the small of my back so I’m aware of every movement. There’s always something that hurts, that’s too big or too small, too hard or too soft, flattened out or all scrunched up, or just out of reach. Finding the perfect cushion has been a crusade; thankfully, Bill holds on to everything! Fortunately, once I fall asleep, I’m out for most of the night. Getting out of the recliner in the morning is slow-going as I’m stiffened-up from sleeping all night. It’s a process.

As far as my blogging goes, I’ll write when the mood strikes. I miss you and our camaraderie but my energy and strength are down. It took me two days just to write this! I apologize for not reading or commenting on your posts and I’m sure I’m not going to …. at least not for a while. I’m just not up to it.

Well, that’s the story, kids; taking life one day at a time.

Be good to yourselves. See you on the flip side. 😎

NARΒ©2024

PS – As much as I’d love to hear from you, please try not to compare your own situation to mine or tell me about your dear Aunt Betty who was never the same after her surgery. I know you mean well but we’re all different and heal differently; downer stories don’t help. It’s human nature but a “get well soon!” would be far better and greatly appreciated. Thanks!

Here’s β€œIt Don’t Come Easy” by Ringo Starr.

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Short Story

Unnoticed

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.

Β© Ayr/Gray

The claustrophobia started gradually for four-year-old Phoebe.

She had climbed into the back of her father’s flatbed truck to investigate the crates of chickens ready for market. Phoebe went unnoticed as her father threw a tarp over the back and locked the tailgate. When her dad found her, she was curled up in a ball, crying pitifully.

Over time, Phoebe seemed to forget about the incident in the truck.

Years later Phoebe was accidentally locked in her bedroom closet when a gust of wind blew through the window and slammed the closet door closed. Her parents were out and her older siblings were watching television; her frantic cries for help went unnoticed. Exhausted, Phoebe fell asleep in the closet, her family unaware. Her mother found her the next morning, traumatized.

Incidents like that kept happening. Phoebe became obsessed with her surroundings and her parents sought professional help. After eight years in the hospital, Phoebe was declared β€œcured”.

She met Evan, a great guy, and they began dating. Life was good again for Phoebe. For her birthday, Evan and Phoebe planned to see her favorite band. She felt safe with Evan and was unafraid to ride public transportation.

The train was packed. During one stop, Evan was pushed out with a crowd of passengers; the doors closed before he could get back in. Phoebe panicked when the train started up. She lost it.

At the last stop, Phoebe was found in the corner – disheveled, mumbling, eyes wild in terror. She was finally noticed.

NARΒ©2024
250 Words

This is β€œCrazy Train” by Ozzy Osbourne

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Short Story

The Heartbreak: The Continuing Story of Harvey and Fiona

This is my 3rd story about Harvey and Fiona.
For a look back at earlier installments, click here.

While Harvey slept during the day Fiona cleaned, shopped and cooked. She wanted a vacuum cleaner but Harvey said it was too expensive and the noise would keep him awake so she settled for a carpet sweeper. Their only chance to be together was at breakfast and dinner time – and of course for coffee and dessert when Fiona served Harvey his favorite apple pie. Fiona loved baking and it was all worth it to see the way Harvey’s face lit up every time she made another pie.

Fiona suggested a few times that it would be nice if Harvey worked during the day so they could be like a normal couple and spend more time together but her words fell on deaf ears.

She also longed for a baby. Each time she thought she was pregnant it turned out to be a false alarm. Fiona saw a doctor who wasn’t very sympathetic; he shrugged his shoulders, gave her ambiguous explanations and performed a couple of routine tests. He told her it was just one of those things; not all couples could get pregnant. When Fiona finally got up the nerve to mention to Harvey what the doctor told her, he laughed and said it wasn’t his fault she couldn’t get pregnant; β€œJust ask that sweet little Frenchie I knocked up during the war” was his mean-spirited reply.

Fiona felt like she’d been kicked in the gut. When she cried that she needed something other than chores to fill her lonely days, Harvey yelled to β€œgo get a job and start earnin’ ya keep around here! Who needs another mouth to feed anyways?” Fiona was reeling; how could he say such hurtful things? Heartbroken, she eventually gave up on having a baby and found a job as a presser in a shirt factory. The work was exhausting and she still had to clean the apartment and cook for Harvey … and bake.

What happened to the guy she married? Harvey was constantly annoyed about something or other and drank more now than usual. He got mean when he drank and Fiona bore the brunt of his anger. When he demanded sex every night before going to work, she kept her mouth shut but she was silently screaming. This was no way to exist, like a piece of property and not a person. She’d lie awake at night remembering her mother’s warning words: β€œJesus, Mary and Joseph! Can’t you see he’s no good for you? I don’t trust him, Fina girl!” The only thing in her God-forsaken life that she truly enjoyed was baking and she did it all for Harvey.

Fiona would fantasize about how lovely it would be to have her own little bake shop; she’d make lots of delicious cakes and pies for her large following of loyal customers – not just for her selfish husband. She knew she could do it if she only had the chance.

To be continued. For a look back at earlier installments, click here.

NARΒ©2024

This is β€œHere Comes The Heartache” by Fair Warning

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Flash

Brace Yourself

Written for Weekend Writing Prompt #375,
Weekly Prompts Colour Challenge and
Weekly Prompts Wednesday Challenge,
31 words exactly using the three prompt words
of defray, brown and rigid. Here is my flash.

Mary went rigid and her soft brown eyes filled with tears when she saw the orthodontist’s bill. With no dental insurance, she’d have to find some way to defray the expense.


NARΒ©2024
31 Words

https://sammiscribbles.wordpress.com/2024/08/03/weekend-writing-prompt-375-defray/


This is β€œEasy Money” by Billy Joel

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Flash

The Lake

Written for Friday Fictioneers where we are
encouraged to be creative in 100 words or less
using this photo for inspiration. Here is my story.

Photo Prompt Β© Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

Eileen gathered some boxes from the attic and began to pack up her late husband’s belongings; Ned always told Eileen he wanted his things donated to the men’s shelter.

Now the drawer was empty except for a folder; inside Eileen found Ned’s sketches of their lake. Leafing through them, Eileen was outraged to see drawings of her sister Denise in the lake dated 2023 – the last time she visited. Ned and Denise had a fling years ago but Ned ended it – or so he said.

Eileen put the sketches back into the folder. Time for a little chat with Denise.

NARΒ©2024
100 Words

This is β€œCry Me A River” by Diana Krall

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Haibun, Poem, Prose

Identical Grief: A Haibun

Written for dVerse Poetics: Picking Up The Pieces
where today we are sharing grief. This is my haibun.

Bill & Jim working on yet another crossword puzzle together

Tomorrow will be 4 months since my husband’s identical twin brother died suddenly. His wife returned home from a walk and found him on the bedroom floor; she said he was still warm. The news felt like an arrow ripped through our hearts. Jim was dead. How was my sister-in-law ever again going to walk into her bedroom without picturing her husband’s body? How was my husband Bill going to face the rest of his life as the lone twin? At one time there were three brothers; now there is only Bill. This is the most difficult trial for him. My husband lost a piece of himself that day. We are numb, disbelieving, questioning, dazed, numb, numb, so unbelievably numb.

You know how people say that time flies? Not when it comes to Jim; time has stopped for us. Logically we know he’s dead but our hearts cannot accept it. It’s unbelievable, inconceivable for us. It doesn’t feel possible. We function normally every day, do the same old crap, talk and eat and laugh. We watch movies, go shopping, pay bills, gab on the phone, babysit. We live the same lives we lived before Jim died except he’s not here to share them and we cannot wrap our heads around that. It just doesn’t feel like he’s dead. He should be here. It’s not right that he’s not here. It’s like someone has played the cruelest joke on us.

Now, when my sister-in-law looks at Bill, it’s Jim’s face she sees. And sometimes when I look at my husband, I see Jim and I find myself pondering why Jim was the twin who was taken.

I am Bill’s wife but Jim was his other half.

save them in your heart
golden summer memories
for when winter comes

City Island, Bronx NY circa 1950
No idea who’s who!


NARΒ©2024

This is β€œComfortably Numb” by Pink Floyd

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Short Story

A Perfect Couple

Written for Fandango’s Story Starter #159
where the first sentence is the prompt and
for Weekly Prompts The One Day Prompt,
using the phrase β€˜one day’. This is my story.

The sound of laughter drifted up from the street below, making Gregory feel very alone.

It’s hard to imagine life without her. When the hell did everything start to unravel?

Now he sat alone in the shell of their apartment, baseball game on the tv playing for no one, nursing his second scotch. This place used to be alive with people enjoying one of their famous parties. When he closed his eyes he could hear their friends’ lively discussions and the sound of her spirited laugh.

Everyone said they were the perfect couple. Theirs was a comfortable, easy marriage β€“ dinner at Gallagher’s, cycling along Riverside Drive, steamy showers after Saturday morning sex. They were in sync in their choices of movies, paint colors and the biggest decision of all .… neither one wanted kids. 

He sat there, head in hands while a thousand thoughts went through his mind. When did he begin having second thoughts? Was it when her sister asked them to be godparents for her first baby? Was it watching the kids in the playground across the street? All he could remember was the night he whispered in her ear that he wanted to have a baby.

She was blindsided. What? No! He was just named partner at Central Casting. She was food editor for Country Living magazine. Life was perfect. They had an agreement, dammit!

Would she just consider thinking about it? No! How could he spring this on her now?

Days, weeks went by. She remained adamant, distant. Then one day he came home after work and she was gone.Β 

Here he sat alone with his scotch, ballgame long over, thumb rubbing his wedding band while he stared at divorce papers. 

It couldn’t have happened to a more perfect couple.

NARΒ©2024

This is β€œThe Dance” by Garth Brooks

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Short Story

Our Little Rendezvous

Written for The Unicorn Challenge where we are asked
to get creative in 250 words or less using the photo
prompt below for inspiration. Here is my story
.

Β© Ayr/Gray

β€œWoods. Roger Woods. Please check again” I implored the desk clerk at the Hotel Moderne. 

β€œI’m sorry, madame, there is no reservation for that name.” The young man looked at me with a mixture of embarrassment and pity.

β€œYou must be mistaken” I replied, my voice shaking. 

β€œThere is no mistake, madame. Perhaps you have the wrong hotel” the clerk suggested, offering me an out. 

Of course I didn’t have the wrong hotel! Roger and I had been meeting here the second weekend of every month for three years.

I checked my phone for missed text messages or calls from Roger; there were none. Rather than stay in the lobby looking distraught and abandoned, I sat in the lounge and ordered a martini. I had a clear view of the front desk on the left and the entrance on the right. I’d be able to see Roger the moment he arrived. 

After thirty minutes and two martinis, I began feeling paranoid. It was painfully obvious, at least to me, that I looked like a lonesome and tedious woman who had been stood up. 

I became aware of someone approaching. Expecting to see Roger, I looked up, smiling; it was the concierge. Whispering discreetly, he handed me a note: β€œDearest Cecile. I cherish our little rendezvous but it’s time to go our separate ways. Farewell. Roger” 

Our little rendezvous!‘ I was shattered. Just like that, as unexpectedly as it began, it was over.

Looking straight ahead, I gracefully exited the hotel.

NARΒ©2024
250 Words

This is β€œNon, Je ne regrette rien (No, I do not regret anything)” by Edith Piaf

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Short Story

A Get-Away

Written for Weekly Prompts Weekend Challenge (‘madness’)
and Weekly Prompts Wednesday Challenge (‘magic’).

This is my response to those challenges.

It had been quite a long while since Rob and I had a chance to take a vacation, to escape the madness of the city to someplace remote and peaceful. Skiing sounded like a good idea, a break after the unbearably hot summer. All we wanted was a little get-away to relax and unwind.

Our Google search brought us to a place called Marmot Basin located in Jasper, an alpine town in Canada’s Alberta province. The photos were breathtaking; the area was one of the most natural and unsoiled landscapes we’d ever seen. The site said Jasper was β€œan authentic mountain community that managed to retain a cozy, warm and β€˜real’ atmosphere with a laid-back vibe”. It was also one of North America’s largest protected nature preserves. It would be great to get lost for a few days, forget about our hectic lives.

The flight to Jasper was interminable; eight hours with a connection in Denver. The time change did a number on us physically but our welcoming and romantic chateau more than made up for the tedious travel. It was rustic yet charming with beamed ceilings, comfy furniture and a huge fireplace. We spent our first night snuggled up in bed.

Right after breakfast the next morning we set out for a day of skiing. Hoping to find a secluded trail, we consulted one of the guides who gave us a couple of suggestions. We headed out, delighted to see a pristine layer of powdery snow. Looking around we realized we were the only people in the area and there was nothing in sight except evergreens on the hillside.

We started off slowly then gradually picked up speed; the conditions were perfect. About twenty minutes into our run we came upon a split in the trail. Taking a break, Rob leaned against a tree and consulted a map, deciding which way we should go. Suddenly we felt movement beneath our feet and the ground gave way in what sounded like a whispering waterfall. In an instant we were tumbling down, enveloped by cascades of snow.

It seemed like an eternity before I came to a stop. I was unable to move but realized I was still clutching my pole. Somehow I managed to wrangle my arm free from under my body and began whacking the snow above me. I didn’t know if I was under three feet of snow or thirty; I had to try to free myself. Snow kept falling on me as I hacked away. Slowly my grave became brighter and I realized a magic sliver of sunlight was peeking through. I heaved myself into an upright position and broke through the snow.

It was a struggle but I managed to climb out and started yelling for Rob. All I heard was my echo; everything was deathly silent. I found my phone in the inside pocket of my ski suit and dialed Rob’s number hoping to hear his phone ring; I heard nothing. Checking my phone I saw there was no cell service in the area; I couldn’t even call for help. Gingerly I walked around a bit, all too aware the ground could give way at any moment. My only hope was to try to find help.

I must have walked for miles; the sun had set and I found myself surrounded by trees. I had no idea where I was. Exhausted, I fell to my knees, sobbing. If Rob was still buried in the snow there was no chance of finding him alive.

Through my tears I thought I saw a glimmer of light. I squinted and could barely make out the shape of a cabin in the woods. Was it real or magic? Was I hallucinating? I had to keep moving or I would surely die during the frigid night. Slowly I got to my feet and walked toward the light, praying it was not an illusion. I was so very tired; if only I could close my eyes just take a little rest before I continued. It was so bitterly cold.

NAR Β© 2024

This is “Snowblind” by Styx

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Short Story

A Fate Worse Than Death

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

There are parts of Jersey City which are very dangerous …. dingy bars, seedy hotels, mob-run strip joints and dark alleys where unspeakable things happened; Jack Black had a taste for all of them. 

Most nights Jack would slither into his favorite bar, sit in the shadows on the end barstool, case the joint, nurse his bourbon and smoke his Lucky Strikes; Jack had patience and sooner or later she’d walk in …. maybe a secretary working late or a bored and lonely housewife. 

About 20 minutes later, a woman ran in from the rain and glanced around the room, her eyes ignoring Jack as she shook her damp dark brown hair, then headed to the bar and ordered a martini; she rummaged through her purse searching for her cigarette lighter and just as Jack was about to make his move, the bartender offered her a light.  

Jack toyed with the electrical wire in his pocket, annoyed at missing his opportunity to talk up this new beauty, but the night was young and he had all the time in the world.

Cool as a cucumber, Jack watched as the woman sipped her martini and smoked her cigarette, but when she asked the bartender for a menu, Jack knew he had been given a second chance and his fingers did a tap dance of anticipation around the wire in his pocket; just then the door swung open and a man blew in and when the woman at the bar spotted him, she ran to him and they embraced as she exclaimed that he was right on time as dinner would be coming out any second. 

Jack was not a happy boy at this turn of events and, seeing no reason to hang around, he opened the door to leave and walked right into a gorgeous blonde; laying on the charm, Jack apologized profusely and offered to buy the woman a drink to which she smiled, agreed and replied that she was bored which was …. as she put it …. a fate worse than death.

NARΒ©2024

This is β€œPennies From Heaven” by the Skyliners

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Short Story

Donnegan Muldoon

Written for Six Sentence Story where we are encouraged
to write something creative in exactly six sentences,
incorporating the word “hermit”. This is my six.

There was once a very old man who lived deep within the dense dark forest where he ate morels, mushrooms, berries and the little rodents who had the misfortune of getting themselves caught in the very old man’s traps, but the most delectable meals for this ancient hermit were plump little boys and girls lost in the woods – a rare but finger-licking-good scrumptious delight … or so the legend goes.Β 

One unseasonably warm and sunny day several years ago in late November, young Ethan Collingwood and his even younger sister Penelope were on a journey, an expedition of sorts – (it was really just an assignment handed down by their mother) – to gather the chestnuts that grew in the woods at the entrance to the dark forest and bring them home for Thanksgiving dinner; the woods were once abundant with huge chestnut trees which were greater than 100 feet tall and more than ten feet wide, with acorn-sized nuts sweet like a carrot when eaten raw and even nuttier with a candied flavor after roasting; beside Mrs. Collingwood’s perfectly-cooked juicy and tender turkey, the roasted chestnuts were the highlight of their meal, making Ethan and Penelope’s mouths water at the thought of Thanksgiving dinner just one day away.

With strict orders from their mother not to go too deep into the dark forest, the siblings chatted happily on this warm November morning, baskets dangling from their hands for collecting lovely chestnuts but when they arrived at their destination there were no chestnuts to be found, prompting Ethan to suggest they go a tiny bit further into the forest; prudent Penelope protested but Ethan reassured her that all would be fine and, considering he was a whole year older, Penelope was sure he knew best so she agreed and Ethan was right, for only twenty steps deeper into the woods they found chestnuts covering the ground like a blanket; brother and sister began collecting the delicious nuts, filling their baskets and chattering away as they walked, collecting and eating chestnuts with every step they took and in no time they had gobbled up so many nuts, they grew tired, propped themselves against the mighty trunk of a chestnut tree and quickly fell asleep.

Time went by as time is wont to do, turning the warm day into night with a biting wind which woke the young ones who were disoriented, cold and with baskets only half full … something that would surely disappoint their mother … but Ethan, being a bright boy a whole year older than his sister, had an idea which he proposed to Penelope: β€œLet’s start to walk back home and fill our baskets with chestnuts along the way which will delight Mother when she sees how many nuts we collected and she will forgive our tardiness.”

Penelope sprang to her feet, cheered on by Ethan’s plan, but as she looked around, she realized she had no idea where they were and burst into tears, causing Ethan to inquire why she was crying; surprised by her response, the boy looked around and saw that they were indeed lost, making Ethan feel like crying himself but he refused to let his sister see his fear; instead, he said β€œDon’t cry, Penny, for all we need to do is follow the trail of chestnut shells we discarded while eating earlier today and we will find our way home.”

Encouraged by this brilliant idea, the siblings began retracing their steps but when they spotted a tiny ramshackle of a hut hidden among the trees, they knew they had walked in the wrong direction; the children realized this was the home of Donnegan Muldoon, the very old man who lived like a hermit feasting on morels, mushrooms, berries, the little rodents who had the misfortune of getting themselves caught in his traps and plump little boys and girls lost in the woods, and they were sorely frightened, especially now that the moon began creeping out from behind a cloud, casting strange and horrifying shadows wherever the young ones looked, with low hanging branches taking on the appearance of bony arms and fingers ready to snatch them away, and as the crooked limbs inched closer, Ethan and Penelope turned to flee but were stopped dead in their tracks, for looming before them was the menacing figure of Donnegan Muldoon himself, dressed an ancient, threadbare cloak, his long, scraggly grey hair and beard reaching his knees and piercing blue eyes as cold as a tomb staring at the young brother and sister who were too terrified to move or utter a sound.

NARΒ©2024

This is “Bread” from “Hermit Of Mink Swallow” by Todd Rundgren

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Short Story

Eunice Blackthorne

Written for Six Sentence Story where we are
challenged to incorporate the word β€œfrequency”
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 β€œMs. 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.

NARΒ©2024

This is β€œBefore He Cheats” by Carrie Underwood

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Flash

Bad Medicine

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.

NARΒ©2024
33 Words

This is β€œBad Medicine” by Bon Jovi

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Short Story

Affaire de Famille

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.

Β© 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 Γ€ 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.

NARΒ©2024
250 Words

This is β€œFamily Affair” by Sly and The Family Stone

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Flash

Feeling The Burn

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.

Β© 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.

NARΒ©2024
100 Words

This is β€œFever” by Little Willie John

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Uncategorized

On The Rocks – Part 3: In The Beginning

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.

Β© 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 β€œsomething different”; Camilla was apprehensive but went along. They drove to a secluded park with meandering pathways and steps that seemingly led to nowhere.

β€œAren’t the flowers lovely, Camilla?” Nigel asked and was rewarded with a thunderous sneeze.

β€œAllergies” Camilla complained.

β€œWatch the ivy, Camilla. We wouldn’t want you getting your heels caught up in it.”

β€œNigel, 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?”

β€œIt’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

NARΒ©2024
250 Words

This is β€œLove Bites” by Def Leppard with the Royal Philharmonic Orchestra

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Short Story

The Condo

Written for Six Sentence Story where this week
we are challenged to use the word β€œfaint”
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.

NARΒ©2024

This is β€œGhost Behind My Eyes” by Ozzy Osbourne

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Short Story

The Apartment: The Continuing Story of Harvey and Fiona

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.

Β© 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 β€˜Christ killer’ and β€˜kike’.Β  Her mother was crushed. β€œJesus, 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.

NARΒ©2024
250 Words

This is β€œLove With The Proper Stranger” by Jack Jones

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Prose, Short Prose

Descent Into Madness

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 β€œI 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 β€œThe 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.

NARΒ©2024
144 Words

This is “Song by Edgar Allan Poe”

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Ovi Poem

Get A Grip: An Ovi Peace Rap

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

Photo Credit Β© 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

NARΒ©2024

This is β€œMr. Blue Sky” by ELO

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Short Story

The Escort

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.

Β© 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 β€œWhat’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.

β€œName’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.”

β€œKeep your thoughts …. and hands …. to yourself, buster!” Fiona snapped. β€œBesides, how do you know I’m a good Catholic girl?”

β€œWell, I ain’t no Albert Einstein but I seen ya practically racin’ to St. Brigid’like yer panties was on fire and I’m guessinβ€˜ 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 β€œBogie” 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.

NARΒ©2024
250 Words

This is β€œBogie & Bacall: Key Largo” by Bertie Higgins

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Short Story

Suspended Animation

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
Β© NAR

β€œMangia il cibo sul tuo piatto, Concetta, o lo mangerai dal pavimento” – (β€œEat 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 β€œMai piΓΉ, Concetta; obbedisci a tuo padre!” β€“ (β€œNever again, Concetta; obey your father!”) 

NARΒ©2024

This is a Sicilian folksong called β€œMi votu e mi rivotu” (β€œI toss and I turn”)

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Poem, Quadrille

Fade To Black

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.

NARΒ©2024
44 Words


This is Metallica with β€œFade To Black”, live from Pinnacle Bank Arena, Lincoln, Nebraska

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Short Story

Fallen Soldier

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.

Β© 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.

β€œMike, it’s so early. What’s wrong?” she asked sleepily.

β€œWe 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. β€œNot 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,Β β€œPoor 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. β€œThere’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.

NARΒ©2024
250 Words

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

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Flash

Carla’s Big Night

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.

Β© Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

β€œUngrateful … 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.

β€œYou gonna cook that pizza or beat it to death?’ he snarled.

He died instantly. Death by rolling pin.

NARΒ©2024
100 Words

This is a live acoustic cover of The Allman Brothers’ β€œWhipping 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. NARΒ©2017-present.

Short Story

Perfect Day For Planting

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 86ΒΊF – a leap from the mild low-70s of just the day before – so it was, according to Colette, the β€œperfect 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 β€œperfect day for planting!”

What being a kid is all about!

NARΒ©2024

This is β€œLet It Grow” by Eric Clapton

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Short Story

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.

Β© Ayr/Gray
β€˜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. β€œMonsieur! You are not supposed to be here with that dog! There are rules.” The local gendarmerie. Then louder, more urgently – β€œWhat have you done, monsieur? Do not move! Ici! DΓ©pΓͺchez-vous!”

And the whistles blew.

NARΒ©2024
250 Words

This is β€œWho Let The Dogs Out” by Baha Men. Hey, hippie-ye-yo!

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