Written for Photo Challenge, Mindlovemisery’s Menagerie #507
Continue reading “The Continuing Adventures of George and Martha, Vol. 2”Tag: Photo Prompt
Those Were The Days
Time once again for
The Unicorn Challenge.
Jenne has provided the photo;
this is my 250-word response.
“Mother! What do you think you’re doing?”
“What does it look like I’m doing, Morris? I’m going to go sing with that band.”
“You can’t do that. You’re almost 73 years old!” her son replied. He was becoming impatient.
“What the hell does my age have to do with anything? Tony Bennett, Tina Turner, David Crosby were all in their 80s and still going strong.”
“Mother, you’re not exactly in the same league as Tina Turner!”
“Thank you for pointing that out to me and the family, Morris. You’ve turned into a self-righteous little prig …. certainly not how I raised you.”
“Well, one of us had to grow up, Mother. You’re not going to sing with that band. I won’t allow it. This isn’t Woodstock!”
“Grammy? What’s Dad talking about? You were at Woodstock?” Dina asked her grandmother in disbelief.
“As a matter of fact, I was! You know, I wasn’t always your grandmother! I lived a whole other life before your father was born.”
“Grammy, why am I just hearing about this now? I’m 22 years old and never knew this! How is that possible? Dad, how come you never said anything?”
“You’re father’s embarrassed by me, Dina. I was always a very free spirit; I met a lot of incredible people before and after Woodstock.”
“Grammy, were you a groupie?” Dina asked conspiratorially.
“Oh, Dina! Lets just say I had great fun.”
“Mother, this conversation ends now!”
“Oh, shut up, Morrison!”
“Morrison?” Dina whispered knowingly, eyes wide.
NAR©2024
250 Words
This is Mary Hopkin, “Those Were The Days”
The Doors with “Alabama Song” (Whisky Bar)
This portfolio (including text, graphics and videos) is copyright for The Sicilian Storyteller, The Elephant’s Trunk and The Rhythm Section and is not for use by anyone without permission. NAR © 2017-present.
Thin Skin
Rochelle at Friday Fictioneers has prepared for us
another prompt with the intriguing image below.
This is my 100-word response to her challenge.
🥶
It’s been dreadfully cold lately; I seem to get a chill much easier now that I’m older. Maybe my “Senile Under-Skin Bleeding” is a direct result.
I spoke to my dermatologist about the thinning, drying and bruising skin on my lower legs; she suggested sauna bathing. The benefits include detoxification, increased metabolism, weight loss, increased blood circulation, pain reduction, anti-aging, skin rejuvenation, improved cardiovascular function, improved sleep, stress management and relaxation.
What could possibly go wrong?
I located a spa with a sauna. My glasses steamed up, I tripped and bumped into the frozen water bucket.
Lovely! Another fucking bruise!
NAR©2024
100 Words
✦ Authors Note: “Senile Under-Skin Bleeding”, also known as “Senile Purpura”, occurs when the skin and blood vessels become more fragile as people age, making it easier for the skin to bruise from minor trauma. While it is mostly associated with older people, it is a common problem among those in their 30s and 40s. This frustrating and painful skin issue with a very ugly name can be improved slowly following a dedicated regimen of gentle exfoliation, daily Vitamin D and a skin lotion rich in Vitamin C. Staying out of the sun and wearing sunscreen, keeping hydrated and eating fruits and leafy greens are also extremely important and helpful.
This is Brian Chevalier with “Thin Skinned”. Relax to this bluesy sound.
This portfolio (including text, graphics and videos) is copyright for The Sicilian Storyteller, The Elephant’s Trunk and The Rhythm Section and is not for use by anyone without permission. NAR © 2017-present.
Forever Dream
It’s time once again for The Unicorn Challenge;
this is my 250 word response to the photo below.
“Tell me again, Tom.”
“It was a glorious day, greener than Killarney in spring. We were out for a stroll, the leaves sparkling with dew. You looked so beautiful, Maggie, you made my heart skip a beat. Bluer eyes than I’d ever seen and hair the aroma of fresh peaches. We stopped and I picked a wildflower. I don’t know how you did it but you twisted the stem and made a ring. That was the day we became ‘engaged’. You said we needed to walk under the branch that stretched out over the path to make it official. I held your hand and we walked to the middle of the little bridge. We stood there and I knew from that moment on we would always be together. That’s where I kissed you for the first time. We were very daring, you being an older woman and all. I was 11 and you were 13 but we knew then we were made for each other.”
“It’s exactly as I remember. Tell me more, Tom. Put your arm around me. I’m so very cold.”
“Do you recollect the day we walked into the woods and discovered that cabin? I called it a ‘dilapidated shack’; you said it was “our dream’. We fixed that place up good, filling it with dreams. We raised our family there and welcomed our grandkids. Now our grands are getting married. Three generations of dreams, Maggie. Maggie? Oh, my sweetest love. Sleep now and dream forever.”
NAR©2024
100 Words
This is “A Kiss To Build A Dream On” by Louis Armstrong
This portfolio (including text, graphics and videos) is copyright for The Sicilian Storyteller, The Elephant’s Trunk and The Rhythm Section and is not for use by anyone without permission. NAR © 2017-present.
SEETHING MAN
Rochelle at Friday Fictioneers
has challenged us once again
with an intriguing photo prompt.
This is my response.
The man stood off to the side, silently watching, seething.
They were neighbors, friends at one time …. brothers, a lifetime ago. When asked to go into business together, he turned his friend down saying it was a foolish venture, throwing good money after bad. He was afraid.
His friend was successful in his business and became wealthy beyond measure while his own life languished. Jealousy turned to self-pity which morphed into anger and hatred so deep and volatile, his head pounded at the sight of his once friend.
And look at her with that flashy red purse. Disgusting.
NAR © 2023
100 Words
This is “My Brother’s Keeper” by Orphaned Land
SHELTER IN A STORM
Today in The Unicorn Challenge we are asked
to share how this photo inspired us.
This is my response.
Local businesses had taken a great hit during the recession and now the once lively and robust shopping district was nothing more than a ghost town. The barber shop, which was there for years, struggled to stay afloat as did the bakery across the street and the café around the corner.
Among the hardest hit was the exclusive coterie located in the elegant apartments above O’Chester’s Barber Shop – The Arlington, known as one of man’s last bastions, a gentlemen’s club, a cigar lounge, a house of prostitution.
Included in the clientele were politicians, celebrities, business executives and police officials; there was never a fear for the girls who worked at The Arlington or for the proprietress, Madam Josie Arlington.
All the men who frequented O’Chester’s were also clients of Madam Josie. There was a door in the back of the barber shop which opened onto a staircase leading to the rooms upstairs. The Arlington was an expensive ‘$5.00 house’ known for its opulence and beautiful foreign girls who offered exciting and unique talents.
Madam Josie was held in the highest regard for her discretion. Her customers felt safe knowing their reputations would never be tarnished. Josie had the presence of mind to install a private rear door which provided an inconspicuous exit.
Josie was a wise businesswoman; she knew one day she might be forced to call on her clients for help. Keeping an immaculate account of each man’s name and sexual proclivities was her shelter in a storm.
NAR © 2023
250 Words
This is “Gimme Shelter” by the Stones.
NUMB
A four-line response to the
photo-prompt challenge below
from Greg @ Four Line Fiction
“Is there really such a thing as the perfect marriage?” Marcella wondered; at one time she believed the answer was “yes”.
Now, laying on her bed alone in her apartment, Marcella’s head was swimming; after 18 years of marriage, how could she have been so terribly mistaken?
She had discovered a loose thread, one which kept annoying her, and as she toyed with it, pulled on it, every neatly sewn stitch in the tapestry of her life began to unravel until there was nothing left but tatters.
“How does a man who seemed unwaveringly devoted to her and their daughter have another wife and children on the other side of town and everyone knew except her?” Marcella asked herself, her mind now numb; the very idea was staggering and she nearly laughed at how totally preposterous and unimaginable it all was.
NAR © 2023
#gb4lf #gmgblog
This is Pink Floyd’s “Comfortably Numb”.
Please join me today
as we start a new edition of
In The Groove.
I think you’ll find it
quite enlightening.
https://rhythmsection.blog/
HOTEL BENNETT
We sat in the Gabrielle Dining Room of the Hotel Bennett, the same table by the window where we dined while on our honeymoon five years earlier.
Paul looked so handsome; I couldn’t look away as he smiled at me, the corners of his eyes crinkling ever so slightly.
My dress was his favorite – the black velvet with the daring neckline. After five years of marriage he was still captivated by me.
And I loved him, I truly did.
But business came first.
I whispered “Goodbye, darling”.
Too late, he became aware of the sniper’s laser aimed at his heart.
NAR © 2023
100 Words
SCARED CRAPLESS
We kept teasing Uncle Herb that he was turning into a hoarder and he might end up like the infamous Collyer Brothers who died of starvation and heart failure among tons of trash and hoarded items.
I think that scared the crap out of Uncle Herb and he agreed to let us help him clear out his stockpile of stuff. Check out that darling bistro set we uncovered. A little TLC and it’ll be good as new.
I wonder what else I can find back there. Surely a look around won’t hurt. After all, one man’s junk is another’s treasure.
NAR © 2023
100 words
LOVE IS BLIND
They spotted each other in line for the bus.
It was a beautiful day for a ride through the city; a double decker was something new for them. The idea was appealing and romantic.
But now the excitement of the ride was eclipsed by the thrill of a rendezvous. They shared the same thought: once in the bus they would find each other.
The bus was crowded, difficult to see the other passengers. He moved up while she came down; they crossed paths unnoticed.
People got on and off and at the end it was just them, alone at last.
NAR © 2023
100 words
A FINE TIME TO ASK
“We’ll be home soon, darling” I assured my wife.
“It was a brilliant idea celebrating Christmas at the cabin. Which reminds me, David – you did unplug the lights on the tree, didn’t you?”
“No, I didn’t; I assumed you did. Fine time to ask, Claire!”
“David, you can’t just assume! And since when is it my job?”
“You assumed I unplugged them!”
“We have to go back.”
After a three-hour return drive in stony silence, we arrived at the cabin – minutes after the firetrucks.
Only a charred moose head on the stone fireplace remained standing; everything else was smoldering remains.
NAR © 2023
100 Words
MOON WALKING
I was thinking about that night back in March when Max and I went out walking. We were both feeling a little restless and unsettled; walks always took the edge off. It was really quiet on that road; even the usual noisy critters in the woods were not chattering. A brightness broke through the clouds and fog, lighting the way as we went moon walking. That’s when I started softly reminiscing about my life with Max.
“You know, Max, it’s hard to believe we’ve been together four years already – just you and me, constant companions. I still think about the first time we found each other. We both really needed someone in our lives at that time, somebody to fill a void. It didn’t take long before we were best friends.
Working from home during Covid took a little getting used to; being in each other’s space 24/7 could have been disastrous but it turned out to be a blessing. We kept each other from going crazy while holed up inside. I imagined a lot of staring out the window, whining. Thank goodness for that park across the street and our quick jogs for groceries.
Yeah, Max. You’re my main man and I don’t know what I’d do without you. I’ve been tossing some stuff around in my head and I have something very important I need to run by you, buddy: you see, I’ve found someone.
Now, don’t start getting weird on me, Max. This is new territory for me, bringing someone into my life – into your life, too. She’s become very important to me and I hope you’ll like her as much as I do. I’ve been giving this a lot of thought and I’d like her to move in with me … with us. I know this is all very sudden and it’s asking a lot, which is why I want you to meet her and get to know her.
She makes me happy, Max, and I can see all of us spending our lives together. She’s sweet, beautiful and loving. Well, you’ll see for yourself; she’s going to meet us here tonight. I call her Sasha.”
Max and I gave each other a look and I wondered if my eyes said “I know this is a lot to take in”. As we approached a large tree along the side of the road, there was Sasha, waiting for us, and I quickened my step to greet her. We nuzzled and sniffed each other, totally forgetting Max was standing a few feet away, patiently waiting. I looked back and forth between my two loves – one canine and one human – and I hoped Sasha and Max would become best friends, just like me and Max.
Finally Max came over to us and squatted down for a better look. I had no idea what he was going to say and I was a bit nervous. For the first time since we started our walk, Max spoke:
“Well, look at you, Miss Sasha! Aren’t you a pretty girl? You’ve got a lovely lady friend here, Jake, a petite chocolate lab. Let’s see; do you have a collar? Nope, nothing. Well, you’re either a stray, a run-away or someone let you go. I can’t imagine that, not a pretty girl like you.”
Just then Sasha darted over to the tree and emerged with a puppy dangling from her mouth; my heart did a flip. Our little guy couldn’t have been more than a couple of days old. Sasha walked right up to Max.
“Well, would you look at that!” Max laughed. “A little guy and he looks just like you, Jake! I guess congratulations are in order. Well, Jake, Sasha. What do you say we all head home? Sasha, may l carry your pup for you?”
Sasha looked up at Max with trusting eyes and gently placed our pup in his hands. We all headed home, walking in the moonlight; Max hummed a happy tune while Sasha and I trotted close beside.
“Sasha, we really need to find a nice woman for Max, don’t you think?” and my love gave a little woof of agreement.
NAR © 2023
IN MY DEFENSE
What the hell are you looking at?
Never seen a raccoon before?
And what’s with the fence?
A “NO TRESPASSING” sign would have sufficed.
Whatever happened to “Mi casa es su casa”?
You wanna play a little game of “Climb This Fence”?
OK, you’re on! I can climb this fence before you can say:
“Rocky Raccoon runs rings around reclining redheads”.
Psst! Turn around, Carrot Top! I’m on the other side. Haha!
Look, in my defense, I got a wife and six kids waiting for me
back at the dumpster and we gotta eat.
A baby’s full dirty diaper feeds a family of eight quite nicely.
Hey, don’t look at me like that!
One man’s poop is another’s Pâté de Poulet.
Next time, leave some tabasco sauce; my wife likes it hot!
Ha-cha-cha-cha!
NAR © 2023
CHASING DREAMS
Everything was going fine until it wasn’t. Then Joe and Willie met – two guys down on their luck.
Willie grew up in the street, standing outside saloons dancing a jig just to earn a coin for something to eat. Some days he’d get tossed a fresh cigarette; he’d break it in half, smoke one piece first and save the other behind his ear for later. One odd job led to another but nothing steady and he’d move on, some bread and cheese in a sack over his shoulder.
Now Joe was a lucky SOB. Born in a brothel, all the ladies took him to their bosoms. By the time he was eight, he knew what was what. Life was good until the girls got sick and the house was shut down. Joe fell through the cracks. He found a bit of money, some jewelry and food left behind, placed it in a bag and took off.
Willie and Joe met while hopping freight trains and chasing their dreams. Willie was on the track to nowhere but Joe had his sights on California gold. By now Willie was sick … “consumption”, he said; Joe kept an eye on him. When you got only one friend in the world, that person means something.
They planned to hop the freight train heading west. Willie never made it, coughing to death one night in the train yard. Joe placed Willie’s hat over his face and ran for the biggest, fastest iron horse California bound.
NAR © 2023
250 words
GRAMPS
“Now listen up, Pumpkin, and don’t turn around. As far as you’re concerned, I’m not here and we’re definitely not together.
We’ve been over and over this scenario two dozen times and I know you know it by heart, but if there’s one thing I’ve learned over a lifetime of grifting is if something can go wrong, it will. Best to be prepared for anything so let’s go over it one more time. Just give Gramps a yawn if you’re with me.“
*Yawn*
“That’s my girl. If there’s anything you don’t understand, give me a little cough. Now there’s a couple of good marks coming our way. They’re completely oblivious. I’m telling you, Pumpkin; people like this make my job easy as pie!
Ok, here’s the plan. I’m gonna start acting like I’m not feeling too good – chest pains or trouble breathing. I’ll probably slump over onto the bench; that’s always very effective. Don’t turn around if I do that, ok Pumpkin? I’m alright and it’s all for show, got it?”
*Yawn*
“Good girl! So once people notice I’m in distress, they’re gonna come over to see if they can help. They’re gonna be concentrating on me – not their stuff and definitely not you. When everyone is distracted, that’s your cue to act. Just slip your little hand into their pockets, their purses, their shopping bags. Do it smooth, feather-light and quick. Whatever you snatch, drop it into your shopping bag. Don’t be greedy and don’t stay too long. And don’t look at me, you hear?”
*Yawn*
“When you’re done, turn around and walk away – not too fast and not too slow. Just amble into the department store and go to our designated spot. Once I’ve reassured everyone that I’m ok – just a little asthma attack – and I don’t need an ambulance, I’ll come meet you. If anything, anything at all doesn’t feel right or things go wrong, ditch the plan. Forget about me. Just take your bag and walk away, got it?”
*Yawn*
“And one last thing, Pumpkin. Remember our pinky swear. Not one word of this to your mom and dad.”
*Yawn”
NAR © 2023
GROUNDED
Two for the price of one:
Fandango’s Flash Fiction Challenge
and
Fandango’s Story Starter.
Can you do the Fandango?
“What in the world could have possessed you to do what you did?” she asked.
That was my mother talking … or perhaps I should say “yelling”. And she had every right to yell because I had once again done something stupid. Yes, it was an accident but if I had listened to my mother in the first place this never would have happened.
It all started when I asked my mother if I could borrow her red nail polish to paint my nails for the pool party at my friend Tina’s house. Mom was ok with me borrowing her polish but gave me strict orders to apply it in the bathroom or the kitchen. If I spilled the polish, cleanup would be easy. I was absolutely forbidden to do my nails in my bedroom or the living room; both rooms had wall-to-wall carpeting and any spills or even a drip could spell catastrophe.
So what did I do?
Well, I had to call Tina with a very important question about the pool party and the only phone in the house was in the living room so I sat on the floor and began to polish my toenails while talking on the phone. Have you ever tried to balance a phone receiver with a 3 foot cord attached between your shoulder and ear while trying to do something else with your hands? Take my word for it; it’s not easy.
Now, I’m not exactly sure how it happened but the cord yanked the phone receiver off my shoulder and, in my attempt to catch it, I knocked over the bottle of my mother’s red nail polish … right on the plush white living room carpet.
I watched in slow-motion horror as the bright red polish oozed out of the bottle and was immediately soaked up by the carpet like a sponge. When I came to my senses, I grabbed the bottle and ran into the bathroom, all the while crying “Oh my God! Oh my God! Oh my God!” I seized the nail polish remover and a rag and ran back to the scene of the crime. I applied the polish remover to the rag and began dabbing at the spill. While I was able to remove some of the polish, it wasn’t enough and I sat there helplessly staring at a 2” diameter patch of drying redish-pink carpet. The topic of getting dried nail polish out of carpeting was never discussed and back then we didn’t have the web to look things up.
The one good thing about this incident was my parents were not home at the time. I ran into the laundry room and gathered an arsenal of cleaning supplies: a scrub brush, detergent, spray cleaner, bleach, scouring powder, rags and a bucket of water. The combination of products and the use of the scrub brush only made matters worse. The 2” spot was now much bigger and pieces of the thick pile had come out. That area of mother’s expensive wall-to-wall carpeting now resembled a man’s balding head. It was a mess and I was up the creek.
So I did the only logical thing. I moved the coffee table about 8” to “hide” the damage. There! From where I stood the problem was solved and no one would be the wiser.
Or so I thought.
I was about to exit via the back door for Tina’s pool party when my parents came home. I heard my mother before I saw her. In fact, I think the entire neighborhood heard her:
“Nancy Ann Schembre! Get in here this second!
What part of ‘do not use nail polish in the living room’
did you not understand?
You deliberately ignored what I said, just like you always do,
and now my carpet is ruined!
Do you think I talk just to hear the sound of my own voice?
No pool party for you, young lady.
You’re grounded for the rest of the summer!”
I stood there unable to move, staring at my mother in disbelief. Grounded again … and this time for the rest of the summer! My life was over!
With head hung low I sniffled an apology and skulked back to my room but I had a plan. Instead of going to my room, I tiptoed down the stairs to the basement and headed for the back door to make my escape. My hand was on the doorknob when I heard a voice from upstairs.
“Where do you think you’re going? I said you were grounded!”
“Oh, man! You’re upstairs! You can’t even see me! How’d you know?”
“Because I know YOU!”
Then came the line that gave me the creeps every time I heard it:
“Besides, I’ve got eyes in the back of my head!”
NAR © 2023
DAMNED IF I DO
It’s been so damn hot and humid, I’ve had it! It’s like a sauna and the moment I step outside I begin to wilt. My clothes stick to me and even wearing a sundress is uncomfortable. I need to take a cool shower when I wake up and again at the end of the day. The AC is cranked up to the max and I’ve lost my appetite except for ice cream and a tall cold drink. It’s even too hot to go to the beach or pool and sitting under an umbrella doesn’t help much. There’s no breeze and the air is too still to breath; I feel like I am sweltering and my lungs are searing. I swear if this keeps up I’m going to melt away like an ice cube! I can’t stand it any longer. All I do is complain about the heat! I can’t wait for the winter.
It would be heavenly to jump into a hole in a frozen lake and take a dip in the cold refreshing water!
But being cold can really be very uncomfortable! It’s awful to step outside every day and feel the chill slap me in the face. Sometimes the wind whips right through me and I can’t get warm no matter how many layers of clothes I have on. Break out the boots, scarves, hats, gloves and heavy jackets. And don’t forget the snow storms and the shoveling. It takes forever for my car to heat up and I have to keep the heat on at home all the time, too. All I want to do is take a hot bath, eat chicken noodle soup, drink hot tea and jump into a warm bed. Sometimes it’s so cold I have to sleep under an electric blanket and I still feel chilly! My fingers and toes turn blue and I can hardly feel them. And I always have the sniffles! I swear if this keeps up I’m going to turn into an ice cube! I can’t stand it any longer. All I do is complain about the cold! I can’t wait for the summer.
Damned if I do, damned if I don’t!
NAR © 2023
365 words
ECHOES
It had been quite a long while since Celia had taken a vacation. Now here she was, hiking the Appalachian Trail; it was the perfect get-away. The day was gorgeous and Celia was surprised to find she had the trail to herself. After about 90 minutes she came upon a split in the path. Placing her backpack on the ground, she pulled out a map and leaned against a tree. Suddenly there was a startling crack as the tree snapped in half. The ground beneath her gave out and she plummeted off the edge.
Celia had no idea how far she’d fallen or where she was. She called out but all she heard were her echoes. Celia was pretty badly bruised but she didn’t think anything was broken. It was a struggle but she made it to her feet; it was then she realized she didn’t have her backpack which meant no food, no water, no bandages and no phone. Her only choice was to keep going.
She must have walked for miles. Exhausted, lost, Celia fell to her knees, sobbing. She squinted through her tears and could barely make out the shape of a cabin. Was it real? Was she hallucinating? Slowly she pulled herself up and trudged toward the building, praying it was not an illusion.
There were no lights, no signs of life. Raising her arm to bang on the door, it suddenly flew open and Celia was pulled into blackness. That’s the last thing she remembered.
NAR © 2023
250 words
UNDER THE BAEL TREE
Kabir and Deepak sat under a bael tree taking a break from the heat of the afternoon sun. They shared an aloo toast sandwich while keeping watch over their rickshaws, Deepak smiling and contented, Kabir scowling and dejected.
“What is your problem, Kabir?” asked Deepak. “You never seem happy nor do you have anything cheerful to say. You do not talk about your children and how they are doing in school nor do you discuss how things are with your wife.”
“We are struggling day after day, Deepak. Nothing positive ever happens. There are bills and rent to pay. Now my wife just told me she is expecting another child!”
“Congratulations, my friend! Another child! How can you say nothing positive ever happens? This is a blessing for you and your wife!”
“You think so, Deepak, when we can barely feed the three children we already have? Now my wife will be unable to work and I will be the only wage earner in the family. My pockets are empty and I will have to work even more hours!”
The two men ate in silence for a while, then Deepak spoke. “Kabir, we have known each other all our lives. We are like brothers so I am going to speak plainly to you. How we greet each new day shows clearly on our faces. If you are negative and always feel you deserve more in life, that is the first thing people see. When your wife told you she was expecting a baby, did you embrace her and tell her how happy you were? Did you share this joy with your other children? I can see by the look on your face that you did not. Why, Kabir?”
Kabir hesitated for a moment. “Deepak, it’s true we are like brothers but you have never had to scrimp and save for the things in your life. Your children are happy and do well in school while mine are sullen. Your wife is content and radiates joy while mine is depressed. Do not try to tell me we are the same when we have been dealt a very different lot in life.”
At this Deepak became angry. “Kabir, you are a fool! Do you think I haven’t had to work for what I have? How our children grow and behave is a direct reflection of us and how we behave. How our wives feel is directly based on how we feel. If we are sullen, our home will be bleak and if we are optimistic, our home will be cheerful. Together my wife and I pledge to make the best of every day. Nothing good comes without effort.”
Having said that, Deepak stood to leave. “Kabir, it is never too late. You still have time to turn things around. May your life always be full and blessed and may your rickshaw … and your pockets … never be empty.”
Kabir sat alone under the bael tree thinking what a camel’s ass he had been. The passengers will still be here one hour from now; first he needed to go home and embrace his wife.
NAR © 2023
RAINY DAYS
Yes, indeed, my lovelies! Just in time for another Unicorn Challenge!
Oh Mommy! Oh Mommy! Come quickly! Come quick!
Something has happened to poor Mr. Chick.
Oh, what is amiss? Can my best friend be sick?
He’s scrawny and thin as a tall candlestick!
Oh Mommy! Oh Mommy! His neck is all hunched
and his beak is a-gape, as if searching for lunch.
Perhaps I should give him something to munch
and something to drink. A tasty fruit punch!
Oh Mommy! Oh Mommy! His feathers are gone!
His wings are a-hanging and bare to the bone.
Whatever it is it’s so terribly wrong!
I’ll help him feel better by singing a song!
Oh Mommy! Oh Mommy! Come look at his seat!
It’s shrunken right up and so have his feet!
I think I should give him something to eat
to revive and cheer him and make him go “tweet”.
Now come here, my child, and sit by my side.
Hear all Mommy’s words and do not try to hide.
There will be no more playing or hitching a ride
for your dear Mr. Chick, oh most sadly, has died.
Come now, my dear child. Be brave and don’t cry;
I am going to tell you what happened and why.
Remember the Monday when the sun left the sky?
The rains came a-heavy and Chick could not fly.
Dear child, be happy and hear what I say:
Chick has transformed to spread joy every day!
Now people are flocking from miles away
to see our grand statue standing proud on display!
NAR © 2023
250 words
SO IN LOVE
It’s two, two, two prompts in one!
A Six Sentence Story word prompt
from GirlieOnTheEdge
and
a photo prompt offered up by Fandango!
OMG! The Sicilian’s outta control!
Last year was our 50th wedding anniversary, the Big 50, the Golden One, and we knew we wanted to do something special because, really – not too many couples these days make it to 50 years together and are still very much in love – but we’re not crazy about large, over-the-top parties or celebrations with a cast of thousands (even if that’s what our children wanted) so we got the family together and said “Listen, kids, we love you and appreciate the gesture but we really don’t want a party” and we set off to make plans of our own for our special day without putting a strain on our bank account.
We casually tossed out a few ideas such as a weekend in Manhattan (too crowded and we couldn’t get tickets to any of the good shows), or a trip to Vegas (all the flights were crazy expensive), or a mini vacation in Saratoga (but the racetrack wasn’t open for the season yet), or a stay at the Hilton Boston Downtown at Faneuil Hall (there was a conference going on and no rooms were available); nothing was doable so we put our anniversary plans on the back burner figuring we’d get to them eventually.
Well, we got busy with the grandkids, doctor appointments, car inspections, yadda yadda yadda, and all of a sudden our anniversary was just one week away and we didn’t have anything planned; it wasn’t the end of the world – both of us would have been happy going to our favorite Italian restaurant for dinner and a nice bottle of Montepulciano – but those little voices in our heads kept whispering “It’s the Big 50, the Golden One so do something special!”
The next morning my mister announced that he found the perfect spot for us to celebrate our big day: a secluded and romantic place with fabulous views where we could relax and enjoy a delicious meal while sitting by a roaring fire; of course I was all in and asked where this place was but all my guy would say was “it’s a surprise” and told me all I needed to do was throw my toothbrush and ‘a little sexy something’ in a bag, then he gave me a wink and my heart fluttered like it always does when you’re so in love.
On Friday afternoon we set out on our secret romantic get-away and I have to say we were both excited, even a bit giddy as we listened to oldies on the car radio; by now the sun was low in the sky and we were a good ways upstate – where exactly I didn’t know – but the scenery was gorgeous and I expected we’d arrive at our secret destination very soon – perhaps a place that resembled a fantasy castle in one of our granddaughter’s princess books – but just then we pulled off the road into a clearing and my mister jumped out of the car, came around to the other side to open my door, extended his had and asked “May I have this dance?” as he swept me off my feet afterwards suggested I might want to take at a look around while he got everything set up – just don’t go too far, he warned!
When I returned to my mister I could see he’d been busy as I was greeted by a sight I wasn’t quite expecting – a big tent and a roaring fire under a flawless sky, surrounded by the most amazing mountains that I was rendered speechless – not just because I was taken aback by the gorgeous scenery but because after 50 years of marriage, my wonderful husband was very much aware how much I detested camping, yet here we were and all I could do was smile when he showed me the take-out containers from our favorite restaurant with all the foods we like heating by the fire and a lovely bottle of red; he asked me to dance again, and I thought “I’m so in love with this man and all the ways he makes me feel special”, I knew I’d gladly put up with one night of camping, especially since after dinner I would passionately show him all the ways I could put my ‘sexy little something’ to good use.
NAR © 2023
working on our 52nd
DEAR GRAMMY
“Emma! Anthony! Come down for supper!”
“One minute, mum.”
“Hurry, Emma! Read about the train to Hogwarts!”
Emma and Anthony raced through to the end of the chapter and knew exactly what to do. They brought out the packages Grammy sent them all the way from Chicago. Dear Grammy was always happy to buy them books or costumes or whatever struck their fancy.
The children ripped open the packages and slipped their new costumes over their heads. They closed their eyes, held hands and repeated the words from their book.
Downstairs, Mum was getting impatient. She called up to the children and when they didn’t answer, she went to check on them.
Emma and Anthony were nowhere to be found. On the bed was their beloved Harry Potter book and two empty packages with the words “Invisibility Cloak”.
“Oh, my dears!” sobbed Mum. “Where are you? What have you done!”
NAR © 2023
150 words
Why not join me today
and get your groove on
“In The Groove”?
It’s gonna be awesome!
https://rhythmsection.blog
PEDDLER’S MARKET
The young man hunched over a table in Peddler’s Market Consignment Store, diligently sifting through the odds and ends in an old wooden box. He was clearly searching for something. After a while he stood straight up, took a look around and started to leave.
“Excuse me, young man” a woman’s voice called out. “Can I help you find something?” The woman introduced herself as Winnie Pierce, manager of the store and the young man said his name was Harry Dawson.
“Well, Harry Dawson. What is it you’re looking for today?” Winnie asked.
Harry told her that he was going to ask his girl to marry him. He hoped someone had brought an inexpensive engagement ring and wedding band set into the consignment shop that he could buy.
“You’re not going to find any rings in that box, Harry; there’s nothing in there except buttons, cuff links and tie tacks. The rings are over here” and Winnie pointed to a glass-enclosed display case.
Harry thanked her and walked over to where the rings were kept. Winnie finished up with another customer and came back to see if Harry had found anything he liked.
“These rings are real pretty, Winnie, but they’re way out of my range. ” Harry responded glumly. “My girl Betty said we didn’t need rings but I wanted to surprise her.”
“I’ll be right back, Harry” and Winnie disappeared into a back room; she returned a few minutes later, gaily humming. “I just remembered these! An old woman brought them in about a year ago, a widow with no children or grandchildren. She told me to get as much as I could for them.”
From behind her back Winnie produced a little black ring box; inside was a delicate engagement ring with a tiny diamond and a matching band. Harry’s eyes lit up like a Christmas tree.
“I know they’re quite small, Harry but…”
Harry interrupted. “They’re beautiful and Betty would love them – but they’re probably out of my range, too.”
“Well, Harry. The old lady who brought them in passed away last month. When she dropped them off, she said I should get as much as I could for them. So how much can you given me for them, Harry.”
Harry checked his wallet. “All I got is $60, Winnie. Pay day is the end of the week.”
“I’ll take $50, Harry. How’s that?”
“Really, Winnie? That’s incredibly generous of you! How can I ever thank you?”
“Just make Betty happy, Harry. That’s all the thanks I need.”
NAR © 2023
ST. MONICA
Frank Rogan, a huge man with a fearsome-looking scar down the side of his face, hoisted himself out of the police car; ice blue eyes cold as death stared at his detective.
“What’s up, Finney?”
“It’s them Italian boys, Chief, the ones from the projects. We nabbed ‘em!”
“Where are they?”
“In the tunnels below St. Monica’s.”
Shoving his way passed the detective, Rogan stepped into the dank tunnel; it reeked of urine, paint and hopelessness. At the bottom of the steps were two patrolmen, hands firmly detaining two scared boys. A third boy leaned against the wall, hands thrust deep in his pockets, cap low on his forehead.
“Well, if it ain’t Nicky Pisano and his two stinkin’ turds.”
The cops laughed; Rogan ordered they take the two boys back to the police car. “You too, Finney. Me and Nicky got business to take care of.”
Once alone, Rogan shoved Nicky to the ground. “You and your bastard ginzo friends have been busy down here, Nicky, desecrating the church. Now you’re gonna pay for this sullying.”
Rogan loomed over Nicky. “You’re one of them pretty boys, ain’t ya? You look like your mother sprawled on her back.” Rogan sneered, his hand rubbing the scar on his face.
Nicky roared and sprang to his feet but Rogan was ready, grabbing Nicky by the neck.
“Up against the wall or on your knees, pretty boy – however you like it.”
Unbearable pain seared through Rogan’s groin as Nicky’s shiv found its mark.
NAR © 2023
250 Words
Authors’ Note: St. Monica is the patron saint of wayward children and troubled boys.
TRUST ME
“Alright, people! Listen up! In case you don’t know who I am, let me introduce myself. I’m Nina Russo, director for tonight’s broadcast.
What you see here are our two presidential candidates and the moderator for this evening’s debate, courtesy of the fine ladies and gentlemen over at carpentry. Candidates, say hello to my crew. Oh, I forgot. They’re dummies, incapable of doing anything; that, my fine people, is your job, to turn our three Pinocchio’s here into real live men.
OK, let me see a show of hands from everyone in AI. Excellent! I’ve been told Preston’s in charge of all the magic you guys are going to create. You have a question, talk to Preston. He’s the man who will advise you about everything. I want you to be sure the eyeballs move and blink and don’t just stare into space like the real candidates. The eye and the mouth movements … it’s imperative they are perfectly in sync with their CG voices.
I almost forgot! Teeth! Dr. Mike Hillman, dentist extraordinaire, is here to assist you in choosing the perfect set of teeth for each mouth. It’s the little, overlooked things like teeth and birthmarks that can spell disaster.
I cannot stress the importance of making these bozos look like they’re really talking. You people running the computers and teleprompters … you screw up, even by a nano second, and that could be a catastrophe. My ass will be grass and that will make me very unhappy. And when I’m unhappy, everyone is unhappy.
There will be no cell phones in the studio tonight. No books, magazines, iPads, Wordle, Candy Crush, Solitaire, WhatsApp, Twitter, Facebook, YouTube, TikTok, texting, yadda, yadda, yadda. Get it? I don’t want anything that might distract you. In fact, I want my computer guys, recording synchers, camera operators and teleprompters in plexiglass booths like we did during the Covid press conferences. Concentration is key tonight, people. Gary, you were in charge of the team working on the booths three years ago … is that correct? And do we still have the booths available to us? Great, I want you in charge again tonight.
Arm and hand movement is crucial; I want these puppets doing every little thing you’d see the man on the street doing: gesticulating, pointing a finger, putting a hand up to its head, sticking a hand in its pocket, holding a glass of water, pounding the podium, rubbing an ear, crossing arms. AI people – you hearing me?
And speaking of ears, where are my makeup people? Claudia, you’re in charge of makeup. Look, those are the worst ears I’ve ever seen. Fix them, please; they need to be exact. Regarding makeup, I want perfection tonight. Hair, eyebrows, eyelashes, lip color, complexion. You all have photos of these three clowns: study them, refer to them. I don’t want anything out of place – not a mole, a scar or a nose hair, got it?
Wardrobe! Again, study their photos. Pablo, give me some good news and tell me the padding is here. Yes? Excellent! Look people, we’ve got body padding of every size imaginable. Find the right one and pump these guys up a bit. Remember … they’re not gym rats, they’re politicians so easy on the muscles. We’ve got suits on racks in the back along with shirts, belts, ties, socks and shoes. Match them up perfectly with each candidate. If he wears a wedding band or a Masonic ring, make sure it’s on his finger and for God’s sake, make sure it’s the right ring. That goes for watches, cuff links, tie bars, tie tacks and lapel pins. And if he cut his finger this morning, don’t forget the band aid. Detail is paramount; I cannot stress that enough.
Glasses. Neither of the candidates wears glasses but the moderator does. Make sure he’s wearing the right pair.
Listen, you may think the viewers at home are easily fooled and you’re right. Still, I will not put my reputation on the line by anyone mucking up even the slightest thing. I want perfection. I don’t want so much as a questioning glance from their parents, their wives, their kids, their pets, their lovers, their doctors, their call girls, rent boys or drug dealers. Do I make myself clear?
OK. It’s seven hours till showtime. Millions will be watching at home, in bars, in gyms everywhere across the world. We need to keep this believable until our man’s in office. Then it becomes someone else’s problem. I’m counting on each one of you. And for crying out loud, if you need a break, take five and plug yourselves in. There are ports all around the studio. I want you all on top of your game tonight. Is that clear?
Ok everyone, I want you to meet Chase Bennett and Kate Reynolds, my assistants. They’re going to take over for the next hour or so. Do everything they tell you to do.
Chase, walk with me. I presume my ionic bed is fully charged? Good! I’m going to rest a bit, plug in and recharge for tonight’s broadcast. Keep everything on track, Chase. The eyes of the world will be on those bobble heads tonight. We need those lying presidential eyes looking straight into the camera saying ‘Trust me’.”
AKA humanoid Nancy Richy
NAR © 2023
#FFFC
NIGHT TERRORS
My son cried out for me again. It had become a nightly ritual.
At first I was amused by his attempts to stall going to sleep. Sometimes he’d ask for a glass of water or another bedtime story. His latest ruse was “monsters”. I’d made a big deal of looking under the bed, inside the closet, behind the rocking horse in the corner. Satisfied nothing was hiding in his room, he would drift off to sleep.
Now the routine had turned into a habit and I found myself becoming exasperated. The last couple of nights, my son was clearly upset by something he claimed to have seen. He cried real tears, asking me to keep the lights on. We compromised and began using a nightlight.
Still, something was scaring my boy and my frustration turned into concern. He was now saying a wicked witch came to him every night. There was no denying my little guy was truly scared.
I thought about every tv show or movie that could have set this off, any posters or books in his room. Nothing came to mind and I rubbed my temples as another headache began to worm its way in.
My son screamed for me and I ran to his room. The witch was back and he cried for me to stay with him. I crawled onto his bed and laid down, my arms around him and my head on his pillow. I closed my eyes as he described the bony and twisted fingers of a witch’s hand reaching through his bedroom window. With ragged breaths my boy clung to me, begging me to keep the witch away.
I held him tightly and kissed his head, assuring him that witches weren’t real and he was safe. Slowly his breathing calmed and I opened my eyes to see if he was asleep. With my head still on his pillow, I had the same view of my son’s room as he did. For the first time I saw his world through his 4-year-old eyes.
And there in the darkness tap-tap-tapping on his window was a sight that made me gasp … the gnarled and skinny branches of the scraggly juniper bush outside my son’s room looked very much like an evil witch’s hand grasping at little boys! How could I have missed it and the fearsome shadows it cast across the walls and onto the ceiling? I felt an enormous amount of guilt for not seeing what he saw, for thinking it was his only imagination, for losing my patience with a frightened little boy.
We sat up on his bed and I explained to my son that what he saw was not a witch but only branches and I could understand why it scared him. I asked my boy if he remembered seeing the juniper bush during the day while outside playing. He quickly nodded “Yes”. I asked him if the bush scared him when he saw it during the day; he giggled and said “No!”
I turned on all the lights in his room and asked if it would be ok if I opened the window. My son didn’t answer right away; he stared at his hands in his lap and nervously fussed with his pajamas, then looked up at me with tears in his eyes. I wanted to run to him and scoop him up in my arms but I forced myself not to move. I’m sure it took every ounce of courage for him to quietly answer “Ok, Mommy”.
I held out my hand and he slowly walked to me, that look of ‘dead man walking’ on his face. But he was a brave boy that night and together we opened the window. I reached out and touched the branches of the juniper. I shook the branches; there wasn’t a witch anywhere. My son asked if he could shake the branches, too, and I told him he could. When I asked if we should have Daddy cut down the bush in the morning, my son was very thoughtful for a minute. Then he shook his head saying “No, the bush didn’t mean to be scary”. He threw his arms around my neck and he climbed back into bed.
That night the fears were conquered, the night terrors vanquished. My little son is now a grown man with little sons of his own and it’s his turn to dispel their fears. Sometimes I wonder if he has any memory of those frightening nights from forty years ago.
Something tells me he doesn’t remember a thing.
NAR © 2023
Please join me today
In The Groove.
It’ll be cool. 😎
https://rhythmsection.blog/
SPITTING IMAGE
It had been eighteen months since Jean’s parents were killed in a skiing accident in Utah. Their deaths left her alone with no family except for her mother’s estranged younger sister Gloria who lived halfway around the world. When the accident happened, Jean thought of reaching out to Gloria in Australia but she had no way of contacting her. Besides, too many years and no love lost between her mother and aunt dissuaded her from even trying.
Jean could no longer put off the job of cleaning out her parent’s house. She packed up all their clothes as a donation to the Salvation Army and arranged for a pick up. On the floor of her mother’s now empty bedroom closet she discovered a large shoe box; it was full of old family photos.
Jean ignored the box for a few days until curiosity got the best of her. She carried it into the living room, poured herself a glass of wine and started going through the photos. There were the typical family images of her grandparents, her parents and herself – nothing terribly special or interesting.
Jean was about to put the cover back on the box when she noticed a manilla envelope at the very bottom. She pulled it out, unwound the string that kept it closed and emptied the contents onto the coffee table. All that slipped out was a clear plastic sheath from a photo album. There were six pockets on both sides of the sheath and each pocket contained a photo. Twelve images were visible – six on one side and six on the other.
Sipping her wine, Jean examined the photos. The first one was of her mother and Gloria; the remaining photos were only of Gloria. Jean didn’t recognize the place where the photos had been taken and no one else was there. It didn’t take long for Jean to notice that Gloria was pregnant; in each photo her belly appeared larger and larger. The final two photos were of Gloria cradling an infant in her arms. Something made Jean remove those two photos from their plastic covering; written neatly on the back in her mother’s handwriting was “Gloria with her daughter, Jean”.
Jean slowly placed her glass on the table. Of course! It all made sense. That would explain why there were never any photos of her own pregnant mother, no photos of her proud father with his hand on her mother’s expanding belly, no photos of any other children. And, of course, there was the sudden disappearance of Gloria. Jean was an only child and Gloria – the woman she believed to be her aunt – was actually her mother. And who was her father? Jean was sure it could not be the man she thought of as her father; she always believed she never bore even the slightest resemblance to him. She was the spitting image of her mother and her aunt but now, looking at these old photos, she wasn’t so sure. Her whole life felt like a lie.
Jean was reeling with this new information. She paced the room thinking of what she should do next. She briefly wondered what time it was in Australia; she didn’t care. She needed answers. She searched through her mother’s address books until she found a listing for Gloria; who knew after all this time if the number was still the same? It had been 24 years since those photos were taken; she hesitated for a second, then dialed the number.
Her call was answered on the first ring.
NAR © 2023
BOYS WILL BE BOYS
He wasn’t a bad boy, the tearful mother professed to the crowd who gathered on the beach. Yes, he was precocious, as his teachers would attest, but he was a bright and friendly child with a clever imagination. Surely you can see that; just look at him happily playing tag with his new friends by the water.
It was dreadful, no denying, but it was a horrible accident, the weeping woman explained. A simple game of hide and seek gone terribly awry. Teams of two, boys against girls. Her son and his little friend Jack took turns hiding in a hollow on the beach, each one covering the other with sand and rocks. It was really the perfect spot to hide.
Her son scampered off behind a nearby dune to wait in hiding when the girls called out “Ready or not, here I come!” They quickly found him behind the dune and he chased them, forgetting all about his friend buried beneath the sand and rocks. Only when he heard urgent voices yelling “JACK! JACK!” did he remember his friend.
He ran to the spot where Jack was hiding, desperate parents on his heels, but it was sadly too late for his little friend. Of course no one blamed him; it was a game turned deadly, fun between innocent children.
Later, as the boy sat on his bed, he removed a slip of paper taped behind his bedpost. With a red crayon, he crossed off the name “Jack” from the list.
NAR © 2023
250 words
STOLEN MOMENTS
She paused at the approach to Cabin 1-8, one foot resting on the first step. Her days were always rough but today had been more difficult than usual. She lost one of her patients today; of course as a nurse it had happened to her before but it’s something she never got used to.
She took a deep breath and walked up the remaining steps to the front door. She could hear the radio playing “Apple Blossom Time” by the Andrews Sisters. She smiled at the thought of dancing in the living room in his warm embrace.
Before her hand could turn the knob, the door opened. He smiled and drew her into his arms, kissing her deeply. They both knew at some point the doctors would realize he had regained his memory and vision; he would be able to return home but for now they would take whatever comfort they could find in each other’s arms.
He locked the door and they ran upstairs to his bedroom – unhappy thoughts of their own spouses rapidly fading from their minds. All that mattered to them was today and these stolen moments together. Tomorrow would come soon enough.
NAR © 2023
192 words
THE THICKET
Invisible in the temporary stillness before dawn, the trio of soldiers crept silently through the jungle. One had an injured leg as the result of a skirmish; he knew his injury would impede their progress and he pleaded with his comrades to leave him to die alone with dignity. The steadfast friends refused to abandon him in the middle of enemy territory.
Walking on, the soldiers spotted a tall thicket in the distance where they could take shelter. Painstakingly, one soldier carried his injured brother on his back into the copse while the third searched for something for them to eat. Finally for the first time in hours the exhausted trio was able to get some rest.
After a while, the wounded soldier awoke with a fever, his leg swollen and throbbing. Since it was now midday, it was too risky to leave their cover. Outside was sweltering and humid and the chance of them being caught would be great. No … they would stay where they were until it was safe to venture out.
Suddenly their wounded brother heaved a ragged breath and died. Grief-stricken, yet aware they must move on, the soldiers covered their comrade with rocks and began the slow crawl out. Without warning a long carnivorous caterpillar slithered through the brush and swallowed the startled army ants. They struggled bravely, as courageous ants are wont to do, but in the end they could not prevail.
Poor little buggers.
NAR © 2023
The Elephant's Trunk 