Written for Esther’s “Can You Tell A Story In” –
#314, exactly 40 words using these four prompt
words: ‘bonsai’, ‘puddle’, ‘knapsack’, and
‘rejoice’. Here’s my 61-word flash.
Tag: Secrets
The Confession
Written for MLMM Monday Wordle #459.
Our prompt words this week are: front,
thrum, mix, echo, memory, fear, think,
hold, mass, never, ready, and late.
Here’s where the prompt words took me.
Come Sail Away
Written for Sammi’s Weekend Writing Prompt
#441 where we’re asked to be creative in exactly
73 words using the word ‘cerulean’. Also for Sue &
Gerry’s Weekly Prompts Weekend Challenge –
‘bucket’. Here’s where the prompts took me.
RDP Monday: spill
Today at RDP, we are asked to share a
story, poem, photo, painting, essay, etc.,
centered on the word ‘spill’. Here’s my take.
Time Unfolds
Written for Sadje’s What Do You See #291
and Sue & Gerry’s Weekly Prompts –
The One Day Prompt (13) This is my response.
Vespers
Written for Gerry & Sue’s Weekly Prompts
Weekend Challenge, incorporating the word
‘silhouette’. Today’s amazing graphic
is by Kevin @ The Beginning At Last/
No Theme Thursday. This is my story.
The Burden Of Secrets
Written for OLWG #417.
The prompts appear below.
This is my story.
M.I.A.
Written for WTFAIOA Pick 3 #3.
Each week the inspirational list will
be comprised of 21 randomly selected
words; we must use at least three.
Here’s our list of words; I have used all.
Undercover
Written for The Unicorn Challenge where
we are urged to get creative in 250 words or less.
The photo below is our inspiration; this is my story.
Passion
Written for Sammi’s Weekend Writing
Prompt #411 using the word ‘fierce’ in
exactly 36 words. This is my story.
To Fly
Written for Eugi’s Moonwashed Weekly Prompt,
I have chosen her prompt ‘reach for infinity’.
On The Rocks – Part 5: The Euganean Hills
Written for The Unicorn Challenge where
we are urged to get creative in 250 words or less.
The photo below is our inspiration; this is my story.
The Thing
Our gracious host, Rochelle, at Friday Fictioneers
asks us to use the photo below as inspiration
to write creatively in 100 words or less while
making every word count. This is my flash.
Between Friends
Written for Esther’s Writing Prompts-50
with the prompt word “secrets” and
Gerry & Sue’s Weekly Prompts Wednesday
Challenge with the prompt word “whimsical”.
This is my story.
El Paso
Written for OLWG #401-Ojínaga. The three prompts
for this week are shown below. I have also used one of
Kevin’s great graphics from The Beginning At Last.
This my story.
The Letter
Written for Kevin’s No Theme Thursday 10.24.24,
Fandango’s Story Starter #172 (#FSS), Eugi’s
Moonwashed Weekly Prompt (pretend), and
Gerry C & Sue W’s Weekly Prompts Wednesday
Challenge (fascination). This is my 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.
“Secrets, 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.
“You 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. “Yes, 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.
“I’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. “And back to the arms of your lover Sunda, no doubt” she spat out bitterly. “How could you, Kenneth!”
“Sunda’s dead, June. The fevers returned with greater intensity and frequency. She didn’t make it.”
“Dead?! Then what other reason could you possibly have for going back?” June asked, bewildered.
“The 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.”
“No! 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.
“Oh, 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.”
NAR©2024
This is “Jungle Fever” by Stevie Wonder
All text, graphics and videos are copyright for The Sicilian Storyteller, The Elephant’s Trunk and The Rhythm Section and are not to be used without permission. NAR©2017-present.
TIME’S UP
“Jesus Christ, Marco! I’m a nervous wreck!” wailed Tina. “Meeting your mother for the first time is freaking me out! Do I look ok? What if she doesn’t like me?”
“Are you kidding me, babe? You look great! She’s gonna love you! Besides … my mother thinks we’re just friends; she won’t be judging you!” replied Marco with a huge grin and a bit too much enthusiasm as he selected his mother’s favorite Dean Martin record.
“But honey, you’ve told me how your mother scrutinizes everything with an eagle eye and doesn’t miss a trick. I’m scared of her and we haven’t even met yet! The pressure is killing me! What if she figures out we haven’t been honest with her?” Tina was getting frantic.
Marco reached out and pulled her close, giving her a comforting hug. His mother never liked any of his gitlfriends, saying no one was good enough for him. Just this once Marco wanted her to likr being with Tina for who she was, without any preconceived notions – even if it meant keeping the truth from her for a while.
“Babe, try to relax. Ma’s bark is worse than her bite. I promise, there’s nothing to worry about. You’re getting yourself all worked up for no reason. When my mother finally hears the truth, it won’t matter that we didn’t tell her right away; she’ll already be crazy about you! I’m not a little boy and I don’t need my mother’s permission for anything. As long as Dean Martin is playing in the background, she’ll be fine.” It sounded to Tina like Marco was trying to convince himself as well as her.
The ring of the doorbell was expected but it still startled Marco and Tina. Carrying a box of Italian pastries, Marco’s mother Francesca arrived promptly at 6:00 – ready and quite curious to meet this woman sharing her son’s new house. Introductions were made, niceties exchanged and then Tina excused herself to check on dinner. “She certainly knows her way around the kitchen well enough; maybe her cooking won’t be so bad” Francesca thought hopefully while keeping a close eye on her son’s “house mate”.
While Tina put the finishing touches on dinner, Marco brought out some appetizers. “Ah, bruschetta!” exclaimed Francesca but when she bit into the small thin slice of toasted Italian bread, she discovered the topping was raw meat. “It’s steak tartare, Ma” explained Marco. Francesca made a horrified face and hastily deposited her half-chewed mouthful into a paper napkin. “O Dio mio! Raw meat will give you food poisoning!” Francesca exclaimed. “I hope the rest of the meal is cooked”, she thought.
In an attempt to calm his mother down and get her mind off the failed appetizers, Marco decided to give her a tour of the house he shared with Tina.
“Look, Ma. Isn’t this nice? A large airy kitchen with an island and plenty of room for a table and chairs. Here’s the dining room with a buffet and hutch filled with glasses and dishes that belonged to Tina’s great-grandmother. Isn’t the furniture beautiful? We got at a Roma’s in Brooklyn, imported from Italy. We even have a fenced-in backyard and patio with a barbecue grill. But the best part is two big bedrooms, each with a separate bathroom so there’s no fighting over who gets to shower first.”
Marco realized he was saying too much and talking way too fast; he laughed self-consciously, feeling like he was 10 years old again and his mother’s laser eyes were burning right through his skull after catching him in a lie. He squirmed uncomfortably and quickly closed the bathroom door when he noticed the towels that were on the rack were embroidered with the words “HIS” and “HERS”.
Francesca just nodded her head and mumbled “That’s nice” every so often; she may have seemed indifferent but that was far from true. If Francesca saw the bathroom towels, she gave no indication. Now Marco was nervous about that … a careless mistake on his part.
“Come in the kitchen, Ma. Let’s have a nice glass of wine to celebrate your first visit to our house” Marco suggested.
“Our house” thought Francesca.
Francesca sipped her wine and silently simmered on a low boil, her thoughts working overtime while Marco and Tina puttered around the kitchen. “Well, Tina certainly made herself right at home, bringing over all her great-grandmother’s dishes and glasses! I don’t get it. Unmarried men and women sharing a house?” Francesca asked herself. “Maybe in a big house with five or six other people and a lot of bedrooms, but an intimate space with two people of the opposite sex? I don’t like it! And how come the bedrooms have such big beds? Something fishy’s going on here!” Francesca tapped her foot impatiently, her eyes taking everything in.
Finally dinner was ready; throughout the meal, Francesca couldn’t help noticing how attentive Tina was to Marco. By now she was very suspicious about their relationship; she was sure there was more than just friendship between the two of them and their little interactions further convinced her there was something brewing between her son and his “house mate”.
Recognizing the look on his mother’s face, Marco said “I know what you’re thinking, Ma, but I told you before – Tina and I are just friends. House mates. Don’t go making a big deal out of nothing.” Francesca smiled thinly and replied “Whatever you say, Marco”. But in her head she was thinking “House mates, my ass!”
About a week later Tina said to Marco “I know this is gonna sound crazy but I can’t find the napkin rings I used the night your mother was here. I’ve looked everywhere for them. You don’t think your mother took them, do you?”
“Well, I can’t imagine why she’d do that”, Marco replied, “but there’s only one way to find out. I’ll send her an email.”
Dear Ma – Crazy question! Tina’s napkin rings are missing. Now, I’m not saying you TOOK the napkin rings and I’m not saying you DIDN’T take them but they have been missing since you were here the other night and you were the only other person to see them. Love, Marco
A reply came through one minute later:
Dear Marco – Funny you should ask! Now, I’m not saying that you DO sleep with Tina and I’m not saying that you DON’T sleep with her but if she was sleeping alone in her OWN bed she would have found the napkin rings by now – under her pillow. Love, Ma
Oh, by the way, I saw the towels, too.
NAR © 2023
Please join me today
In The Groove
as we continue our musical journey.
It’s really getting good!
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
The Elephant's Trunk 