This is The Unicorn Challenge
where we are encouraged to write
a story in 250 words or less using
the photo below as inspiration.
This is where the photo took me.
Tag: Soldiers
What Is It Good For?
Bumble, Mumble
Written for Friday Fictioneers where Rochelle
encourages us to get creative in 100 words or less
using the photo below for inspiration. Here’s my story.
Triplet bumblebees Bizz, Bozz, and Buzz loved to bob from plant to flower to vine in the neighborhood alley. It was so bucolic, even the occasional visitor didn’t bother them.
Being such busy bees, they barely noticed the giant structure by the entrance.
“What’s that thing?” they asked in unison.
“Keep back! It’s a trap” warned Groucho the Grasshopper. “People say bad ideas are inside, dangerous goings-on about a Very Hungry Caterpillar, an Ant Bully and Bug Muldoon.”
The terrified triplets trembled, their little knees knocking.
“Bugger off now, boys! You don’t wanna be here when the soldier bees arrive!”
NAR©2024
100 Words
This is “Sons of 1984” by Todd Rundgren
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.
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
KEEPING VIGIL
It was unseasonably warm for November; the sun was brilliant with only a few wispy clouds scattered here and there, but the autumn leaves swirling in the wind were a reminder that winter was just around the corner.
I decided to take a walk in the nature trail near my house. I didn’t like leaving my elderly mother home alone for too long but she was having one of her lucid days and insisted she’d be fine at home doing some sewing.
I wasn’t gone long when it started getting cloudy and cold. As I walked up the front path, I spotted my mother sitting in her rocking chair on the porch. She was busy at work, her sewing basket by her side.
“Mom, it’s cold. Come inside and I’ll put on the kettle for tea.”
My mother looked up and smiled sweetly but her eyes were blank; I could tell she didn’t know who I was.
“Oh, I couldn’t possibly do that. I need to stay here. You see, I’m waiting for someone and I have to finish my mending” she replied.
“Who are you waiting for?” I asked quietly, dreading her answer.
“My husband. The war is over and he’ll be coming home very soon.”
It was then that I noticed mom was repairing the zipper on my late father’s WWII bomber jacket. Little by little, day by day, Mom slipped deeper into another era – a time long gone but fresh in her mind as though it all happened just yesterday.
NAR © 2022
CANDLE IN THE WINDOW
One of the first things I noticed about the house across the street was the candle in an upstairs window.
It was December 1980 – two weeks before Christmas – and we had just moved into our new home. My mom quickly located the boxes marked ‘CHRISTMAS LIGHTS’ and put my dad to work decorating outside. When he was done every house on the street was aglow except for the one with the solitary candle.
I was fascinated by that candle; it was lit twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week. When I told my dad I was afraid the house would burn down, he assured me that the candle was either electric or battery-operated; the ‘flame’ didn’t flicker and the candle never melted. That made me feel a lot better.
About a week later there was a knock on our front door. Mom answered and I scurried along behind her, anxious to see who was visiting us for the first time. Standing on the front porch was a chubby little old lady with silver hair, twinkling eyes and rosy cheeks and I couldn’t resist blurting out “Are you Mrs. Claus?” She chuckled a bit saying no, she was Mrs. Granger from across the street and had come to bring us an angel food cake as a welcoming gift. Mom introduced herself and invited Mrs. Granger inside but she declined saying “perhaps another time”. Before she left I told her my name was Eleanor and I had just turned ten on December 1. She smiled slightly at us but there was sadness in her eyes.
Mrs. Granger’s angel food cake sat on one of her beautiful Spode Christmas plates. Mom said we should return the plate on Christmas Day brimming with sugar cookies, which is exactly what we did. We rang the bell and mom apologized for showing up unannounced, adding that she hoped we weren’t interrupting her Christmas festivities.
“No, dear. Not at all. I was just preparing myself one of those frozen TV dinners – turkey, for a special treat.” Mom made polite small talk while I glanced around the living room. There wasn’t a single Christmas decoration in sight, not even a card. A fading ember in the fireplace made me think that Mrs. Granger was probably very lonely.
I suddenly found myself asking the question: “Mrs. Granger, why is there a candle in the window upstairs?”
Mom gave me a withering look as Mrs. Granger slowly walked to the sofa and slumped down. I felt awful when she started crying, dabbing her eyes with a lacy handkerchief. Mom sat next to her and held her hand, not speaking.
In hushed tones Mrs. Granger told us her story: she married late in life and was blessed with a son, Edward. Her husband died in an accident when Edward was three years old and she raised the boy by herself. When the U.S. entered the Vietnam War, Edward enlisted; he was declared MIA on December 1, 1970 and she hadn’t heard a word in the ten years since then. The candle in the window was her way of holding vigil for Edward, steadfastly waiting for any news. We sat together for a few minutes, then Mrs. Granger politely said she wanted to be alone. Silently we left. It was then that I understood why she looked so sad when I told her my birthday – the dreadful day her son went missing.
Two days later mom returned to Mrs. Granger’s. She apologized for the intrusion on Christmas Day and said we hoped she would join us for New Year’s Day dinner. Mrs. Granger said gently “No, dear. I haven’t celebrated a new year since Edward disappeared.”
All week I thought about Mrs. Granger. Our New Year’s Day table was set for three, sparkling with mom’s best dishes, silverware and crystal glasses. I sat in the bay window watching the lightly falling snow; then I noticed the candle in the window of Mrs. Granger’s house was not lit.
“Mom!” I gasped. “The candle is out.”
Mom, dad and I walked across the street on leaden feet. Mom rapped softly on the door; we could see a dim glow coming from the fireplace. One more knock and the door opened slightly; Mrs. Granger appeared, her face wet with tears.
“Are you alright, Mrs. Granger?” mom inquired with obvious concern in her voice.
“Oh, my dear! My mind has been preoccupied all day” she replied, her voice trembling. “You see, I received some news today.”
Mrs. Granger turned and walked back inside, leaving the door ajar; apprehensively we followed her. By the fireplace stood a smiling soldier; her long-lost son Edward had finally returned home.
NAR © 2021
The Elephant's Trunk 