Thursday, March 26, 2009


This is my story for the Three Word Wednesday prompt this week.

“You really do need to learn to be proactive instead of reactive, Aerial,” Shawn snapped. “You let people run all over you, claiming it’s in your best interest. By the time you figure out what they’re up to, it’s too late,” he finished with a sigh.

“There’s nothing wrong with trusting people,” Aerial replied earnestly. “You’d have more friends if you gave people a chance.”

“I don’t need more friends,” Shawn replied. “Especially not like yours.”

“I have very good friends,” Aerial huffed.

“Yeah, why aren’t they here helping?” he inquired.

Aerial looked at him, tears welling in her eyes, before turning her back. Seeing her shoulders slump, Shawn felt like a total cad. He started to apologize, but then remembered one of her ‘friends’ was the reason they were in their current predicament, and kept his mouth shut. He shook his head, not understanding how even Aerial could let someone paint a mural on their parent’s garage.

Aerial couldn’t handle the silence any longer, so asked Shawn if she could do anything to help.

Shawn handed her a rag, “start wiping,” he said, and resumed his own scrubbing. “I think I’m almost through the first layer.”

“I’m sorry you have to do this, Shawn,” Aerial whispered. “I thought it would be a cool surprise for mom and dad. I never dreamed he’d paint naked fairies!”

“It’s ok, Sis,” Shawn sighed. “If I’d been home like I was supposed to be it never would have happened.

Aerial giggled.

“I don’t see anything funny here.” Shawn grumped.

“If you’d stayed home instead of going out with Shirley, you wouldn’t be cleaning paint of the garage door with me,” Aerial told him.

“Yeah, so?”

“Looks like you’re doing a little reacting of your own,” Aerial smiled, ducking the rag he threw at her.

Tuesday, March 24, 2009


This is my contribution for the Your Photo Story prompt this week. A little micro fiction piece I hope y'all enjoy.

Rain mingled with the tears cascading from Adrian’s eyes. She couldn’t believe he was gone.

Looking over her shoulder to make sure no one was around, she hissed, “I wish I’d been the one to put the bullet in your brain, you bastard,” before wiping away the tears, smiling, and heading home, safe at last.

Thursday, March 19, 2009

Unlikely Hero

This is my story for the Three Word Wednesday prompt this week.

“Burdens are ubiquitous in this day and age,” the Red Cross representative proclaimed to the anxious crowd. “We want to thank all of you for offering your services to your fallen friends today; in light of the damages you all incurred yourselves.”

Clem looked around, studying his neighbors, what was left of them anyway. The tornado had devastated his small town overnight. Many were taken in their sleep.

Burt nudged Clancy, “Look over there,” he said, pointing at Clem. “What’s old man Gregory doing here? Like he ever cared about anybody,” he finished in disgust.

Clem felt them watching him, sneers on their faces.

“And now I’d like to take a moment to thank someone. A true hero among us.”

Everyone looked around, wondering whom the speaker was talking about. When she singled Clem Gregory out, a gasp went through the crowd.

“Mr. Gregory opened his root cellar to three of his neighbors last night. Without his generosity, all would have perished along with their homes.”

Clem smiled when applause broke out and enjoyed the rest of the speech in his honor.

After fighting his way through the crowd, who all wanted to personally thank him, Clem finally made it to his truck. He enjoyed the limelight during the speech, but didn’t cotton too well to people touching and talking to him. Next time we’re playing poker at George’s house, he grumbled to himself, pulling out of the parking lot.

If you liked this story,please check out my others on the Your Photo Story blog.

Tuesday, March 17, 2009

The Killing Tree

This is my story for the Your Photo Story prompt this week.

Anthony smiled broadly when the ax struck the tree for the first time. Not even getting the blade hung in one of the tree’s huge knots squelched his satisfaction at cutting the monstrosity down.

Each whack of the ax killed a grizzly memory. Memories of secret meetings his father called and he was forced to attend. Memories that had left scars on his soul no therapist had been able to erase.

Anthony swung a wide arc. The thwack of the ax resounded through the woods, and reminded him of other, more haunting, sounds the woods had endured over the years.

After the last cut, while he watched the great tree fall, Anthony searched his heart for even a shred of sadness over his father’s fate. He knew the therapist thought he should be sorry the state was executing his father, but the therapist didn’t know how many people his father had ordered executed under the killing tree, white hood hiding his identity, keeping his secrets.

The souls of many heard this tree fall in the woods, he mused sadly, listening to the sigh of the breeze through the trees, before he turned and headed to the penitentiary.

Wednesday, March 11, 2009


This is my contribution to the Three Word Wednesday prompt this week.

Kimberly had to cajole and fuss to get Mark into the car so they could leave for dinner with her parents. He was throwing a temper tantrum of untold proportions. She was a nervous wreck, muscles tense, holding the steering wheel in a death grip when they stopped for a light on Martin and First.

“Who lives there, Mommy,” Mark whispered, staring wide-eyed at a dilapidated house, shutters falling off, with weeds covering the lawn.

“Recluse John lives there,” Kimberly replied.

“What’s a recluse,” Mark asked.

Kimberly sighed, not wanting to start a round of twenty questions. “A recluse is someone who stays to themselves, usually because nobody else wants to be around them.”

“Why don’t people want to be around them? Are they mean or something?”

Hearing this inspiration struck. “Nobody wants to be around them because they throw temper tantrums all the time.”

“Oh,” Mark said, turning to watch the house disappear behind them.


“Yes, Mark.”

“I’m sorry I threw a tantrum.”

Kimberly hid her smile.

Tuesday, March 10, 2009

The Path

This is my contribution to the Your Photo Story prompt. I made the photo prompt site with hopes other writers will join the fun and make a story off the picture of the week.

Sharon saw the path up ahead. Being unfamiliar with these woods, she had no idea where it led. She did however know where, and to whom, the path behind her led.

One painful step at a time, she trekked through the woods. Her leg was throbbing, the knife wound seeping through the makeshift bandage she had made out of a torn piece of shirt. She checked the path to make sure no signs of blood were marking her direction. Seeing none, she continued.

Behind her, watching from atop an oak tree, the killer smiled. He had climbed the tree to get a better vantage point after spotting the drag marks left on the path from the woman favoring her injured leg. Now he knew exactly where his victim was heading.

Letting the woman get farther ahead, the killer then climbed down from the tree. Reaching in his pocket, he pulled out a small two-way radio.

“Dad,” he said, pressing the talk button.

“Come in,” a voice replied.

“She’s on the way,” the killer offered. “Make her comfortable until I get there.”

Wednesday, March 4, 2009

Old Timer

This is my contribution to the Three Word Wednesday prompt. Hope you enjoy it!

Marcus listened in fascination as the man rambled on, astounded at the old timer’s genuine ability in storytelling.

“And that’s when Bubba grabbed his shotgun and yelled, ‘You ain’t takin’ her back, Harold,’ before shooting him deader than a doornail right there on the courthouse steps,” the old timer said, finishing his tale.

I’m going to have to do something to avenge the English language before printing this, Marcus mused, shaking the man’s hand and thanking him for his time, before heading to the office to beat the morning edition deadline.