Georgia On My Mind

 The prompt this month for our story was an astronaut floating in space. This is the story I came up with:

 

 

“Come back inside, George!”

“No.”

“You have to come back in sometime.”

“Why should I?”

“Because you’ll die out there you crazy idget!” Charles screamed.

“Do you see this view?” George asked. He waved toward the moon. He didn’t wait for an answer. “I’d rather die out here, with that view, that back on Earth gasping for breath in some hospital.”

“You don’t know that you’re going to die when we go back home,” Abby pointed out. “The virus numbers are going down almost everywhere in the United States.”

“Almost everywhere,” George whispered.

Charles shrugged and turned toward Abby. “I don’t know what to do. We can try to reel him in but the crazy bastard might just cut the rope.” Abby gasped. “You don’t think he’d actually do that, do you?” Charles looked back out the window. “I think he might.

She and Charles both heard the automated voice indicate it was almost time to leave for home. “George, we have five minutes,” Charles said. “The odds are better against the virus than against outer space for goodness sakes!”

“Maybe for y’all,” George said as they watched him disconnect his hose. “But I’m from Georgia.”

Lost

 I entered the contest in my Facebook group again this month. The photo prompt is a statue of Atlas with the world on his shoulders. Here is what I came up with. I hope y'all get it.

Lost

 

“Oh dear! Oh dear! Oh dear!”

“What are you going on about, Epimetheus?” Prometheus demanded.

“Look!” Epimetheus said and pointed. His finger was shaking so hard that Prometheus couldn’t tell where he was supposed to look. He was about to ask again when he saw the globe fall over the edge. His blood ran cold.

“Is that what I think it is?” he asked Epimetheus.

“Yes,” Epimetheus answered. “Father is going to be very unhappy.”

“Very unhappy?” Prometheus thought his brother had finally lost it completely. “Father is going to kill someone for this.” He shook his head. “Where is Atlas and how did this happen, Epimetheus?”

Epimetheus wouldn’t look Prometheus in the eye. He mumbled something about losing his glasses, again, and asking Atlas if he knew where they were. He had turned so pale Prometheus thought he might pass out.

Prometheus had to lean in close to hear as Epimetheus whispered, “And then Atlas shrugged.”

English Lady

I entered the contest in the Facebook group again this month. The inspiration photo was of a woman riding a bike under an old tree. This is the story I came up with...

“Did you see her?” James whispered.

“No,” Charles said, “and quit pushing me before I fall off the cliff.”

“Sorry.” 

James looked away so Charles couldn’t see his red cheeks. He couldn’t believe he’d finally seen the English Lady under the tree. He’d heard about her for years but thought it was just a tall tale. The only problem was that everyone else would think it still just a tale if Charles didn’t see her too. 

“Come on, I’m ready to go home.” Charles pushed himself off the ground and was almost standing before James jerked him back down. 

“Look!” James shouted. When the lady turned his way, James stumbled and would have fallen off the cliff had Charles not caught him. Unfortunately, that meant Charles had missed her again. 

 “Let’s go,” Charles ordered, “before you kill us both.”

Charles shook his head, walking away. He couldn’t understand how James, the smartest kid in the sixth grade, could believe such a tale. He was still pondering how someone so smart could be so dumb when he heard the bicycle bell trill across the field. He refused to turn around despite the goose bumps creeping up his arms.

199 words

Headed Home

The photo prompt for this microfiction piece was a twisted road. This is what I came up with. It's only 100 words. I hope y'all like it.

Headed Home

“There was a crooked man, who...”

“What are you yammering about, John?” 

John laughed. “Nothing, ole chap,” he replied. “Just some ditty from my childhood.” He didn’t mention the fact that Brad was trying his best to stand up straighter. 

They weaved down the road a while longer, Brad stumbling here and there. He offered the bottle to John but John figured one of them should be stable enough to get them home so he refused. 

Brad fell twice as they started up the hill and John sang, “…walked a crooked mile.”

“Oh, shut up, John!” Brad snapped.