This is my contribution to the Your Photo Story prompt for the week.
Jake looked out over the horizon, waiting to catch his breath. The trek up the mountain had been hard on him, but he was determined to make it. A tear slipped down his cheek at the beauty nature laid out before him.
He knew people would think him selfish, but he just didn’t want to go on…not this way. The infection was slowly eating away at him from the inside out. The doctors can’t figure out how to stop it, so keep telling him to just take it easy and hope for the best. He knows there is no best though.
He could feel the end coming, and he knows it would not be pleasant, so he decided to take matters into his own hands.
What better way to go out, he thought, gazing at the mountains and valleys surrounding his perch.
“You lose!” he shouted, stepping off the precipice into serenity.
Wednesday, May 20, 2009
Wednesday, May 13, 2009
Cause and Effect
This is my contribution to the Three Word Wednesday prompt. Hope you enjoy it!
Sean lined up, finding the perfect trajectory. With a last nervous look over his shoulder, he set the projectile on course, before ducking behind a concrete divider.
After hearing the first scream, Sean peeked around the divider. The chunks of red muck covering Casey William’s face brought a chuckle. The murderous look in her eye when she threw pudding at Sheila Brown added to his delight. At least now they have something to bicker about, he thought, slipping out the cafeteria doorway.
Sean lined up, finding the perfect trajectory. With a last nervous look over his shoulder, he set the projectile on course, before ducking behind a concrete divider.
After hearing the first scream, Sean peeked around the divider. The chunks of red muck covering Casey William’s face brought a chuckle. The murderous look in her eye when she threw pudding at Sheila Brown added to his delight. At least now they have something to bicker about, he thought, slipping out the cafeteria doorway.
Tuesday, May 12, 2009
Garden Guests
This is my contribution to the Your Photo Story prompt for the week.
John stood back and looked at the garden with satisfaction. The perfect rows of corn swaying in the breeze, the tomatoes red and juicy, ready for picking, and the cabbage leaves nice and green. He thought maybe this farming business wasn’t going to be as hard as he once expected.
He was turning to go back inside when movement under a cabbage leaf caught his eye. Stepping closer to investigate, he about jumped out of his skin when a rabbit poked its head out.
“Get out of there,” he yelled, flapping his hat at the animal.
The rabbit hopped away, into the surrounding fields. John decided he might need some fencing around the garden like others had suggested. He sure didn’t want rabbits eating up all his vegetables, so planned to go into town and get some fencing the next day.
The next morning, John was getting in his truck when he noticed something didn’t look right in the garden. On closer inspection, he saw that one whole row of cabbage was destroyed. He could see evidence of teeth marks on the remaining stubs left in the ground.
“Damn rabbits!”
John worked long into the evening installing his newly purchased fence, cursing rabbits the whole time. He was sure the garden was secure once he finished. Rubbing his aching back, he retreated to the comfort of home.
Late that night, a sound woke him from a deep sleep. Climbing unsteadily to his feet, he looked out the kitchen window.
“I’ll be damned,” he sputtered, watching rabbits hop all around the cabbage rows. “I don’t know how you got in there, you little bastards, but I’m gonna teach you a lesson,” he whispered, grabbing his shotgun.
Not even stopping to dress, John ran outside. He was in such a hurry, he forgot the front steps were lose and tumbled down them head over heels, landing on the left over fencing material he was going to get rid of the next morning.
After pushing to his feet, John shook his head to clear it. Seeing another cabbage leaf in the garden become rabbit food, his blood boiled. He let out a roar and started forward, entangling both feet in fence wire.
This time when he fell, his head hit the sledgehammer he had used to pound the fence posts into the ground, cracking his skull and ending his troubles.
The rabbits watched to see if the human would move again. Finally, they decided it was safe and resumed dinner.
John stood back and looked at the garden with satisfaction. The perfect rows of corn swaying in the breeze, the tomatoes red and juicy, ready for picking, and the cabbage leaves nice and green. He thought maybe this farming business wasn’t going to be as hard as he once expected.
He was turning to go back inside when movement under a cabbage leaf caught his eye. Stepping closer to investigate, he about jumped out of his skin when a rabbit poked its head out.
“Get out of there,” he yelled, flapping his hat at the animal.
The rabbit hopped away, into the surrounding fields. John decided he might need some fencing around the garden like others had suggested. He sure didn’t want rabbits eating up all his vegetables, so planned to go into town and get some fencing the next day.
The next morning, John was getting in his truck when he noticed something didn’t look right in the garden. On closer inspection, he saw that one whole row of cabbage was destroyed. He could see evidence of teeth marks on the remaining stubs left in the ground.
“Damn rabbits!”
John worked long into the evening installing his newly purchased fence, cursing rabbits the whole time. He was sure the garden was secure once he finished. Rubbing his aching back, he retreated to the comfort of home.
Late that night, a sound woke him from a deep sleep. Climbing unsteadily to his feet, he looked out the kitchen window.
“I’ll be damned,” he sputtered, watching rabbits hop all around the cabbage rows. “I don’t know how you got in there, you little bastards, but I’m gonna teach you a lesson,” he whispered, grabbing his shotgun.
Not even stopping to dress, John ran outside. He was in such a hurry, he forgot the front steps were lose and tumbled down them head over heels, landing on the left over fencing material he was going to get rid of the next morning.
After pushing to his feet, John shook his head to clear it. Seeing another cabbage leaf in the garden become rabbit food, his blood boiled. He let out a roar and started forward, entangling both feet in fence wire.
This time when he fell, his head hit the sledgehammer he had used to pound the fence posts into the ground, cracking his skull and ending his troubles.
The rabbits watched to see if the human would move again. Finally, they decided it was safe and resumed dinner.
Thursday, May 7, 2009
Turn About is Fair Play
This is my contribution to the Three Word Wednesday prompt. Short, but not so sweet!
It came to Sarah in a flash. No tiptoeing around or being cryptic, she went straight for the jugular.
Robin Johnson gave Gary Evans a blowjob last Saturday behind Jake’s BBQ.
Malign my character again, bitch, she thought, hitting send, and sitting back with a self-satisfied smile, watching the messages start popping up.
It came to Sarah in a flash. No tiptoeing around or being cryptic, she went straight for the jugular.
Robin Johnson gave Gary Evans a blowjob last Saturday behind Jake’s BBQ.
Malign my character again, bitch, she thought, hitting send, and sitting back with a self-satisfied smile, watching the messages start popping up.
Tuesday, May 5, 2009
Daddy's Belt
This is my contribution to the Your Photo Story prompt for the week. I bet this one is something alot of people can relate to in one way or another.
Amelia stares at the belt, goose bumps popping out on her arms. She doesn’t move though. She knows to run will bring worse consequences than standing and taking her punishment like a man.
She remembers the day she asked her father how she could take it like a man when she was a girl. She never made that mistake again. Rubbing her leg, she winces while thinking about the welt he had left that took three weeks to heal.
Cringing when the screen door slams, Amelia calmly walks to the belt. Pulling it off the hook, she carries it outside to her father who was waiting behind the barn. He takes the belt, sits down on the oak stump, and pats his lap. Amelia lies across his legs, waiting for the first stinging thwack.
Jerking, but being sure to make no noise, Amelia endures her punishment. She is confused when her father stops at three smacks, expecting the usual five. Suddenly, she finds herself in the dirt at her father’s feet. Looking up, she sees him clinch his chest and fall backward over the stump.
“Come along, Amelia.”
“I’m coming, Mama,” Amelia replies, stepping to her side. “Here,” she says, thrusting something into her mother’s hand. “I didn’t want them to forget daddy’s belt,” she smiles, and wonders at the tear running down her mother’s cheek.
Amelia stares at the belt, goose bumps popping out on her arms. She doesn’t move though. She knows to run will bring worse consequences than standing and taking her punishment like a man.
She remembers the day she asked her father how she could take it like a man when she was a girl. She never made that mistake again. Rubbing her leg, she winces while thinking about the welt he had left that took three weeks to heal.
Cringing when the screen door slams, Amelia calmly walks to the belt. Pulling it off the hook, she carries it outside to her father who was waiting behind the barn. He takes the belt, sits down on the oak stump, and pats his lap. Amelia lies across his legs, waiting for the first stinging thwack.
Jerking, but being sure to make no noise, Amelia endures her punishment. She is confused when her father stops at three smacks, expecting the usual five. Suddenly, she finds herself in the dirt at her father’s feet. Looking up, she sees him clinch his chest and fall backward over the stump.
***
“Come along, Amelia.”
“I’m coming, Mama,” Amelia replies, stepping to her side. “Here,” she says, thrusting something into her mother’s hand. “I didn’t want them to forget daddy’s belt,” she smiles, and wonders at the tear running down her mother’s cheek.
Wednesday, April 29, 2009
To Pay or Not to Pay
This is my contribution to the Three Word Wednesday prompt for the week.
Brandon knew an opportunity when he saw one. The quarrel with his conscience didn’t last long.
“Wonderful service, old chap,” he informed the waiter, slapping him on the shoulder on his way out the door, leaving the check and payment in the little folder on the table.
“Damn,” cried the waiter, retrieving the money and noticing he had forgotten to add the entre to the bill. “What happened to all the honest people?”
Brandon knew an opportunity when he saw one. The quarrel with his conscience didn’t last long.
“Wonderful service, old chap,” he informed the waiter, slapping him on the shoulder on his way out the door, leaving the check and payment in the little folder on the table.
“Damn,” cried the waiter, retrieving the money and noticing he had forgotten to add the entre to the bill. “What happened to all the honest people?”
Monday, April 27, 2009
Troll Under the Bridge
This is my contribution to the Your Photo Story prompt for the week. A new take on an old tale.
“We can’t cross it,” Sherrie whispered to Rachel. “He’ll get us if we do!”
“Don’t be silly, Sherrie. There is no troll under this bridge. That was just a fairy tale.”
Sherrie studied the old bridge, trying to see underneath without actually getting any closer. She knew Rachel thought she was being a baby, but that troll under the bridge story really scared her. This bridge looked old enough a troll would like it, so she was not crossing it first.
“You go first then,” she told Rachel, pushing her forward.
“Oh, alright!” Rachel said, throwing her hands up in frustration. “You’ll see there’s nothing under this old bridge.
Rachel stepped to the edge of the bridge and halted. She would never admit it to Sherrie, but the story got to her a little too. She didn’t really believe trolls lived under bridges, but this one was old and rotten looking.
Drawing a deep breath, Rachel made the first step onto the bridge. It creaked under her weight, but nothing jumped out, so she proceeded. Sherrie watched, warily eyeing the bushes under the bridge for any sign of movement.
Rachel made it half way across, when a terrible thrashing ensued under the bridge. She screamed, ran back to Sherrie, grabbed her hand, and led her back toward home.
Neither of them noticed the family of rabbits hop from under the bridge and flee into the woods.
“We can’t cross it,” Sherrie whispered to Rachel. “He’ll get us if we do!”
“Don’t be silly, Sherrie. There is no troll under this bridge. That was just a fairy tale.”
Sherrie studied the old bridge, trying to see underneath without actually getting any closer. She knew Rachel thought she was being a baby, but that troll under the bridge story really scared her. This bridge looked old enough a troll would like it, so she was not crossing it first.
“You go first then,” she told Rachel, pushing her forward.
“Oh, alright!” Rachel said, throwing her hands up in frustration. “You’ll see there’s nothing under this old bridge.
Rachel stepped to the edge of the bridge and halted. She would never admit it to Sherrie, but the story got to her a little too. She didn’t really believe trolls lived under bridges, but this one was old and rotten looking.
Drawing a deep breath, Rachel made the first step onto the bridge. It creaked under her weight, but nothing jumped out, so she proceeded. Sherrie watched, warily eyeing the bushes under the bridge for any sign of movement.
Rachel made it half way across, when a terrible thrashing ensued under the bridge. She screamed, ran back to Sherrie, grabbed her hand, and led her back toward home.
Neither of them noticed the family of rabbits hop from under the bridge and flee into the woods.
Defeat
This is my contribution to the Shortest Short Story contest on the Washwords site. I hope y'all like it.
I bet Washington didn’t use words like this when talking to his troops, Private Ward thought, listening while the sergeant hurled obscenities at the men of C Company. Then again, his men won their battle.
I bet Washington didn’t use words like this when talking to his troops, Private Ward thought, listening while the sergeant hurled obscenities at the men of C Company. Then again, his men won their battle.
Saturday, April 25, 2009
Shit Happens
I had a writing prompt the other day on the Accentuate Writers Forum. It wanted to know what you would do if you were on the toilet, had finished your business, and found yourself to be without toilet paper on the roll, or under the cabinet. This is the story I came up with...
Doug finished his business, put his guns and ammo magazine down, and reached for the toilet paper. Coming away with only a wispy torn scrap, he reached over to get a new roll from under the cabinet.
“Damn!” he snapped, finding an empty Angel Soft bag.
He looked around, hoping to spot some sort of paper, with no luck. Finally, he decided the only recourse left was to hobble over to the pantry and get a washcloth.
Doug pulled his pants up to right above his knees, let out a deep breath, and stood half way up. He held his pants scrunched tightly in both hands, hobbled toward the pantry, keeping his but poked in the air, and the cheeks spread.
Finally reaching the pantry, he pulled the door open, only to see bare shelves.
“Shit!”
After hitting the top shelf hard enough to knock it loose, where it in turn fell on the next two shelves, leaving the pantry a complete mess, Doug hobbled to the closet and snatched a shirt off its hanger.
Once he finished wiping, he buried the dirty shirt under the top layer of clothes in the hamper.
“That’ll teach the lazy bitch to keep the laundry done,” he quipped.
Doug finished his business, put his guns and ammo magazine down, and reached for the toilet paper. Coming away with only a wispy torn scrap, he reached over to get a new roll from under the cabinet.
“Damn!” he snapped, finding an empty Angel Soft bag.
He looked around, hoping to spot some sort of paper, with no luck. Finally, he decided the only recourse left was to hobble over to the pantry and get a washcloth.
Doug pulled his pants up to right above his knees, let out a deep breath, and stood half way up. He held his pants scrunched tightly in both hands, hobbled toward the pantry, keeping his but poked in the air, and the cheeks spread.
Finally reaching the pantry, he pulled the door open, only to see bare shelves.
“Shit!”
After hitting the top shelf hard enough to knock it loose, where it in turn fell on the next two shelves, leaving the pantry a complete mess, Doug hobbled to the closet and snatched a shirt off its hanger.
Once he finished wiping, he buried the dirty shirt under the top layer of clothes in the hamper.
“That’ll teach the lazy bitch to keep the laundry done,” he quipped.
Wednesday, April 22, 2009
Blood Oath
This is my contribution to the Three Word Wednesday prompt for the week. Hope y'all like it!
Carl pledged vengeance, an oath he reiterated each time he stuck his knife in a man whose ineptitude had played a part in his father’s death.
Employing a cunning deceit, he finally found the last of the group. Wanting to indulge his blood lust, he slowly withdrew the blade from the man’s side before plunging it in again, just a few inches closer to the bastard’s heart.
“Nothing like surgical precision is there, Doc?” he quipped, smiling into the dying eyes of his father’s killer.
Carl pledged vengeance, an oath he reiterated each time he stuck his knife in a man whose ineptitude had played a part in his father’s death.
Employing a cunning deceit, he finally found the last of the group. Wanting to indulge his blood lust, he slowly withdrew the blade from the man’s side before plunging it in again, just a few inches closer to the bastard’s heart.
“Nothing like surgical precision is there, Doc?” he quipped, smiling into the dying eyes of his father’s killer.
Tuesday, April 21, 2009
Terrorism
This is my contribution for the Your Photo Story prompt this week.
Michael offered a silent prayer while looking out over the valley below. The viewing platform was high enough for him to see across the entire town resting in the nook between mountains.
He saw the power plant nestled in the middle of everything; the town sprawled out around it. “If only you had not supplied power to our enemies,” he cried.
Taking the cap off the canister clinched in his hands, he sighed deeply, before pouring the powdery contents into the wind. Watching the cloud of death sink over the homes below, tears sliding down his cheeks, Michael stepped onto the railing of the platform.
Closing his eyes tightly, Michael whispered, “I’m sorry,” before leaping.
Michael offered a silent prayer while looking out over the valley below. The viewing platform was high enough for him to see across the entire town resting in the nook between mountains.
He saw the power plant nestled in the middle of everything; the town sprawled out around it. “If only you had not supplied power to our enemies,” he cried.
Taking the cap off the canister clinched in his hands, he sighed deeply, before pouring the powdery contents into the wind. Watching the cloud of death sink over the homes below, tears sliding down his cheeks, Michael stepped onto the railing of the platform.
Closing his eyes tightly, Michael whispered, “I’m sorry,” before leaping.
Wednesday, April 15, 2009
Looking on the Bright Side
I combined the Three Word Wednesday prompt and the Your Photo Story promtps again. The photo on the Your Photo Story site this week was of an old outhouse. I liked how the words from 3WW worked with the pictue. I hope y'all enjoy it!
The outhouse held no allure for Melody. She was spitting nails, cursing Nathan every step of the way, while trekking through the high grass across the backyard. She couldn’t believe Nathan actually thought she would find the rustic cabin with no indoor plumbing quaint and fun.
That’s what I get for dating a man raised on a farm, she thought, yanking the outhouse door roughly open.
Her scream filled the night at sight of the grizzled old man perched on the wooden seat in the outhouse, everything on vivid display.
Nathan ran to her side, scared she’d come across a snake or something. When he spied the old man, he let out a chuckle.
Melody snapped out of her frightened stupor at the sound. “What are you laughing at?” she snapped. “He scared me half to death.”
“Yeah, but you don’t have to use the outhouse anymore,” Nathan observed, noticing the wet spot on the ground between Melody’s feet.
The outhouse held no allure for Melody. She was spitting nails, cursing Nathan every step of the way, while trekking through the high grass across the backyard. She couldn’t believe Nathan actually thought she would find the rustic cabin with no indoor plumbing quaint and fun.
That’s what I get for dating a man raised on a farm, she thought, yanking the outhouse door roughly open.
Her scream filled the night at sight of the grizzled old man perched on the wooden seat in the outhouse, everything on vivid display.
Nathan ran to her side, scared she’d come across a snake or something. When he spied the old man, he let out a chuckle.
Melody snapped out of her frightened stupor at the sound. “What are you laughing at?” she snapped. “He scared me half to death.”
“Yeah, but you don’t have to use the outhouse anymore,” Nathan observed, noticing the wet spot on the ground between Melody’s feet.
Monday, April 13, 2009
Beautiful End
It was midnight yet the sky was brilliant orange. Even the screams of her family and friends couldn’t make Joy look away. It was so very beautiful.
She lay down in the meadow, ignoring the cries of the others. Resting her head on her hands, she thought back over her life: all the people she loved, the places she’d been, the things she never got to do. None of it mattered now.
The news had come three days ago. The end was imminent. The sun, giver of life, was taking it away. Some people prayed, some hid in caves hoping to survive somehow, and others…others like Joy, just sit back to watch.
No one could deny the beauty death was bringing. Oranges, yellows, and reds were painting the sky more brightly each hour.
Joy felt something brush her arm. Looking over, she saw people lying down all across the meadow. A tear rolled down her cheek when they all joined hands.
Her fingers entwined with the woman beside her, Joy closed her eyes as the sun enveloped them.
She lay down in the meadow, ignoring the cries of the others. Resting her head on her hands, she thought back over her life: all the people she loved, the places she’d been, the things she never got to do. None of it mattered now.
The news had come three days ago. The end was imminent. The sun, giver of life, was taking it away. Some people prayed, some hid in caves hoping to survive somehow, and others…others like Joy, just sit back to watch.
No one could deny the beauty death was bringing. Oranges, yellows, and reds were painting the sky more brightly each hour.
Joy felt something brush her arm. Looking over, she saw people lying down all across the meadow. A tear rolled down her cheek when they all joined hands.
Her fingers entwined with the woman beside her, Joy closed her eyes as the sun enveloped them.
Wednesday, April 8, 2009
Smooth Landing
I combined the Three Word Wednesday and Your Photo Story prompts again because the words seemed to work so well for both this week! I hope y'all enjoy my little story.
Mom always did say I loved to flirt with danger, Floyd thought, looking down and watching the ground grow larger and larger. I bet she never dreamed I’d take it this far though, he mused, running over the ploy once more, ensuring he remembered everything.
Checking below, marking the distance left, he pulled the ripcord. Drawing on years of experience, he glided smoothly toward the earth and his ultimate destination.
Landing softly, Floyd cut the parachute cords and disengaged himself. He then silently stepped around the corner of the house, stopping when in view of the two occupants in the hot tub.
“Floyd,” Samantha sputtered, dropping her champagne glass and grabbing her bikini top, trying to cover herself.
Floyd calmly pulled his gun, shot Samantha and her new boyfriend, and then retraced his steps. Packing the chute in a bag he’d brought along, he went around the back of the house to the cliff edge, whistling all the while.
Checking his equipment to make sure all was well, Floyd dropped off the face of the cliff into a stunning sunset. The second small chute worked wonderfully, allowing Floyd to descend quietly to the canyon floor.
After touching down, Floyd walked into the mouth of the canyon, dragging the parachute behind him to eradicate his tracks. He still had on the shoe slipcovers, but figured it was better to be safe than sorry.
Arriving at the river that ran through the canyon, Floyd gathered wood to make a fire on the bank. He took off the shoe covers, stepped into the river, and then threw the covers in the fire along with the parachute and all its accoutrements.
Once the fire went out, Floyd brushed all the evidence off into the river.
That went rather well, he thought, swimming to the boat he had left in the river the night before.
Mom always did say I loved to flirt with danger, Floyd thought, looking down and watching the ground grow larger and larger. I bet she never dreamed I’d take it this far though, he mused, running over the ploy once more, ensuring he remembered everything.
Checking below, marking the distance left, he pulled the ripcord. Drawing on years of experience, he glided smoothly toward the earth and his ultimate destination.
Landing softly, Floyd cut the parachute cords and disengaged himself. He then silently stepped around the corner of the house, stopping when in view of the two occupants in the hot tub.
“Floyd,” Samantha sputtered, dropping her champagne glass and grabbing her bikini top, trying to cover herself.
Floyd calmly pulled his gun, shot Samantha and her new boyfriend, and then retraced his steps. Packing the chute in a bag he’d brought along, he went around the back of the house to the cliff edge, whistling all the while.
Checking his equipment to make sure all was well, Floyd dropped off the face of the cliff into a stunning sunset. The second small chute worked wonderfully, allowing Floyd to descend quietly to the canyon floor.
After touching down, Floyd walked into the mouth of the canyon, dragging the parachute behind him to eradicate his tracks. He still had on the shoe slipcovers, but figured it was better to be safe than sorry.
Arriving at the river that ran through the canyon, Floyd gathered wood to make a fire on the bank. He took off the shoe covers, stepped into the river, and then threw the covers in the fire along with the parachute and all its accoutrements.
Once the fire went out, Floyd brushed all the evidence off into the river.
That went rather well, he thought, swimming to the boat he had left in the river the night before.
Wednesday, April 1, 2009
Murphy's Law for Mothers
This story is for the Three Word Wednesday and Your Photo Story prompts. Hope y'all enjoy it!
Sandy was caught in the crush as all the children tried to go down the stairs at the same time. Admonishments of slow down, watch your step, and don’t knock your sister over fell on deaf ears.
“Hey, watch it! I’m first!” and “Harry pinched me!” were some of the many varied complaints uttered while each child tried to beat the other to the front door, and the promised ice cream that waited in the truck at the end of the drive way.
Sandy started to warn Michael about pinching, when her heel caught on the stair runner, sending her sliding down the last few steps to land in a heap at the bottom.
“Mommy fell down the stairs,” Little Sarah giggled, pointing at Sandy.
She always did have a knack for stating the obvious, Sandy mused, pushing to her feet.
Sandy was caught in the crush as all the children tried to go down the stairs at the same time. Admonishments of slow down, watch your step, and don’t knock your sister over fell on deaf ears.
“Hey, watch it! I’m first!” and “Harry pinched me!” were some of the many varied complaints uttered while each child tried to beat the other to the front door, and the promised ice cream that waited in the truck at the end of the drive way.
Sandy started to warn Michael about pinching, when her heel caught on the stair runner, sending her sliding down the last few steps to land in a heap at the bottom.
“Mommy fell down the stairs,” Little Sarah giggled, pointing at Sandy.
She always did have a knack for stating the obvious, Sandy mused, pushing to her feet.
Thursday, March 26, 2009
Reacting
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.
“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
Retribution
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.
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.
“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.
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
Tantrum
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.
“Mommy.”
“Yes, Mark.”
“I’m sorry I threw a tantrum.”
Kimberly hid her smile.
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.
“Mommy.”
“Yes, Mark.”
“I’m sorry I threw a tantrum.”
Kimberly hid her smile.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)