The Woods

This is my contribution to the Your Photo Story prompt for the week. Hope y'all like this one. Nobody dies at least...lol


Janet ran for all she was worth. Looking over her shoulder, she tried to find her pursuer. Not seeing him, she rested against an oak tree. Breathing deeply, she looked around for a weapon, anything she could use against the maniac following her.

“Damn,” she muttered, spotting only a small tree branch. “Better than nothing I guess,” she added, picking it up and heading out again.

Janet wasn’t sure which way the road was. She got turned around when the man chased her off the hiking trail. She thought if she ran toward the mountain she’d come upon the road. She only knew one thing for certain: she had to keep moving.

Pushing through the stitch in her side, Janet ran, keeping the mountain in sight the best she could. She stumbled when she noticed clouds gathering and the sun going down. Without the mountain for a guide, she wasn’t sure she would stay on track.

Stop, she silently ordered, you can do this! That bastard is not going to catch you!

“Come out; come out, wherever you are.”

Janet froze at the sound of his voice. She could tell he was only a short distance behind her. Walking quietly, placing each foot to avoid noise, she ducked into a thicket of undergrowth as silently as she could.

The man searched, whispering obscenities and menacing threats while he looked. Janet held her breath, hoping he would walk by her hiding spot. When he stopped right in front of her, she gasped.

“There you are!” he shouted, pushing his hand toward the noise and grabbing her by the hair.

What he failed to notice was the branch in Janet’s hand. While he was busy holding her and sneering into her face, Janet brought the branch up and hit him over the head. The blow only startled him, but that was enough for Janet. She took the opportunity to kick him in the left knee as hard as she could, and then brought her knee into his jaw when he bent over.

“Take that, Bastard,” she shouted, picking a rock up and hitting him in the head, “and that,” she added kicking him in the ribs a few times.

Catching her breath, Janet started running again. Ten minutes later, she found the road. Standing in the middle of the street, she flagged down a pickup truck. The man inside remarked on her disheveled appearance. Janet smiled and said, “You should see the other guy.”

Inches

This is my contribution to last week's Your Photo Story prompt. Short one this time.


Sergeant Marks grimaced in pity, looking from the gash in her head and following the terror-stricken death gaze of Sandra Johnson. Crouched, he watched light wink off the keys lying a few feet under the car, just out of reach of her outstretched hand.

Predator

A story for the Your Photo Story blog. I hope y'all like it.


Clancy bared his teeth and howled into the night. Sniffing the air, he caught the scent of his prey and headed into the alley.

Elle watched from behind the dumpster, silently praying he would pass her by. Scrunched tightly into the crevice between the metal trash bin and the door facing of a condemned bakery, she held her breath.

Clancy crashed into a stack of boxes, sending them careening every which way before moving on. He knew she was close, he could smell her, fear permeating the air.

Two drunken revelers staggered into the mouth of the alley, stretching their necks forward, trying to figure out what they were seeing. “I think it’s time to stop drinking,” one commented to the other, dropping the bottle of whiskey he held.

Elle let out an involuntary cry, watching the two men back out of the alley. Clancy rushed toward the whimper.

Nose pushed into the opening between the dumpster and the wall, saliva dripping off his chin, Clancy stared into the eyes of his prey. Frozen in fear, Elle sat, transfixed while the beast pushed the dumpster aside like it weighed nothing.

Pushing backward on all fours, Elle tried futilely to escape. The first bite rendered her immobile. Ripping flesh from bone, Clancy savored his meal. Elle’s screams were drowned out by the merriment up and down Bourbon Street.

Playing with Fire

This is my contribution to the Your Photo Story prompt for July 27th.



Nancy watched flames dance in the evening breeze. An eerie smile graced her face while she slowly poured a line of gasoline from the small campfire to the tent, making sure to douse the outside of the enclosure.

Silently, she circled around the tent and back to the campfire. Once there, she sat the can down and drew a book of matches she had stolen earlier from her pocket. Striking a match, she giggled and dropped it on the line of gas.

She stood, transfixed, watching fire leap from the small blaze and follow the trail she had made to the tent.

“What the hell!” a voice cried from inside the tent.

Nancy giggled once more when the tent zipper refused to open; happy the glue she had applied earlier was working long enough for the fire to catch.

“Nancy!” the man yelled. “Help me!”

“I don’t want to help you tonight, Daddy,” Nancy replied. “I helped you last night remember? You said you’d never felt anything so warm.” Tears running down her cheeks, she added, “I told you it hurt, Daddy. That it burned like fire. You said a little fire never hurt anyone.”

Daddy's Little Helper

This is my contribution to the Your Photo Story photo prompt from July 15th. I'm playing catch up!


Daniel never saw Roy pick the hammer up. One minute he was pounding the last nail into the porch step, and the next he was holding his hand close to his chest, jumping around and howling in pain.

Sandra couldn’t help but laugh. “He was only trying to help,” she sputtered. “You’re always saying you wish he’d do more guy stuff with you,” she added, quickly picking Roy up and heading inside.

Self Sufficient

The words for Three Word Wednesday this week were: cradle, perfect and snare. Hope you like my offering.


Jacob cackled with glee at the bounty the perfect snare he’d set the night before held. Picking it up, he settled the rabbit in the cradle of his arms and headed home for supper.

Impatient Torture

Finally doing another Three Word Wednesday prompt. Hope y'all like this one.




“Wipe that sulk off your face,” Terrance teased Bruce, who was starring hypnotically at the man before them, pouting because of the wait. “You’ll get to kill him soon enough.”

“This waiting around shit is for the birds,” Bruce answered back. “This is supposed to be torture?” he added, watching the drip drip of water hit their prisoners face.

“Supposed to drive them crazy or something, and make them want to talk to stop it,” Terrance replied.

“I don’t know about him, but it’s driving me crazy.”

“You didn’t have far to go,” Terrance quipped, and then ducked the blow Bruce aimed at his head.

The two were locked in a combat embrace when the door burst open. “What the hell’s going on here?” their commander demanded.

“Sorry, Sir,” Bruce saluted.

“Won’t happen again,” Terrance added.

“See that it doesn’t,” the commander said, then ordered, “Kill him,” pointing at the prisoner. “We no longer need the information he possess.”

Bruce smiled, saluted again, and headed for the door.

“Bout time.” Terrance heard him mumble, before he slipped his revolver out of its holster and shot the man twice in the head.

The End

This is the last story I needed to do for the Your Photo Story prompt site to catch up.


Mark heard the rumble and looked up; not knowing it was already too late. He could only watch in horror as piles of boulders slammed down upon him. He tried to issue a warning to those below, but his scream was silenced by one well-placed rock landing on his head. In his last moments, Mark laid helpless, eyes focused on the house below, his wife and son silhouetted in living room window, tears streaming down their faces.

Lost

This is my contribution to the Your Photo Story prompt for June 16. I am catching my stories up today.


Tyler stopped to catch his breath, resting against a slab of rock. Standing upright again, he slammed his fist against the granite surface after noticing the map. The same map he had stumbled upon earlier and followed to find his way out of the woods.

“Damnit!” he shouted. “I’ve been going in circles!”

He studied the map once more, trying to figure out where he went wrong. “I don’t understand it, I followed the map exactly,” he mumbled, unfolding the piece of paper he had copied the map onto.

Disgusted, he crumpled the paper and shoved it in his pack. “I’ll find my own way out of these God forsaken woods,” he stated, setting out.

What he failed to notice was a small piece of rock lying on the ground at the base of the granite map that stated: Due to recent erosion and storms, the trail map is no longer correct. A new map will be provided soon.

Release

Penelope was tired. She was tired of fighting, of trying to hang on. The pain was unbearable, excruciating. Every movement hurt, even blinking. It was time to end it.

Hearing his key in the lock, she braced herself.

“What the hell?” he screamed, sighting the mess in the floor. “Clean it up, bitch!”

Penelope spit in his face. “No.”

The blow was strong, but not strong enough.

“Is that all you’ve got?” she taunted.

His fists reigned down then. With the pain came release. Penelope smiled, being in control of her own fate for a change felt awesome.

Forbidden Swim

This is my contribution to the Your Photo Story prompt for the week.


Amber watched the cool, clear water cascade over the rocks and splash into the stream below. She dipped her toes in the stream, testing the water temperature. Cold but bearable, she thought, scanning the tree line to see if anyone else was around.

Suppressing a girlish giggle, she started unbuttoning her blouse. By the time she was down to her knickers, she was shaking with anticipation. She knew the water was going to feel delicious.

“Aw, heaven,” she murmured, submerging up to her neck.

She swam and frolicked in the water for over an hour before the chill in the air caught her attention. Standing, she quickly covered her breasts and looked around, making sure she was still alone.

She slipped out of her knickers as fast as possible, and then donned her blouse and skirt. With one last, lingering glance at the falls and stream, she sighed and turned for home.

The man in the bushes wiped sweat from his brow. His hands were shaking he was so overworked from what he had just witnessed. “Heaven indeed,” he whispered, watching the woman disappear around the bend.

Reap the Oats You Sow

This is my contribution for this week's Your Photo Story prompt.



Jeb sat on the porch in his rocker, shotgun across his lap. He squinted into the distance, waiting for the first sign of dust to signal Marybeth’s return.

“That girl’s gonna be sorry she was ever born,” he muttered, spitting tobacco in a spittoon by his side.

“Aw, don’t be too hard on her, Jeb,” Sarah said from the doorway. “She’s just sowing her oats.”

“Wild oats, no doubt,” Jeb spat. “With that Williams boy.”

“He’s not a bad boy,” Sarah assured Jeb.

“Never said he was,” Jeb replied. “He’s just not good enough for my little girl.”

“Nobody’s gonna be good enough for Marybeth in your eyes, Jeb.”

“Damn right!” Jeb agreed, and spit another wad into the spittoon.

“She’s grown, Jeb. You gotta let her live her own life.”

“She can live her own life when she has he own house.”

“You never change,” Sarah sighed.

Jeb shrugged, and went back to rocking. Sarah knew there was no talking to him once he made up his mind. She went back in the house, waiting for the fight to come. Because as stubborn as Jeb was, Marybeth had him beat.

A few minutes later, Sarah heard the rocker stop squeaking. She stopped washing dishes, took a deep breath, and waited to hear what happened.

“Where’ve you been, girl?” Jeb demanded as soon as Marybeth and Jacob stepped onto the porch.

“We got married, Pa,” Marybeth said, smile beaming.

“You what!” Jeb shouted, jumping up and engaging the shotgun. “I’m gonna kill you, boy. Say your prayers now.”

“Pa!” Marybeth yelled, stepping in front of Jacob. “Hear me out.”

“I don’t care what you got to say,” Jeb shouted.

“I’m pregnant, Pa,” Marybeth whispered, a tear rolling down her cheek. “You’re gonna be a grandpa.”

“I…what?” Jeb sputtered, falling hard into the rocker.

“Oh, baby,” Sarah said, rushing out the door and engulfing Marybeth in a hug. “Are you ok?”

“I’m fine, Ma,” Marybeth said. Pulling Jacob over, she added, “We’re both very happy about this baby.”

“That’s good.” Sarah offered, sliding a glance at Jeb.

“Well, you ain’t raising it here,” Jeb snapped.

“Jeb!” Sarah squealed. “Don’t be that way.”

“It’s ok, Ma. We don’t need to live here. Jacob rented us a place in town.”

Sarah couldn’t help herself. She poked Jeb in the ribs and said, “I guess she can live her own life then, huh?”

Truth by Mail

This is my contribution to the Three Word Wednesday prompt.



Samantha learned the folly of her ways after a particularly hostile missive arrived in the mail.

“Now I know what a sexy man like him was doing with an ordinary woman like me,” she sighed, tearing the letter his wife had sent up and throwing it in the trash.

Orders

This is my contribution to the Your Photo Story prompt for the week. It's very loosely based on truth about my dad.



Terry had stared into the camera, scared to death but trying hard not to show it. He had signed up to be a mechanic, but orders had come down and he was sent to Vietnam. Needless to say, his wife wasn’t happy with the arrangement either.

It turned out the deployment was more than his wife could take. She took the twins and left him, a dear John letter was the least of his worries. She took all his possessions and burned or sold them. She also kept the kids away from him when he came back. He hadn’t seen them since.

He sighed, crumpling the picture in his clinched fist. Looking back, Vietnam had been the best time of his life. People thought he was crazy for doing two tours, but he always asked them what he had to come home to.

Turns out, he was right. His life went straight to hell when he came back to the states. Protesters throwing tomatoes at disembarking soldiers, riots in the streets, and an empty house. If only that had been the worst of it.

Now, here he sat with lung cancer. They told him agent orange was responsible, which meant they’d pay the bills, but what good did that do him? He was still dying. Dying, in a one-room apartment, his only companion a floppy eared hound in dire need of a bath.

A knock at the door startled him. Hobbling over, he looked through the peephole, astonished he had company. He couldn’t remember the last time anyone had come by.

“I’ll be damned,” he uttered, grabbing he door handle.

Standing on the other side, smiling shyly, were two mirror images of the picture still clutched in his hand.

Two Sentence Stories

A while back, I entered some two-sentence stories for a contest site. I didn’t win, but I like my stories so thought I’d share them with y’all. Do any of you write micro-fiction?

Abandoned
A single tear slid down his cheek, uncomfortable emotions clogged his throat, and anger pulsed at the injustice of it all when the tiny, perfect hand clasped his finger. With a frustrated sigh, he hugged the baby close, stood, and cast a last look at the carnage that represented two ruined lives, before walking around the lifeless body and handing the precious bundle to the waiting social worker.

Dumping the Pain
I sat, agonizing, wishing I’d made a different choice, and hoping the pain would end soon. After one last, sharp twinge expelled the demon mass from my body, I sighed, flushed, and went to rejoin the party, grabbing a cheese ball on the way.

Fire Stoked
When first married, passion’s fire so hot, never the lovemaking did you scrimp.Twenty years later, the embers are cold, and poker limp.

Overcoming Temptation
Ruth stood, empty hands clenched, watching the truck disappear.
“Wish he’d peddle his damn ice cream on another street,” she fumed, heading back inside.

Regrets
Heart heavy, shoulders slumped, he opened the front door. After crossing the threshold, with the mistake he made tormenting his soul, he shut the door on his past and his future.

Carnal Dance
Sweat glistened on bodies joined in carnal dance, trickled over softly rounded landscapes, dipped into secret valleys, while the frenzy increased. After echoes of the last soaring crescendo diminished, the slickened bodies separated, heartbeats slowed, and passion cooled the weeping love had ignited.

Financial Woes
Frustrated, Ronald released a forlorn sigh. Hanging his head in defeat, he placed one more bill on the ever-growing pile.

Impatience Rewarded
Smiling glances traded by the aged couple sitting on the front row as cherished memories dance through their minds, whispered antidotes of childhood pranks and mishaps, and one fidgety dance of impatience all come to a halt when the gilded doors at the back of the room opened. Tony knew the wait was worth it, the extra few minutes time well spent, when his bride came through the doors and he watched his future walk toward him, one beautiful step at a time.

Pushing the Limits
Poised on the brink, muscles taut, back straight, Carol dives into history. Slicing the water cleanly, no ripples present, she emerges to eruptions from the crowd and the announcer proclaiming a new record set.

Spread Your Wings

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.