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?”
Wednesday, April 29, 2009
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.
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.”
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.
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.
Thursday, February 26, 2009
Dead Silent
Silence shrouded the woods. Mist covered the forest floor, making each step an act of courage. Sheila knew one wrong move could lead to disaster. Unfortunately, she had to keep moving. Stopping would mean certain death, whereas moving left the option open.
Quietly emerging from behind the giant oak, she crept forward, one cautious step at a time. The sweat dripping into her eyes burned, nearly blinding her. Pausing to wipe her forehead, she sensed movement to her left. Panicked, she started running.
Her frantic dash ended when she tripped, smashing head first into a tree. Her last thought before passing out was she should have listened to her mother when she warned of picking up strangers.
***
Carl picked the fallen girl up, carrying her easily through the forest. She was very small, just the way he liked them. He’d been watching her all evening. There were many women at the party, but she stood out from all the rest. Her carrot red hair shone in the light, a beacon he couldn’t resist.
Laying her gently onto the cave floor, he ventured back into the forest. He had things to do before he could begin enjoying her. Everything had to be perfect. She deserved the best.
***
Sheila awoke, every limb shivering, with a pool of water under her cheek. Have I been drooling? She wondered, pushing herself upright. With tingles shooting from every nerve, she stood. Grabbing the cave wall for support, her head spinning, she looked around. How did I get here?
A faint light for her guide, she made her way to the mouth of the cave. Darkness cloaked the forest in a coat of black. “What am I going to do now,” she groaned to the darkness. “I’ll never find the road.”
Buck up, girl, she could hear her mom admonishing. You can do anything you put your mind to.
Gathering her courage, she pushed into the darkness. “Thanks, Mom,” she murmured.
***
Whistling, Carl made quick work of his task. He was in a hurry to return to the cave. Thinking about the girl lying there, hair spread out around her creamy face, was making it hard for him to concentrate. Shaking himself, he set about finishing.
He entered the cave quietly, not wanting to disturb her if she were still sleeping. Noticing she was missing, he dropped the firewood he had collected. He knew she couldn’t have gone far. The knot on her head was fresh. It would make moving painful. Cursing under his breath, he set out to find her once again.
***
Sheila was exhausted. Her head felt like it was going to split in two, her feet were swollen, but her worst problem was being lost. She knew the highway had to be close, but she couldn’t find it. Should have listened more when maps were taught in school, she thought, then maybe I’d know what to look for.
She’d lost track of the times she’d fallen down. Her knees were sore from the abuse. Pushing ahead was becoming harder with every passing moment. The only thing keeping her going was the knowledge he was out there. I don’t think he’s the giving up kind, she thought. Maybe that’s because the last thing you heard him yell was that he’d find you no matter what, she reminded herself.
“Why did he pick me, Lord?” she beseeched. “What did I do to deserve this?”
When no answer was forthcoming, she trudged on. The forest was even denser in this part. She could no longer see her hand in front of her face. It was early fall, so she didn’t think she’d freeze to death even though it was cold. Her biggest worry by far was the lunatic chasing her.
“What was that?” she asked the night, stopping dead still. “Cars! I hear cars!” she cried.
In her excitement, she didn’t hear Carl creep up behind her. Winded from his frantic run through the woods, Carl was quietly trying to catch his breath. Seeing the girl sprint into the distance, he cursed, “Shit,” then took off after her.
***
A car rounded the curve. Sheila was waving her arms trying to get the drivers attention when she felt a presence behind her. Turning, she saw Carl towering there. The look on his face terrified her into stillness, giving him the last advantage he needed.
Sheila snapped out of her stupor as Carl swung the limb above his head. Her scream reverberated through the forest, then silence filled the night once more.
Quietly emerging from behind the giant oak, she crept forward, one cautious step at a time. The sweat dripping into her eyes burned, nearly blinding her. Pausing to wipe her forehead, she sensed movement to her left. Panicked, she started running.
Her frantic dash ended when she tripped, smashing head first into a tree. Her last thought before passing out was she should have listened to her mother when she warned of picking up strangers.
***
Carl picked the fallen girl up, carrying her easily through the forest. She was very small, just the way he liked them. He’d been watching her all evening. There were many women at the party, but she stood out from all the rest. Her carrot red hair shone in the light, a beacon he couldn’t resist.
Laying her gently onto the cave floor, he ventured back into the forest. He had things to do before he could begin enjoying her. Everything had to be perfect. She deserved the best.
***
Sheila awoke, every limb shivering, with a pool of water under her cheek. Have I been drooling? She wondered, pushing herself upright. With tingles shooting from every nerve, she stood. Grabbing the cave wall for support, her head spinning, she looked around. How did I get here?
A faint light for her guide, she made her way to the mouth of the cave. Darkness cloaked the forest in a coat of black. “What am I going to do now,” she groaned to the darkness. “I’ll never find the road.”
Buck up, girl, she could hear her mom admonishing. You can do anything you put your mind to.
Gathering her courage, she pushed into the darkness. “Thanks, Mom,” she murmured.
***
Whistling, Carl made quick work of his task. He was in a hurry to return to the cave. Thinking about the girl lying there, hair spread out around her creamy face, was making it hard for him to concentrate. Shaking himself, he set about finishing.
He entered the cave quietly, not wanting to disturb her if she were still sleeping. Noticing she was missing, he dropped the firewood he had collected. He knew she couldn’t have gone far. The knot on her head was fresh. It would make moving painful. Cursing under his breath, he set out to find her once again.
***
Sheila was exhausted. Her head felt like it was going to split in two, her feet were swollen, but her worst problem was being lost. She knew the highway had to be close, but she couldn’t find it. Should have listened more when maps were taught in school, she thought, then maybe I’d know what to look for.
She’d lost track of the times she’d fallen down. Her knees were sore from the abuse. Pushing ahead was becoming harder with every passing moment. The only thing keeping her going was the knowledge he was out there. I don’t think he’s the giving up kind, she thought. Maybe that’s because the last thing you heard him yell was that he’d find you no matter what, she reminded herself.
“Why did he pick me, Lord?” she beseeched. “What did I do to deserve this?”
When no answer was forthcoming, she trudged on. The forest was even denser in this part. She could no longer see her hand in front of her face. It was early fall, so she didn’t think she’d freeze to death even though it was cold. Her biggest worry by far was the lunatic chasing her.
“What was that?” she asked the night, stopping dead still. “Cars! I hear cars!” she cried.
In her excitement, she didn’t hear Carl creep up behind her. Winded from his frantic run through the woods, Carl was quietly trying to catch his breath. Seeing the girl sprint into the distance, he cursed, “Shit,” then took off after her.
***
A car rounded the curve. Sheila was waving her arms trying to get the drivers attention when she felt a presence behind her. Turning, she saw Carl towering there. The look on his face terrified her into stillness, giving him the last advantage he needed.
Sheila snapped out of her stupor as Carl swung the limb above his head. Her scream reverberated through the forest, then silence filled the night once more.
Monday, February 23, 2009
Author Website
I would really appreciate if all of you would check out my new author website. Bookmark the site to keep abreast of important events in my writing career. I hope there will be a lot to report!
I am excited about the upcoming anthology in which two of my poems will be featured. Once the book is released, a link will be provided on the author website. The anthology is going to be sold in bookstores such as Amazon.com, Barnes and Nobel.com, and others.
Please let me know what you think of the author website. All suggestions are welcomed. I want to make it look professional, but keep “me” in it. Thanks to everyone who checks it out! Don't forget to sign the guest book.
Angel Sharum's Author Website
I am excited about the upcoming anthology in which two of my poems will be featured. Once the book is released, a link will be provided on the author website. The anthology is going to be sold in bookstores such as Amazon.com, Barnes and Nobel.com, and others.
Please let me know what you think of the author website. All suggestions are welcomed. I want to make it look professional, but keep “me” in it. Thanks to everyone who checks it out! Don't forget to sign the guest book.
Angel Sharum's Author Website
Friday, February 20, 2009
Pricision
“Hello, beautiful,” the man said as he walked into the room and turned the overhead light on.
“Go to hell!” Elizabeth spat as she pulled against the ropes binding her to the bed. She had been in total darkness for so long she thought she’d lose her mind, wishing someone would turn the light on. She wanted it back off now. What she saw literally stopped her heart.
“That’s not any way for a lady to talk,” he replied with a sneer.
The look made the scar stretch even more on his cheek. Elizabeth looked away with revulsion. The man saw her and smiled. Anything to add to their discomfort just made it all the more fun for him.
“If you aren’t going to act like a lady, I guess I don’t need to treat you like one, do I?” her captor said with a shake of his head as he turned to the table in the corner.
“What are you doing?” Elizabeth demanded. “No! Stay away!” She cried when the man picked up a butcher knife and walked slowly across the floor towards where she lay, captive and terrified.
***
The hospital was abuzz with the news of the latest of the ‘Barry County Butcher’s’ victims. The newspaper was saying the latest murder was the most gruesome of all. The victim, Elizabeth Connelly, was only twenty-seven years old. Her parents were devastated and police were no closer to catching the Butcher than before.
“How can there be no evidence?” the head nurse whispered to the orderly.
“It seems the killer knows what he’s doing. No finger prints, no semen, nothing for the cops to go on is ever left behind. He even washes the bodies before he burns them! He’s leaving nothing to chance,” replied the orderly with a shiver as he thought about the way the women died.
“He’ll slip up one day. Let’s just hope it’s before another woman dies,” said another nurse.
“I don’t know. The sheriff’s department is saying they’ve never saw anything like it. I’ve heard rumors they think it might even be a cop because of the lack of evidence,” the orderly offered.
“I haven’t heard that. Who told you they think it might be a cop?” the head nurse asked.
“Bob over in pathology. You know we’ve got every one of the bodies here for autopsy, right?” the orderly answered.
“Yes, I was aware of that. All the killings happened within ten miles of the hospital. Doesn’t exactly make me feel safe leaving here after dark, but what can I do about it?” The nurse shook her head. “I heard the hospital has performed more autopsies in the last three months than the rest of the year combined,” she informed the others.
“I hope it’s not a cop. You like to think you can trust the cops to protect you,” the other nurse said with a sigh.
“I wouldn’t trust a cop as far as I could throw him,” replied the orderly. He’d had some run-ins with the local cops in his younger days.
“It makes sense if you think about it,” he continued. “Who would know better than a cop how to destroy evidence and make it to where he’s never caught?”
“What do you think, Dr. Monroe? You think one of Barry County’s finest is the Butcher?” the orderly asked the only person standing at the nurses’ station yet to offer an opinion.
“Could be, Jackson. You never know what goes on in someone’s mind. It could even be someone here in the hospital,” he said with a frown.
The nurses all looked down. They respected Dr. Monroe, but it was hard to look at him. That scar put everyone off.
“Go to hell!” Elizabeth spat as she pulled against the ropes binding her to the bed. She had been in total darkness for so long she thought she’d lose her mind, wishing someone would turn the light on. She wanted it back off now. What she saw literally stopped her heart.
“That’s not any way for a lady to talk,” he replied with a sneer.
The look made the scar stretch even more on his cheek. Elizabeth looked away with revulsion. The man saw her and smiled. Anything to add to their discomfort just made it all the more fun for him.
“If you aren’t going to act like a lady, I guess I don’t need to treat you like one, do I?” her captor said with a shake of his head as he turned to the table in the corner.
“What are you doing?” Elizabeth demanded. “No! Stay away!” She cried when the man picked up a butcher knife and walked slowly across the floor towards where she lay, captive and terrified.
***
The hospital was abuzz with the news of the latest of the ‘Barry County Butcher’s’ victims. The newspaper was saying the latest murder was the most gruesome of all. The victim, Elizabeth Connelly, was only twenty-seven years old. Her parents were devastated and police were no closer to catching the Butcher than before.
“How can there be no evidence?” the head nurse whispered to the orderly.
“It seems the killer knows what he’s doing. No finger prints, no semen, nothing for the cops to go on is ever left behind. He even washes the bodies before he burns them! He’s leaving nothing to chance,” replied the orderly with a shiver as he thought about the way the women died.
“He’ll slip up one day. Let’s just hope it’s before another woman dies,” said another nurse.
“I don’t know. The sheriff’s department is saying they’ve never saw anything like it. I’ve heard rumors they think it might even be a cop because of the lack of evidence,” the orderly offered.
“I haven’t heard that. Who told you they think it might be a cop?” the head nurse asked.
“Bob over in pathology. You know we’ve got every one of the bodies here for autopsy, right?” the orderly answered.
“Yes, I was aware of that. All the killings happened within ten miles of the hospital. Doesn’t exactly make me feel safe leaving here after dark, but what can I do about it?” The nurse shook her head. “I heard the hospital has performed more autopsies in the last three months than the rest of the year combined,” she informed the others.
“I hope it’s not a cop. You like to think you can trust the cops to protect you,” the other nurse said with a sigh.
“I wouldn’t trust a cop as far as I could throw him,” replied the orderly. He’d had some run-ins with the local cops in his younger days.
“It makes sense if you think about it,” he continued. “Who would know better than a cop how to destroy evidence and make it to where he’s never caught?”
“What do you think, Dr. Monroe? You think one of Barry County’s finest is the Butcher?” the orderly asked the only person standing at the nurses’ station yet to offer an opinion.
“Could be, Jackson. You never know what goes on in someone’s mind. It could even be someone here in the hospital,” he said with a frown.
The nurses all looked down. They respected Dr. Monroe, but it was hard to look at him. That scar put everyone off.
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