(Photo: Stefan Spassov on Unsplash)
His claim was
Impartiality.
In practice he exhibited bias
So pervasive
As to blind him.
For Sammi’s Weekend Writing Prompt of: impartiality in 15 words
His Claim
Anecdotes of Life
The Ride Home
(Photo prompt: Brenda Cox)
She saw the red bus nearing. Her eyes stung. Must be the jet-lag and little sleep. Home seemed far. Unreal, almost.
Or was this home?
She pressed her bag against the fullness in her chest.
This question was part of what she’d come all this way to explore.
The crush of people carried her onto the vehicle. Up the staircase. To the top.
She leaned into the seat and let the sounds of a language she’d forgotten wash through her. Awakening belonging. Remembering despair.
She’d been four when her adoptive parents came.
One day she belonged here. The next, nowhere.
For Rochelle’s Friday Fictioneers
Share this:
All Better Soon
(Photo: Uwe Conrad on Unsplash)
She cried into the onions, peeled the taters, chopped the carrots, minced the garlic, seared the chicken bits.
Around her a cacophony of coughs.
A prodigious sneeze.
She wiped. She washed her hands. She stirred.
The panacea simmered.
There’s nothing chicken soup won’t fix.
For Sammi’s Weekend Writing Prompt of: Panacea in 44 words
Share this:
Uncle Ronnie’s Cabin
Mama said it would be “an adventure.”
Lizette knew this meant no argument. No whining. Mama needed “Mama Time”.
“Just the weekend,” Mama said.
Lizette knew this meant at least a week. Till Mama grew tired of her new Beau. Or the Beau grew tired of Mama.
Did Uncle Ronnie know Mama’s language? Will he care?
It was dark when they arrived. Light flickered in the cabin’s window.
Mama let her out. Told her to knock. Drove away as the door opened.
Lizette shuddered. Entered. Gasped. Sighed.
The chandelier tree. The moose. Her uncle’s smile.
She could stay a while.
For Rochelle’s Friday Fictioneers
Photo prompt © Alicia Jamtaas
Share this:
The String
(Photo: Tom Pumford on Unsplash)
Her fingertips betrayed her. Flitting over the edge of her shirt. Spinning the loose string that twirled and fluttered in loops of tightening and release.
He might come. He might not.
Her quiet hope.
For Sammi’s Weekend Writing Prompt of: Flutter in 34 words
Share this:
Albatross
(Photo: Duncan Kidd on Unsplash)
They were all of them going to the fair. But her.
She had to stay home. Tend the fire. Knead the dough. Rock the cradle.
She still recalled her dreams of growing up. The independence.
The folly.
She went from burdened by her folks, to burdened by her husband.
The dream now an albatross.
A wail rose from the other room. The baby.
Could have been her own dejected cry.
For Sammi’s Weekend Writing Prompt of: Dejected in 70 words
Share this:
A Dress To Impress
“I’m not going!”
There it was. Mira’s famous pout.
Dahlia sighed. “Stay home, then.”
“And leave me all alone? You always think only of yourself!”
Get a mirror, Dahlia turned to the door. No use arguing when her twin was in a mood. “Party is next week, and I’m going. You do you. Now, I’m off to Fab Fabrics.”
Mira sniffled. “I don’t need another quilt.”
“I know,” Dahlia smiled. “This one’s for me.”
“You already have a quilt, no fair you’ll have more than I!”
Dahlia smirked. “Actually, it’s for the party. Gonna make me a dress to impress.”
For Rochelle’s Friday Fictioneers
Photo credit: © Rochelle Wisoff-Fields
Share this:
Amenities
“Told you there’d be amenities!” Bob beamed.
Raquel looked around the campsite. Mud. Mess. And Misery. She bit her tongue. Only herself to blame. She should have known.
“When something is too good to be true, it is too good to be true,” her Ma always said. And of course, her Ma was (always) right.
Ma also told her that Bob was bad news, a bunch of trouble, and would never amount to anything.
True on all three counts.
She took a deep breath. She made her bed, and she was gonna lie in it. Even in a tent.
Photo prompt © AJ Wilson
Share this:
Peas In A Pod
She stormed in and stood, panting, hands on knees.
“What is it, girl!” Penny jumped, spilling some tea. A chain of horrible scenarios tumbled through her brain.
“She’s excited, not scared,” Margo barely lifted her eyes from the book she was destroying.
Clara nodded. Still unable to speak.
“I. Found. It!” she finally managed.
“Found what?” Penny snapped, then bit down her irritation. It was tiring, being the elder. The responsible one. The level-headed, boring, taskmaster sibling.
“Our perfect future homes!” Clara announced. “We can live next to each other, strung along the avenue like peas in a pod.”
Photo prompt © Dale Rogerson
Share this:
A Table For Two
She placed the heavy chairs just so. Added a table that was dumped in front of the Crumble Cafe when the owners changed and the new management did away with all the old stuff. Staff included.
All of them kicked to the curb.
She had no job, but could be a foster mama to a table.
Especially as she had already two chairs waiting. Cast iron to pair with the castoff.
“A table for two,” she told Harriet.
Harriet made herself comfortable. On the table.
“Really?” Mattie laughed.
Harriet swished her tail in feline approval.
Cream and crumpets.
Perfect pair.
For Rochelle’s Friday Fictioneers
Photo prompt © Rowena Curtin
Na'ama Yehuda 
You must be logged in to post a comment.