Rock-a-bye Rock

 

“You must rock them or they’ll never hatch.”

Emilio sighed. His arms ached. This wasn’t what he had in mind when he’d traded a cushy private school spot for an ATM position.

Early mornings, late-night assignments, mediocre food, bedbugs. A ton of work, literally. Zero glamor.

He’d quit but this would give his parents the last laugh.

“Apprentice-To-Magi?” they’d chortled when he told them he’d signed on. “Muddy misery and miserly masters. You wouldn’t last a week!”

He grit his teeth, planted his feet, and rocked, singing under his breath, as he’d been instructed: “Rock-a-bye-rocks, in a crib box …”

 

 

 

For Rochelle’s Friday Fictioneers

Photo by the lovely Dale Rogerson

 

The Real Deal

 

It wasn’t supposed to end this way, but no one really knows how things end once started. Not really. Not entirely, at least.

And everyone knows nature is unpredictable.

This mishap simply proves it.

And anyway, it cannot be her fault when it was they who did not bother to say what they mean, nor mean what they were saying.

She literally heard them say they wanted a Lava Cake as celebration. “The whole nine yards. The real deal, hot and melting.”

How was she to understand that they did not intend for her to actually deliver it?

 

For Rochelle’s Friday Fictioneers

Photo prompt © Ken Arnopole

 

Rocket Science

“You know how to work it?” Timothy hurriedly stuffed his bag.

“Sure,” Liz shrugged. “Been a while, but not like it is rocket science.”

Timothy paused. An odd joke…but he didn’t have the time to explain anyway. “Just make sure to bring water,” he pressed.

Liz shooed her brother out. He’s been hovering ever since she’s been discharged. As if she’d never lived in a City. Never used a phone. So what if only Before?

A block later, she stood staring. Mystified.

“Water them before you dial,” a passerby offered. “Plants won’t connect your call otherwise. Rocket science, you know.”

 

 

For Rochelle’s Friday Fictioneers

Photo prompt © Sandra Crook

 

Guest Tested

 

“They only glow when Marm’s here,” Eloise pointed.

I tried to not show my confusion. Being a first-time visitor to Castle Trent was a steep learning curve, but I was not going to risk being thrown out as an impostor.

“Best not upset her, though,” Eloise added, reaching for the pitcher and pouring what appeared like air into an empty iridescent glass.

She offered it to me and I tipped the vacant vessel toward my mouth.

Tasted cordial.

“A natural,” a voice boomed and a woman manifested, transparent as gauze.

“Apparently!” Eloise smiled, “I admit I wondered. Tammy, meet Marm.”

 

 

 

 

For Rochelle’s Friday Fictioneers

Photo prompt © Lisa Fox

 

 

His Royalness

 

“You lift up to make him king. You lower before dethroning.”

Molly stared at Davis’s face, uncertain what to do with hers. Some hazing was expected on orientation day. But this?

Davis glared back, and she nodded as if in comprehension, desperate for a glint of mirth to reassure her he was joking.

There was none.

“And are there guidelines for when either happens?” she attempted.

Davis’s eyes narrowed and Molly swallowed. There goes her job.

The man bowed to the doll. “Please forgive her ignorance, Your Royalness.”

He turned to Molly. “Beware, for your predecessor lost her head.”

 

 

 

For Rochelle’s Friday Fictioneers

Photo credit © Ted Strutz

 

 

Suspension

 

“It cannot be saved.” The mechanic stuck stained hands in blackened pockets of oily coveralls.

Shelly tilted his head in bewilderment.

“Perhaps a new suspension…” he chanced. “A bit of wax or paint job.” Shelly could not recall the last time that the car was operational, nor how to do a thing on its behalf, but surely all that the conveyance needed was an odd term or two and the tinkering of a sufficiently grimy man.

“The only suspension that can help this pile of rust,” the mechanic muttered, “will be one that suspends it en route to wrecking.”

 

 

For Rochelle’s Friday Fictioneers

Photo prompt © Fleur Lind

 

 

The New Man

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(Photo: azha-ashiq-kxX4k2El9WA-unsplash)

 

Nothing for it. It had to be done.

He’d get in trouble, but that was part of becoming a man.

He took notes, fussed, planned.

The time to mark the hall has come.

He hid the satchel by the bed. Set the alarm.

Woke to sunlight and calls over the Intercom:

“Lucas to the office, stat.”

Lucas the archenemy is the new Hall Mark.

 

 

 

For Sammi’s Weekend Writing Prompt of: Hallmark in 64 words

 

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

 

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.

 

 

For Friday Fictioneers

Photo prompt © AJ Wilson

 

For A Good Cause

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(Photo: Angiola Harry on Unsplash)

 

It did not matter that

The evidence was there for all

To see.

The crumbs.

The chocolate stains.

The broken shards of Nana’s cookie

Jar with

That crack from when Pawpaw drank

Too much and thought he was a

Knife thrower

But missed

The block.

It didn’t matter she was

Caught.

The child was

Unrepentant.

“Cookies are for eatin’, Nana.

No good letting them go stale

In that

Pot!”

 

 

 

For Sammi’s Weekend Writing Prompt of: Unrepentant in 69 words