New Neighbor

 

“What on earth?! Have you seen her?”

Molly looked up from her coffee. The swirl of mocha infiltration on the milk froth in her cup was fascinating. She licked her upper lip, tasting calm and morning.”Seen who?”

“Her!” Abby flicked her head urgently in the direction of the kitchen window.

“Do I have to?” Molly pouted. Her sister was altogether too excitable. Surely there was naught wrong with sitting idly with one’s breakfast. However, she could not recall the last time Abby did anything but gobble down her toast, gulp her tea, and pop right up in search of dishes to wash, counters to wipe, cabinets to put to order, or lists to make.

Abby’s chest rose in what was certain to turn lecture.

Molly sighed, stood, and craned her neck to see. White uniform. Red crosses. Pink rubber gloves. “Oh, her? Sheri. Our new neighbor. A nurse or such.”

 

 

For Crispina’s Crimson’s Creative Challenge

 

Mary Quite Contrary

(Photo: Andre Hunter on Unsplash)

 

She was Mary

Quite contrary.

She refused to read what others wrote

And claimed all facts are anecdotes,

And when food was on her plate

She’d allow it to stagnate,

And then predictably complain

That she was made to abstain.

Any piece of news she heard

She declared to be absurd,

And if science dared be presented

She turned extra discontented.

 

 

 

For Sammi’s Weekend Writing Prompt: Absurd in 61 words

 

Dress Up

 

It had been extremely close quarters, but after the inferno they’d been through together, there was nothing they could not achieve.

Certainly after they’d had a bit of time to chill.

They were born for this.

Now it was their time to sparkle.

To show off their individuality.

In form.

In shape.

In size.

In decoration.

There they were:

Blue-eyed Ginger.

Two-tone-shoes Jerry.

Red-apron Ginny.

Necklaced Joey.

Snow-mustached Joe.

Green-turbaned Jinge.

Even Ginger-woof put on his finery.

(And, albeit grudgingly, Gin-Cat did so, too).

It was, after all, the grand finale.

The full bling dress-up for the big chomp.

 

 

For Rochelle’s Friday Fictioneers

Photo prompt © Jennifer Pendergast   

 

 

Speed Dating

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He was the shy one of the waddling. Afraid to take the lead or be left behind, he maintained his place in the middle of their paddling, webbed feet rowing furiously as to not lose his place.

“Too tightly wound, that one,” his mama tilted her head in puzzlement, for there was naught wrong with him. Middle hatched, middle weight, decent feathering.

“Good thing he’d never have to lay eggs,” his aunt quacked laughter. “Or sit on them, rain or hail or thunder!”

He pretended to not hear. Bobbed amidst the plump. Scanned the water. Dove. Rose. Dove.

“They’re just a bunch of hens,” a soft squeak sounded.

He pulled his head up too fast and almost dove back just to cover up his clumsiness.

She rested effortlessly on the water, a perfect Duckess from the skein that had dropped by their pond.

“You could leave,” she added. “Come with.”

 

 

For Crispina’s Crimson’s Creative Challenge

 

Tchotchkes

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(Photo: Smadar Epshtein)

 

“Oh Mama, look!”

The woman raised eyes from the screen to follow her daughter’s arm. “Kitsch to the max,” she wrinkled a lip at the stall.

“But Mama!” The child checked her tone before it thinned into a whine. She loved the shoes! She would need finesse. “I mean,” she shaped a grin, “for Purim?”

Her mother shook her head. “What are going to dress as, Queen of Tchotchkes?”

 

 

For Sammi’s Weekend Writing Prompt: Kitsch in 69 words

 

 

Topper

 

‘Twas the best spot in the woods and he was keeping to it.

Sure, it had almost no leaves and practically no protection from the wind. Sure, the branches whipped around in every breeze and let the cold sneak under the most primped up feathers.

It none of it mattered.

When he could perch up at the very top.

Surveil. Keep tabs. See things first. Unhindered by masses of pine needles or large floppy green things hiding one’s next dinner.

“See Topper there?” he heard a winger chatter at another. “He thinks he’s top banana.”

“Not banana,” Topper retorted, and puffed his chest for emphasis with not-so-hidden indignation. “Top crow!”

 

 

For Sue Vincent’s WritePhoto Challenge

Photo prompt: Sue Vincent

 

 

Not Rolling With It

 

“No way I’m doing that!” Ming shook his head.

“Oh, come on, don’t be a wimpy dimpy!”

Ming narrowed his green eyes at Mei-Mei, whose body was swishing in what he knew was part-dare, part-enticement, part-mockery.

“Not happening,” he turned to leave.

“Ha! I knew it! Told General Tso you’d be too chicken to give it a whirl.”

Ming hissed. That hurt. Mei-Mei was beautiful, but mostly on the outside.

He swished his tail at her. “You wanna ride the toilet paper? Go ahead. Roll with it. Be my guest. I’m not falling into that bowl.” 

Again … Once was enough.

 

 

For Rochelle’s Friday Fictioneers

Photo prompt © Trish Nankivell

 

Water Wait

 

“Who put it there?” Moe grumbled.

The waiting room was almost empty, but it only added to his resentment. Don’t people know it is cruel?

Alisha looked up from the small screen that consumed her waking moments and too many of what should have been her sleeping ones.

“Put what where?”

At least she was sort-of-paying attention.

“That,” he put as much contempt as he could manage with a parched brain into the word. He hated clinics. Especially this one.

“Oh, it’s yours,” Alisha handed him the water bottle. “Nurse said to have some. Told you no need to fast.”

 

 

For Rochelle’s Friday Fictioneers

Photo prompt © Marie Gail Stratford

 

Subdued Sacrilege

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“Simply look down instead of up,” Manny pushed his hands deeper into his pockets and hiked his shoulders up against a chill no one else probably felt. It was 99F outside.

“But the basilica is right here, and so beautiful!” Danielle exhaled wonder.

My point exactly, Manny thought, but did not say. Recruiting was a subtle thing.

Instead he nudged the water with his shoe, rippling the surface to distort the reflection of the edifice. Almost spitefully the puddle settled back into the sharpest mirror, and Manny half expected his superiors to appear in frowning disappointment at his dismal conversion pace.

“What it is?” Danielle responded to his sigh, her eyes still gazing in the opposite direction of the Netherworld, and therefore opposite to where he needed them to be.

“Nothing,” he muttered, deflated.

Her softly luminescent hand appeared. “How about we go into the church and pray about it?”

 

 

For Crispina‘s Crimson’s Creative Challenge