(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
Photo: Ibrahim Rifath on Unsplash
I put down glue to ick their feet –
They collected twigs
To cover it.
I placed a swivel-headed owl –
They watched,
Then perched right on it.
I hung CDs on a dental-floss line –
The pigeons shrugged,
And pulled it.
My peristeronic battle is at impasse.
I call it truce.
I know I’m beat.
For Sammi’s Weekend Writing Prompt: peristeronic in 53 words
“We must hire someone to remove this eyesore,” Carolina’s nose wrinkled in distaste. “Never could understand hillbillies approach to disposal.”
“We could …” Stewart noted, “but …”
“But what?” Carolina hated it when he got cryptic. If there was something people ought to be, it was clear. Riddles were for children.
“… we’d have to get something else in its stead.”
Carolina’s chest rose to magnificent proportions, but Stewart knew better. He kept his eyes on her face.
“It is a shelter entry. See? Water proof. Air tight. Easily cleaned. Earlier doors kept getting flooded. You’ll want it here, dear, come stormy times.”
For Rochelle’s Friday Fictioneers
Original Photo: Osnat Halperin-Barlev
Climb the mountainous
Martian landscape,
Big wheels strong
In the sandbox.
Come and rescue
The poor shovel,
Buried amidst alien
Rocks.
For Cee’s Black & White Photo Challenge: Plastic
Photo: Dvora Freedman
If all train seats are taken
And the ride is still long
Why not pull out a beach chair
You happen to bring along
And with paper at hand
Lounge like where you belong?
For Kammie’s Oddball Photo Challenge
Photo: Atara Katz
A pot, a plate, a shelf, a hook.
A bed on wheels, food in a nook.
Unlikely home, perhaps, but look
At least you’ve got a place to cook!
Photo: Smadar Halperin-Epshtein
If the distance’s too far
And the winning too tempting
There is always the tummy
To improve odds
Of aiming.
Photo: Knoell8504, https://commons.wikimedia.org/
It was a few minutes before dinner.
He wanted a cookie.
His mother said the timing wasn’t great. He’ll have to wait. Can get one for dessert.
He frowned. His lips turned down in a pout but puckered in consideration as his eyes inspected the contents of the transparent cookie jar.
“But maybe I can taste it now,” he bargained. “Just a teeny tiny cookie, like this,” he pointed to a broken piece at the bottom of the jar. “You see, Mama? Just a little bit of crumbs …”
For The Daily Post
candy dish: theartofdoingstuff.com
“I think I need three chocolates,” she noted after assessing the contents of the candy bowl.
“How come?” I smiled. She knew she was allowed one candy, and the ever so slight emphasis on the word need was expertly done.
“Well …” she paused, little brain wheels hastily cobbling up a good-enough rationale. Her eyes brightened, “… because I even had pepper for lunch when it was before … and … more chocolate is going to make my bitter better.”
For The Daily Post
“It wasn’t me!”
The potbellied cookie-jar was stranded sideways on the kitchen floor amidst small mountains of spilled cookies in various states of broken. The jar’s lid wobbled under a chair a few feet away.
I looked at the small face, cherubic auburn curls surrounding dimpled cheeks. The forcefulness of the denial belied the crumbs around the lips, the sticky hands, the guilty blue-gray eyes.
“It wasn’t, eh?” I worked to keep my eyebrows in line.
The preschooler squirmed but didn’t fold. She shook her head emphatically, looked around, and tapped her lower lip with a (suspiciously chocolatey) finger.
An idea dawned into her face and she pointed said finger at the aquarium where three goldfish lazed. “They did it!”
My eyebrows escaped. “The fish?!”
A wholehearted nod. She was warming to the thought. “Yeah! They don’t like fish food every day every day anymore … and … and … it the fish birthday …” she swung her finger from one idle swimmer to the next. “Um, this one! See? He didn’t even want fish food for his birthday!”
(Thank you, A.J.!)
For The Daily Post
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