(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
“Come see!” Charlie sprinted, pulling on Claudia’s hand so hard she almost fell.
“Slow down!” She may be older, but her short legs were no match to his flamingo limbs.
“Sorry…”, Charlie curbed his speed a smidge.
He led her around the back of Old Theresa’s abandoned house and through the broken fence. “See?!”
Claudia gawped. It was messy. It was overgrown with weeds and junk. It was perfect!
She hugged herself with excitement. She missed having a backyard. Nature. There was none in the orphanage.
“We’ll retie the net for shade. Bring stuff. Make it our secret breathing space!”
For Rochelle’s Friday Fictioneers
Photo prompt: © Fleur Lind
Twenty kilometers. His heart thumped in his ears. His muscles screamed for relief. He pushed through. Almost there. A bit more. One last hill.
Done.
All he needed to do now was get to his bike. Pedal home. Thankfully, mostly downhill.
He’d have a warm shower while the coffee brewed. Get some oatmeal going. Fry an egg. Make toast. His mouth watered.
A distant rumble sounded, and he looked up. The heavy bank of clouds that followed him, finally caught up.
Light flashed. Whoa! So close! A second wind propelled his legs as he sprinted, suddenly energized, to his bike.
For Rochelle’s Friday Fictioneers
Photo prompt: @ Dale Rogerson
“I gotta go,” Ari stuffed a sandwich into her mouth with one hand and a sweater into her bag with the other.
“Wait!” Ella’s eyes remained on her phone’s screen.
“Can’t.” Ari grabbed the keys. “I’ll be late for work.”
She left before Ella said another word, or at least, without hearing it.
They needed her job. Ella, per usual, was “between jobs.”
And I’m mostly between heaven and earth, Ari chuckled. She got into the car, shifted gears, and took a deep breath. Meditation was a crucial part of acrobatics. Even if it was not Cirque, but only shark-diving.
For Rochelle’s Friday Fictioneers
Photo prompt: © Rochelle Wisoff-Fields
(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
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
(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
“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
“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
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
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