Turned Out Well

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(Photo: Emilie Dwire on Unsplash)

 

She was never big on plans.

It drove her parents mad, but her impromptu projects did turn out well more times than they did bad.

So they said nothing when she began digging a hole in the backyard.

And weren’t sad

When gold was found

Amidst the sand.

 

 

For Sammi’s Weekend Writing Prompt: Impromptu in 48 words

 

 

Not Cold

chair DaleRogerson

 

“I am not cold!”

“Your lips are blue,” the mother deadpanned.

“They’re not!” the child insisted, her exclaim dampened by chattering teeth.

“I see,” the woman breathed and swallowed a retort. The girl was altogether too much like herself and would only dig in deeper if confronted.

One set of eyes stared at the other.

The shuddering intensified.

“There’s a nice warm bath and dinner waiting inside,” the mom dangled.

A shrug.

“And how long do you intend to be … um … ‘not cold’?”

The little girl narrowed her eyes.

“Very well. Shall I bring you a chair, then?”

 

 

 

For Rochelle’s Friday Fictioneers

Photo: © Dale Rogerson

 

Gateway

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She pulled the reins gently, but Mathilde was already slowing. Perhaps the mare knew where to stop. Perhaps she understood Elana’s shift in the saddle.

The horse tensed under her thighs.

“I know you want to gallop,” Elana patted Mathilde’s sable neck. “We’ll just stop here a minute.”

Mathilde snorted, then lowered her head to nibble on a cluster of dandelions by the gatepost.

“It’s been too long,” Elana whispered. To herself. To the plaque the ancestor she was named after had placed at the property’s threshold. A crest. A warning. A gateway.

Elana reached and Mathilde pranced sideways, bringing them flush with the square of gray granite. “Thank you, Em,” Elana breathed.

Her fingers traced the carvings and rested on the wheel of time.

The air around them shimmered. Bent. Restored.

The pasture rippled in the sun and she heard a clash of swords. Laughter.

“Let’s go visit Great-Grandam!”

 

 

For Crispina’s Crimson’s Creative Challenge

 

A Case of Spoiled Rotten

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“You’re pouting.”

He hated crowds. “I’m not having fun, Ma.”

“Then why come? You could’ve stayed behind, along with the long face.”

Mani sighed. “I tried.”

“So now I tied you up and carted you along?”

Pretty much, emotionally. He shook his head. “Sorry, Ma. I’m in a mood.”

“A mood? What’s a mood? If you bled like a woman, you’d know about having a mood. You just have a case of spoiled rotten.”

“Yes, Ma.” It was easier to agree.

Ma craned her head. “Ah, now, lets see if these Jewish Greeks can cook anything worth eating.”

 

 

 

For Rochelle’s Friday Fictioneers

Photo prompt © Roger Bultot

 

Laid-Back Lizzie

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(Photo: Circe Denyer on Unsplash)

 

Laid-back Lizzie

Would not be pressed

Into a tizzy.

She left herself

With ample

Time,

To saunter to and

From her

Crime.

She kept pace

When sirens blared

And ambled on

As others stared.

She did not hold

With running

Fast.

But strolling was what

Caught up with her

At last.

 

 

 

For Sammy’s Weekend Writing Prompt: Saunter in 51 words

 

Robin’s robin

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“Tell me again, Grandma,” the child burrowed into the bedclothes.

“You heard it a million times,” she ruffled the girl’s curls.

“But it’s my favorite story, Grandma!”

The woman smiled. Begging was part of the ritual. Their dance of love. She made herself comfortable and felt the small torso snuggle closer.

“Remind me again how it starts?…” she teased.

“Grandma!”

“Silly me. Of course I remember… So, there you were, born early and a little wrinkled.”

“A lot wrinkled!”

“Yes, a lot. And with a howling mouth ajar like a hatchling calling for a juicy worm …”

“Eeew …”

“And we didn’t know what to call you …”

“Till you saw my hair …”

“Which was as rusty as a robin’s bib.”

“And …” the child wriggled with anticipation.

“And it is clearly the right name, because a robin has been nesting in the tree outside your window ever since!”

 

 

 

For Crispina’s Crimson’s Creative Challenge

 

Attired

Claire Fuller (7)

 

“You aren’t seriously going to do that.”

One could debate which was opened wider, Bella’s jaw or her eyes. She did have enormous eyes. People sometimes said they took half her face. I used to think it an exaggeration, but looking at her now, I was no longer so sure.

“Am too,” I kicked one of the tires. Part for emphasis. Part to check the resistance.

Definitely Bella’s jaw. Definitely more than half her face.

“Good for the planet. Also, if a gal can make a dress out of meat, another gal can make a prom dress out of tires.”

 

 

 

For Rochelle’s Friday Fictioneers

Photo prompt: – Claire Fuller

 

Familiar Patience

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(Photo: Andreea Popa on Unsplash)

 

She probably thought that she had found him. However, it was he who had found her. That is, if seeking her directly could be claimed a discovery.

He did not rub it in. There was no need.

Like the others, she was going to learn at her own pace. Humans could not be hurried. Not even those with above average affinity.

So he waited. Stared. Rubbed against her. Swished his tail. Licked his paws.

Magic lessons.

From her familiar.

 

 

 

 

For Sammi’s Weekend Writing Prompt: Familiar in 79 words

 

Little Brother

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(Photo: Jan Kopřiva on Unsplash)

 

When he grew up, he was going to be like his big brother.

Tall. Proud. Sturdy. Up to the task.

For now, he had to comfort himself with the benefits of smaller stature.

Getting into nooks and crannies, fitting where his brother could not bend or fold to reach.

When he grew up, he was going to be like his brother.

Heavily bristled. Proudly mustached.

Meanwhile, Brush put his still-short-bristles to good use through many chores.

This way, once grown, he could graduate to being a Broom.

 

 

For Sammi’s Weekend Writing Prompt: Brush in 87 words

 

On Full Display

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(Photo: Pop & Zebra on Unsplash)

 

They were going to hem and haw and huff and pout and stare.

She knew, already, from little-disguised cold shoulders

And from frowns

And neighbors’ glare,

That there will be no escaping their displeasure,

Anyway.

Even though they did not explicitly say,

Or outright forbid

Or demand that she

Obey,

She had no doubt that there will nonetheless be some community hell

To pay.

So might as well she do things as her heart designed,

And let her spirit play.

The vivid laughter of her soul

On full display.

 

 

 

 

For Sammi’s Weekend Writing Prompt: vivid in 89 words