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

 

Blue Sentry

 

“Can you see them?” Lizzie swayed with anticipation. The waiting has been endless. Endless. Endless.

There was no response.

“Blue!?” she prompted.

“Hold your horses,” Lily soothed, always one to keep the peace. “He takes time to formulate and produce.”

Lizzie knew that, and that it wasn’t proper to press others to do what they physically could not. She tipped her head in guilty acknowledgement.

Still, she wished someone else was standing sentry. Not that Blue had any say. They were each placed where they were placed, and had to make the most of it. Slow as time, Blue would have to do.

And yet, it was so hard to wait.

Especially when she was finally dressed in all her finery and wanted to show it off before any got wilted.

“Car,” Blue said.

Finally! Lizzie wriggled.

“Such Impatiens,” Petunia rustled. “No finesse. All is hurry hurry hurry with them.”

 

 

 

For Crispina‘s Crimson’s Creative Challenge

 

Sitting Duck

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“It has no feathers.”

“Of course it doesn’t,” Molly noted. “It’s a duckling. It has fuzz.”

Duffy was not impressed. The small thing was squeaky and looked utterly too squeashy. She wasn’t even sure it was waterproofed.

She shook her head. She never was good with small squeaky, squeashy, clingy things.

“It’s only for a short while,” Molly’s voice was soft, but Duffy recognized the little waves of irritation that signaled turbulence just underneath the surface.

Best not mess with that.

Duffy sighed and peered closely at the fuzzball. “So what am I supposed to do with it?”

Molly flapped with such relief that Duffy wasn’t sure whether to be reassured or terrified.

“Just keep it out of trouble,” her sister called, already on the wing.

“What kind? How…?”

Silence.

Then a squeak.

The fuzzball waddled, pooped, and attempted to preen its zero feathers. Ridiculous.

Her nephew.

Also kinda’ cute.

 

 

 

For Crispina’s Crimson’s Creative Challenge

 

Off Balance

 

“The key is balance,” Dotty bobbed delicately, defying wind and gravity.

The rest of us clung frantically with all six, desperate to return to lower elevations.

Why did I ever sign up for Advanced Balance?!

If we were meant to be acrobats, we’d have been born in the circus.

“When you’re ready,” Dotty intoned, “be one with the cable …” She lifted a leg on each side to a two-thirds perch.

Insanity.

A wind gust blew me off the bridge. I tumbled, helpless, to be one with the canopies.

Lofty Dotty probably lingered.

Pox on her, the lordly lanternfly!

 

 

 

For Rochelle’s Friday Fictioneers.

Photo prompt: © Miles Rost

 

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

 

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

 

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