Photo: Atara Katz
She has come to inspect
The tent
The snacks
The gear
The rest.
A gazelle
Wearing smiles
And she’ll stay
For a
While.
Entertainment
It seems
Can be found
On a whim.
For the Word of the Day Challenge: Gazelle
The Gazelle
Just for fun
On Guard!
“How long will he be this way?”
“Dunnow,” Plucky shrugged. “But let’s get this done before he loses concentration.”
“I wanna waive something in front of his eyes. He looks so hypnotized!” Shimmer shifted excitedly from foot to foot. This was so thrilling!
“Don’t you dare!” Plucky’s hiss almost made actual sound. He bobbed his head in an effort to contain it. “Let’s get to it! Blue is good but even he can’t keep this up forever.”
Shimmer nodded distractedly.
“Coming or I go it alone?”
“Coming, coming…” Shimmer nodded and sighed in one. She didn’t want to miss anything. She wanted to see everything! She wished she could be in two places at the same time. She tore her eyes off of the dog, whose nose barely twitched and whose eyes never left the cockroach that was held in the blue-gray pigeon’s beak, just out of the canine’s reach. Blue was so courageous!
Plucky was already on the move. Shimmer stepped behind the brown bird’s sparse tail feathers, trembling with suppressed flutter. This was her first heist.
The window was open. The dog had forgotten a biscuit on his cushions. They were going to sneak into the room and steal it.
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More Than Well Done
Photo: Caroline Attwood on Unsplash
She mixed and measured, weighed and watched, stirred and sprinkled, steeped and sliced.
She’d gotten every item ready. She made sure she had all the tools. She kept the temperature exact.
This one was going to come out just right.
She double checked each line. She’d compared reviews for different versions of the recipe, to ensure this one worked fine.
The kitchen fan hummed.
Her phone rang.
The house smelled of burnt garlic. She was deafened by the smoke alarm.
The roast was toast.
She could have cried. …
She should have known that her ever-hungry teenage son would devour it as is, as soon as he sat down.
For Sammi’s Weekend Writing Prompt: Devour in 108 words
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The Parade
Photo: Mihai Surdu on Unsplash
It was partially because they needed to find something to focus on, and the months ahead stretched barren of anything worthy of looking forward to; and partially because they believed they had some yet-to-be-discovered organizational talents and this could be a good way to shine a little spotlight on them; and partially because they knew it was the last thing Mayor Perry would expect. The latter reason alone was worth the effort. Especially when it would be something he won’t be able to admit he was against and may even end up having to endorse.
So they planned a parade.
They enlisted friends’ cars for floats and roped in small sponsorships by neighborhood stores and minor celebrities. They tempted bands and cheerleaders from local middle-schools with free exposure and offered same for the martial arts students from George’s Judo (which, not to be outdone, was followed by the dancers from Teens’ Tap and Ballroom Ballerinas). They raised money (and attention) by holding bake-sales on stoops and organizing a popup donate-your-merchandise shop on the sidewalk in front of the library. They printed flyers and pinned them to bulletin boards then convinced store owners to tape some into their display windows, by telling them every one else already had.
Peer pressure worked.
Most people didn’t ask too many questions about why a “Celebrate Ourselves” parade was necessary, where it had been born or by whom or to what end. The general theme seemed good enough, and it probably didn’t feel right to be against celebrating who one was and what they belonged to and were included in.
They ordered “CO” shirts, stickers, and visors in neon-green, complete with an abstract sketch of a float-turned-banner-turned-thumbs-up to ‘carry’ the letters as the parade’s logo. They uploaded photos of themselves handing shirts to firefighters, visors to grinning grandmothers in the park, and an assortment of the stuff to slightly bewildered parents at the playground. The stickers were a hit with the kids.
They videoed themselves delivering a shirt to the mayor’s office, then sent the video to the local news, who shared it under the title: “The Mayor Celebrates ‘Celebrating Ourselves.'” Social media amplified it.
By the following morning the mayor was accosted by a reporter on his way out of the gym. The insistent young woman shoved a microphone in Mayor Perry’s face and asked whether he’d been asked to be the Grand Marshal.
“Not yet,” he mumbled.
An hour later they were in his office, neon-green shirts on, tailed by the reporter they’d tipped ahead of time for an “exclusive follow-up scoop.”
Soon enough a statement was issued and the news headlined: “Mayor Perry to Lead CO Parade.”
Sponsorships streamed on: The gym the Mayor belonged to. The bank. The local hospital. The Aerobatics Club.
Requests came in for satellite parades in nearby towns.
The national news picked the story. Talking heads nodded and argued the pros and cons.
Mayor Perry marched, neon-green shirt and forced smile on.
By the following year they ran for office, with the CO logo strategically in the background.
Celebrating themselves was fun.
For Linda Hill’s SoCS and JusJoJun writing prompt
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Valentine’s Vice
Photo: Tara Meinczinger on Unsplash
“Where’s Valentine?”
I peered into the other room. “Lollygagging.”
“Again?! I thought I told him to give up that nonsense. He’s way too old for this kind of foolishness. I’ll douse him with cold water!”
“He’s not osculating, Mama.”
“Stop being a Peeping Tom …” Pause. Sigh. Flick of the hand. “What’s he doing, then?”
“Just dawdling.”
“With whom?”
“His phone …”
For Sammi’s Weekend Writing Prompt: Lollygag in 60 words
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Should We Poke?
Photo: Smadar Halperin-Epshtein
Look at that thing
With the wings,
Can it fly
Or can it sing?
Should we poke it?
Better not.
Press the fence
That keeps out tots.
For the JusJoJan daily prompt
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Walk The Line
“He’s never going to make it,” Benji declared.
Shelly shrugged. “I think he can.”
Benji twitched in irritation. “Mark my words. He’s never gonna make it. Not after all the eggnog he’d snagged.”
Shelly sniffed. Eggnog? There was eggnog? He wanted some!
Tilly wriggled between them and squeezed herself onto the couch. “What’cha doing?”
“Nothing.” Benji huffed.
“Ignore Benji, Sis, he’s just being his grouchy self.” Shelly scooted over a bit to make room for their sibling, who was younger by whole two minutes and by that officially the baby. Well, till the next babies had arrived.
“What is he doing down there?” Tilly squeaked. “If Mama sees him on the floor in the middle of the living room he is toast!”
“He’s trying to walk the line to the other side,” Shelly explained. Toast? Why’d she have to mention toast? Now he wanted toast.
“He’s walking funny,” Tilly noted.
“Of course he is. He’s drunk.” Benji muttered. “Now hush.”
“Sorry, Benji,” Tilly demurred, but true to form could barely keep herself still for half a second. “His tail is droopy. It is all in the tail, you know. He can’t keep to the line if his back-end is all draggy. Hey, Giddy,” she called, her whiskers trembling in excitement, “you can do it! lift your tail! It’ll give you better balance! It’s my turn next!”
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Sardines
Photo prompt © Fatima Fakier Deria
“We’ll never all fit,” Sultana groaned.
“Lots of room!” the driver boomed encouragement even as he tightened screws underneath the van.
“C’mon!” Mariam elbowed past her cousin and climbed onto the vehicle, parcels and a flapping hen in hand. “Next one isn’t till dawn.”
Sultana looked around as if better conveyance would miraculously manifest. None did. She sighed, grabbed her packages and hoisted the bleating kid under an arm. She squeezed aboard, the last one on, with barely room enough to sit down.
The door slammed. The goat peed, soaking her lap.
It’ll be a long ride to Jaddati’s farm.
For Rochelle’s Friday Fictioneers
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Rudy’s SOS
Photo: Keith Channing
It was a quiet early hour at Headquarters.
Bernice was doing her nails. Bertrand had a foot perched on his desk and was clipping his toenails. Benny was (as always) squinting into one of his miniature rice grain paintings. Bella was snoring. Bonita was munching on crackers. Bruno was belittling Baron’s game-score. And Brittney, brittle as usual, was cradling the radio’s earphones even as she browsed the internet for interesting short film ideas.
Suddenly the switchboard sounded jingle bells and lit up in flashing green, red, and gold.
A Santa call!
In her fluttery rush to respond, Brittney almost dropped the microphone.
Bruno dove to save it. Those things were brilliant but brutally expensive. None of them wanted it docked from their pay for negligent breakage.
“North Pole,” he breathed into the mouthpiece.
“SOS! SOS!” The reedy voice could only be from one origin.
“Rudolph?!” Bruno rolled his eyes and hit the speaker button. The reindeer’s dramatic flair was brilliantly entertaining. “What are you doing on the radio? You know you’re not permitted.”
The radio screeched as Rudolph must have cranked the volume to its maximum.
“Shut up, shut up!! You moron! SOS! SOS!”
Bernice dropped her polish. Bertrand cursed. Benny’s rice grain rolled off the tray. Bella fell off her recliner. Bonita choked. Brittney fainted. Baron stared.
Rudolph was colorful but he was not prone to cursing.
Bruno’s cleared his throat.
“Sheesh, Rudy. Is it really an emergency?”
“Are you deaf? It’s an SOS!! Code Red. Code Red. Santa Off Sled. The darn temporary ladder that Brenda borrowed from Pottery Barn broke. Santa’s hanging by a thread! Send Feathered Fairy Fred!”
For Kreative Cue 240
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Let Spirits Fly
Photo: Kacper Szczechla on Unsplash
Then
Came just the perfect time
For snowy charm
To let its spirits
Fly
On high,
And make the wind bend
Trees and
Set tardy leaves to
Sway
Astray,
As Fair Folk sprinkle
Flaky frost and
Set aflame a winter’s
Dance.
I am
Entranced.
For the dVerse Quadrille Challenge: Spirited
Na'ama Yehuda 
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