Rawson Rise

Rawson Lake Photo by Jack Ng

Rawson Lake; photo: Jack Ng

 

It was their last day by the lake. The weather was perfect and the air was so crisp it squeaked. She inhaled deeply, savoring every moment. By that time tomorrow she’d be stuck in rush-hour traffic.

“See?” he pointed. “Even wood can’t keep its head above water at some point.”

She snuck a hand into his and squeezed. She wished she could give him sips of this place during what was to come. She wished she could tell him this round wouldn’t be as difficult as the ones before. That this one would work. She didn’t know if to hope or fear it being the last. It shattered her that she no longer knew what he hoped for.

She gathered the light around her, kissed his baldness, and rose to stand.

“For now, my love, let’s float.”

 

 

For What Pegman Saw: Rawson Lake Canada

 

Not All Is Lost

PHOTO PROMPT © Sandra Crook

 

They were always getting blown out of their homes. She couldn’t stand it. She knew how it felt to be homeless, especially for a youngling. And she’d seen the devastation of parents who’d returned to find some force had swept their babies off to unknown and worse places. She knew about being lost.

She was going to stop it.

At least for them.

Surely if she built it, they will come.

She kept checking and almost despaired, but one morning … there they were.

“Welcome home,” she whispered to the first eggs laid.

 

 

For Friday Fictioneers, August 3, 2018

 

Mendel’s Messengers


PHOTO PROMPT © Ted Strutz

 

She waited.

Three teens passed, faces glued to lit screens. One murmured “sorry” when he almost bumped into her. He didn’t look up.

A mother hurried in the direction of the car park, harried by a whining toddler.

Long minutes passed. She’d walked from the bus and her legs weren’t what they used to be. She leaned onto a lamppost and closed her eyes.

“Ma’am?”

A bearded face leaned toward her. Another man behind.

“Will you help me cross the street?”

“At your service!” Both men offered their hands.

She smiled. “Mendel sent you. It’s what he used to say.”

 

 

For the Friday Fictioneers Challenge

 

A Global Warning

PHOTO PROMPT © Dale Rogerson

 

They said it would get warm, but they didn’t say how quickly or how relentlessly. He thought it would take decades.

He was wrong.

Trees still foliaged but most other plants withered. Same for people.

It killed the young, old, weak, and callous. The talking heads had babbled about it before TV stopped. They couldn’t justify cooling the studios when the grid struggled to air-condition hospitals. Not that the latter did much good.

He sighed and retreated from the window. Ignored his daughter’s empty bed. They were warned. By the time they deigned to listen, it was already too late.

 

 

For the Friday Fictioneers Challenge

 

Her Golden Child

three line tales, week 128: a golden person

photo by Sharon McCutcheon via Skillshare

 

He’d always been her golden child, born after years of sorrow.

He’d always been her precious jewel, the promise of tomorrow.

He’s gone to take the saffron robes, been hers only to borrow.

 

For Three Line Tales–week 128

 

Doctored

PHOTO PROMPT © Liz Young

 

“I am not dressing up as a doctor!”

Twins or no twins, he’d had it with his sister deciding their costumes. He’d been Prince Charming, Prince Un-Charming (consort to Princess Uglyanna). He’d been Mr. Smee. He’d been a screw (guess who was the screwdriver), a nail (yep, Maya was the hammer), a flower (to her bee). And those were the less embarrassing ones.

“You could be an evil doctor imprisoned by an eviler scientist,” she enticed.

“In your dreams,” he replied.

She grinned. “Or in yours. As in, literally. Tonight.”

 

 

For The Friday Fictioneers Challenge

 

Best Foot Forward

PHOTO PROMPT © J Hardy Carroll

Mom always told him to put his best foot forward.

So he did.

He pulled it off and placed it in front of his wheelchair. It was the shorter prosthesis, the one that didn’t need straps around the hip to secure and the one he could even put a bit of weight on. Well, on good days, at least.

A sigh climbed in his chest, but he shook it off, took a deep breath, arranged the cardboard sign, and began:

“Oh say, can you see?…”

For Rochelle’s Friday Fictioneers Challenge

Meet the Beat

PHOTO PROMPT © Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

 

The new piece unfolded in his head during the long flight. The chords danced to the beat of the flickering red light on the airplane’s wing and the turbulence lent base to the melody. It was perfect. He’d have written the notes right there and then had it not been for his propensity to motion sickness. Staring out the window was the only remedy. Sometimes the best inspiration.

“Let it go, let it go!” his daughter’s singing in her room welcomed him home.

And the nascent harmonies obeyed, dispersed, let gone.

 

For The Friday Fictioneers June 29 2018 Challenge

Coniston Choice

Image result for coniston water lake district

Photo: www.lakedistrict.gov.uk

 

She shrugged her macintosh off to use as ground cover before lowering herself gingerly. She drove two hours to get here and her hip still protested anything less cushioned than her bed, let alone damp gravel. Still, walking in the fresh air was good for her, the doctor said.

Didn’t say where she had to do that walking, and Norm was no longer around to object. He’d been terrified of flying, worried about trains, sea-sick on boats, wary around cars. Poor Norm. She couldn’t blame him. Not after what he’d gone through during the war.

Made for dreary holidays, though.

Not anymore.

She gazed at the lake, took a deep breath, and pulled the folded papers out of her pocket: The unsigned bill of sale for the house; the travel agent’s brochure for the round-the-world ticket.

 

For What Pegman Saw: Coniston Water Lake District

Market Day

PHOTO PROMPT © Fatima Fakier Deria

 

“Where is that boy?” Hassan demanded.

“I sent your son to your father,” Um-Ali responded from below.

Her voice was calm in the way that often enraged him. As if she’s talking to a baby, he fumed.

“What were you thinking?!” he exploded. “You know I need him on market day!”

“I know you need help on market day,” she stated. “I called Mustafa.”

Her brother. Lord of bossy annoyance. Hassan glowered at his wife.

She chuckled. “You look exactly as Ali had this morning when he thought he’d have to go with you.”

 

 

For Rochelle’s Friday Fictioneers June-22-2018