Nailed It

stable-door CrispinaKemp

Photo: Crispina Kemp

 

He could never abide a wiggle.

Not a wriggle. Not a waver. Not the smallest bit of leeway.

Give an inch they’ll want a mile. He was one for nipping any jiggle in the bud.

Sure, the place was old, but it was built a-sturdy, and it stood the test of time. A war. A drought. A famine. Years could lend a touch of wrinkle, but that was no excuse for creaky hinges or a swinging that was anything but right.

Doors should no more need replacing than the people who had built them. Neither ought be done away with when they’re ripe.

So at the very start of wobbling, he cut a bar to measure, took the hammer and the odd-and-ends crate, and firmly nailed the wood across the geriatric slats.

Not unlike the way the surgeon had patched his hip and clinched his femur on to that.

 

 

 

For Crispina’s Crimson’s Creative Challenge

 

 

If It Ain’t Broke

will-malott-I9AFPMNv_I4-unsplash

Photo: Will Malott on Unsplash

 

She refused to budge

Or borrow.

She would not allow herself

The slightest

Reach.

“If it ain’t broke,” she said,

Hiding sorrow –

Holding on to life

In tatters

Yet refusing to

Give in even

A stitch –

“There is no need to seek

A fix.”

 

 

For the dVerse quadrille challenge: Fix

 

 

Not Obsolete

jorge-lopez-QyrDMIEjh6M-unsplash

Photo: Jorge Lopez on Unsplash

 

“I am not,” she insisted,

“Obsolete.

Or not yet.

Not as long as I can

Vote,

And thus

Use my

Voice,

To oust threat.”

 

 

 

For Sammi’s Weekend Writing Challenge: Obsolete in 24 words

 

Gravity

Photo prompt © Jan Wayne Fields

 

“The box said up to 20 people,” Martin insisted.

I gazed at the purple awning below and my eyes rested momentarily on my cousin’s bare feet. He inherited Uncle Georgie’s hairy toes, I noticed. His impulsive stubbornness, too, it seems.

“That’s not what they meant,” I shook my head.

Martin glared at me as if my IQ wouldn’t make it past the bottom inch of a ruler.  “Twenty people is twenty people, Ralph. Math is math,” he announced and launched himself from the garage’s roof onto the tent.

CRASH!

And gravity is gravity … I sighed. I had 911 on speed dial.

 

 

 

For Rochelle’s Friday Fictioneers

 

 

One More Swim

breakwater2 NaamaYehuda

Photo: Na’ama Yehuda

 

“Time to go.” Ari shook the ground-cloth.

“One more swim to the breakwater and back!” Deni pleaded.

Ari eyed the sky, the flagpole buckling in the wind, the jellyfish tumbling in the surf. “Another time,” he turned to fold their sun-umbrella.

Behind him he heard Deni’s running steps. He reached for the vinegar. That girl never did listen.

 

 

For Sammi’s weekend writing prompt: Breakwater in 58 words

 

 

Cookie Crumble

four star shaped cookies

Photo by Cook Eat on Pexels.com

 

It is the cookie that she wants

No teddy bear, no owl, no bunny.

It is the cookie that she holds

In hand, not in her tummy.

She takes it with her to the park

She holds it all through bedtime story.

She’d bring it right into the bath

To her it’s mandatory.

Her mother sighs

Because she knows:

It is the cookie that will crumble

All over blanket, sheets, and pillow.

The cookie that she’ll have to pry the last remains of

From her child’s hand tomorrow.

 

 

For Sammi’s Weekend Writing Prompt

Maine Wind

Maine Wind NaamaYehuda

Photo: Na’ama Yehuda

 

Even as all others hunkered down

Ahead of the incoming hurricane

And seaweed caked foam splattered sand

She walked on,

Her umbrella

Less a shield

Than battleground.

 

 

For the Sunday Stills Challenge-Wind

 

A Knotty Problem

knot DavidJFred

Photo: David J. Fred

 

 

She refused to retreat

In the face of defeat.

She pursed lips, furrowed brow,

Still the bead would not bow.

Pushed into the string’s knot

It slid off … yet she fought.

All suggestions were waived

She refused to be saved.

Five more minutes she spent

String nor bead would relent.

Just as frustration frayed …

Cookies came to her aid.

 

 

 

 

For The Daily Post

Radiant Rebel

April Snow NaamaYehuda

Photo: Na’ama Yehuda

 

The little lamp

Refused to go.

Morning or no

It dug its toe

And held on glowing

In the snow.

 

 

For The Daily Post