Photo: Tetyana Kovyrina on Pexels.com
She climbed atop the hay
And called
“I am King Of The Hill!”
And then she paused
And frowned
And said,
“I am the Princess
I’m the Queen!
No dress
No crown
But still!”
For the Stream of Consciousness Prompt: Affirm
It had been a long night. It will be a long day and night still.
The old man sighed and watched the spirits paint the sky.
The youth had spent the night secluded in silent contemplation. The elders had kept vigil not far from the tent.
Some elders frowned at the arrangement. “Right of passage should require complete solitude,” they’d argued. “How else will there be quietude enough to hear the whispers of the land?”
“Times had changed,” he’d stressed. “The current world requires the tent’s protection as well as our watchful eye. Surely the spirits, in their wisdom, understand.”
For Rochelle’s Friday Fictioneers
Photo: Amitai Asif
In the slowest hour of the night
She came in robes
Of dreams
To weave the nearest future
Into light.
She swished along the desert
Roads that only
Deepest yearnings
Take
And whispered:
It shall be.
You’ll find the path
To follow when you
Wake.
For the d’Verse challenge: Harbinger
Photo by Pixabay
It wasn’t going to work.
Didn’t matter. She was going to make it work. Somehow.
She threw a bit of this and that into the pot and set it. She hated that slow cooker from the day he’d given it to her. Nightmare to clean.
Down at the basement, she dug out the red four-wheeler. Dragged it upstairs. Helter-skelter added in clothing, shoes, and what-not. Grabbed her purse. Almost forgot her passport. Searched for it. Panicked. Had he hidden it?
Finally found it in a shoe box. Found money, too. Keys to who knows.
On the way out, she checked the pot. Least she could do is leave a last meal.
For Sammi’s Weekend Writing Prompt: Helter-Skelter in 111 words
“Where exactly does your uncle live?”
“You’ll see.”
I narrowed my eyes. Larry relished building tension. Perhaps mandatory in magicians, but guaranteed to annoy offstage!
“This better not be a trick!” I warned.
“It’s not,” he responded. “Scouts honor.”
“You’ve been kicked out of Scouts.”
He laughed.
We traipsed through deserted woods. No house anywhere. Not even a cabin. Just scraggly trees, weeds, and a spooky car wreck. Larry made for the latter.
I followed warily, smelling trickery.
“Here,” he reached under the hood, pressed something, unveiled stairs. “Ta-da! Uncle’s Red’s subterranean house!”
For Rochelle’s Friday Fictioneers
“Well then,” Mom exclaimed.
She was going over Poppa’s papers while I boxed seemingly endless books.
I looked up. There was an album in her lap, black pages empty but for an old postcard.
“He denied it when I’d said he’d taken me there,” Mom whispered. “I was young and believed him, but my heart knew all the same.”
I shook my head. Poppa was as straight-laced as they came.
“He gambled,” she explained. “A salesman meant frequent traveling. He used it to hide visits to casinos.”
She fingered the card. “Radium Springs Casino. I knew I hadn’t dreamed this place. The deep blue water wove tightly with the wheel.”
I gazed at the memento. At my mom.
“I was not-yet-four,” she sighed. “Thomas was just born and Dad took me to ‘work’ so Mom could rest. He played the roulette. … Perhaps his keeping of the card was another gamble.”
For What Pegman Saw: Radium Springs, GA
Photo: Chagit Moriah-Gibor
“What did this?”
Calvin gulped.
“What?!” Eric insisted. “A jeep?”
“Not a car.”
“What then?”
“We better turn back.”
Eric squinted at the muddy furrows.
“Nothing you want to meet in the dark,” Calvin shuddered and revved the motorcycle’s engine.
For Sammi’s Weekend Writing Prompt: Furrowed in 40 words
Photo: Bryan Schneider on Pexels.com
“How does it look?” she twirled,
And I knew she was asking about
A lot more
Than the dress.
“It looks really great,” I answered,
And she knew
It was about
A lot more than
Her silhouette,
Or how the fabric hugged
Her curves.
“Then I’ll take it,” she said.
And we smiled because
We both knew
It meant she will take him, as well.
For Sammi’s Weekend Writing Prompt: Silhouette in 65 words
Photo: Ofir Asif
“Will he come back?” Leah peered over the wall.
Rachel pulled her younger sibling back into the shade.
“Will he?” Leah pressed.
“I don’t know,” Rachel’s voice caught. She coughed to hide her fear. She’d break if her sister became frightened. It would make everything too real.
She didn’t know where they were. A car ride preceded a long hike into the desert and the nap in the ruins. “Best thing during the heat of the day,” Dad said.
He was gone by the time they woke, deserted like forgotten stones.
For Sammi’s Weekend Writing Prompt: Foundations in 91 words
Photo by Carl Attard on Pexels.com
Me being a softy for all manner of new beginnings, wrapping ups, looking back and facing forward, I’ve decided to participate in this lovely idea of a blog-to-blog blanket of gratitude, friendship, and community. Want to join? Read how here (also, thank you, Dale – for the idea).
The short of it? Set a timer for 15 minutes and let loose: write, detail, list, describe and put your gratitude into words. No edits needed. No wrong answers. No test at the end. Nothing to lose and everything to gain.
If you are so inclined, read my unedited, uncensored Gratitude Wrap Up — here I Go!
Want to make your own stream-of-consciousness gratitude list? Follow the link below.
For the 2018 Annual attitudes of gratitude list
A place to improve my writing skills, and that's all.
We're not thriving, we're creatively photosynthesizing under duress.
History of the Bloomingdale area on Manhattan's Upper West Side
A creative miscellany of mythic fantasies
a weekly flash fiction prompt inspired by google maps
A community for writers to learn, grow, and connect.
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