The Diary

Today Pegman took us to the Great Barrier Reef to swim with turtles! How fun is that? What a wonderful place for the imagination to spin out of control.

Clutching her tattered diary, the old woman speaks.
“I’ve flown with pelicans. Sung with whales and danced with fairies in the dark. Once I rode a turtle’s back. I’ve lived inside a volcano. Built a house from coral and carried it to the top of a mountain in the palm of my hand.”
The children giggle.
“I’ve lain in fields of golden glass poppies and slept in ice caves so blue and warm I needed to wear my swimsuit.” Wink. “Or nothing at all.”
The children go silent.
“I’ve loved and been loved by dragons and kings, princesses and Gollums. I’ve been to war, caused a war and ended a war. Fire is my friend. Weakness my enemy.”
The children grow bored. The woman falls asleep.
Carefully the eldest child steals the diary, opens it. Feathers and fairy wings, fire, coral, ice, and shards of golden glass drift upon the floor.

A Final Letter

Today Pegman took us to Cape Crozier for a wee camping trip. This is my 150-word story about this rocky place.

My Dearest Angela,
The wind blew brusquely last night. Twice I found myself braving the cold to place rocks around the tent base while Charles slept soundly. Although his face is blackened by frostbite and most of his fingers are gone, he remains a pleasant companion.
I’m afraid we shall be trapped on this outcrop until spring. Snow has fallen for ten full days and buried our supplies. How I wish I had planned better. We were forced to abandon our scientific equipment two months ago for it became too heavy for the ponies to pull. Our clothes soak up moisture and do not dry out. We have eaten our leather boots. Ice crystals tear at the wool of ours socks. They are shredded.
The ponies ran away four days ago.
We have eaten all the dogs.
My one wish is to see you. Faithfully yours, Frances

<!– start InLinkz script –>

An InLinkz Link-up

https://static.inlinkz.com/cs2.js
<!– end InLinkz script –>

No Luck with Magic

PHOTO PROMPT © Janet Webb

Tashira collected everything, just as the old ones had instructed. Two hundred fairy wings stored in a crystalline jar. Four dragonfly eyes, two red and two green. A gossamer gown from Princess Hashir, the troll who lived beneath the Covfefe River. She melted three bars of gold to create a candelabra that held a single candle created from the tallow of bears. All that work for nothing. William the Orange remained a king who played while his selfish children ruled the kingdom, and tomorrow she would marry the eldest son who looked every bit like Dracula. Tashira began to weep.

100-words

An InLinkz Link-up

https://static.inlinkz.com/cs2.js

Timothy’s Savior

Well, isn’t this desk a fine mess? It almost makes me feel like cleaning mine – almost. Instead, I wrote this 100-word story about it. Thanks, Rochelle, for posting yet another picture to make the Friday Fictioneer clan put fingertips to keyboards.

PHOTO PROMPT © Claire Sheldon

Tick-tock, tick-tock.
Timothy ripped the clock from the wall, pulled the plug on the refrigerator, threw his computer out the window just to quiet its hum. No sound should remind him of his old life. Still, his heart pounded so violently, blood rushed in his ears – like the echo of ocean waves caught inside a nautilus shell. That’s what Angie would have said. But Angie, his heart of hearts was gone. Absolutely nothing mattered.
“Daddy?”
Timothy turned from the window. And there, standing with her stuffed penguin clutched in one hand was little Beatrice. He knelt and opened his arms.

An InLinkz Link-up

https://static.inlinkz.com/cs2.js
<!– end InLinkz script

Twisted History

We strolled through Berlin with Pegman today. Oh, the sites he showed us. I liked this view of the Berlin wall, so stopped to enjoy a pint and listen to what Schwartzie had to say. I found out he’s not a pleasant man. On the other hand, Mordechai is very patient.

“Is this why we built the wall? Is this what we asked for? This crazy art?”
Schwartzie, shut up! One night of peace! Please! That’s all I ask!
“Finally got the Jews on their side. Us on ours.”
No, we didn’t. Chava Kline tutors my kids.Couldn’t find a better teacher.
“And those homos! Poof! Gone!”
One of those homos cleans our house ten times better than my wife.
“We built that wall to keep niggers on their own side!!! Now we’re defacing it.”
Schwartzie! Drink your beer and go. Please. People who come to my bar don’t want to listen to your interpretation of history.
As if conjured, Jamelle Horowitz, the blackest gay Jew the bartender ever met, strolled into the bar, spray paint can in hand.
“Hey, Mordechai, my sister can’t teach your kids tomorrow, got a cold. And I can’t clean your house, got a wall to paint.”

<!– start InLinkz script –>

An InLinkz Link-up

https://static.inlinkz.com/cs2.js
<!– end InLinkz script –>

Homecoming

Photo by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

The stones rang with laughter, the sound of bells and shouts from women so lonely they felt they would never be whole again. Battles had raged for five years, not a man remained in the village. On nights flush with drunken soldiers from foreign countries chickens and pigs were slaughtered, family quilts used for tents. Now, now, their men were only ten miles out, physically and mentally broken and bent. But these women were prepared, for they adored their men and no-longer-boys. Mattresses had been stuffed with chicken feathers, broth stewed from pig bones, love stitched into every new quilt.

An InLinkz Link-up

https://static.inlinkz.com/cs2.js

Deliverance Redux

Pegman sailed us to Pitcairn Island today. Usually, I don’t read other writer’s stories before I write mine, but I read k rawson’s wee tale on a whim. So I’m sorry that Deliverance Redux follows in her story’s footsteps. I just couldn’t help it!

We don’t particularly likes it much when strangers tromp upon our island. Take this feller for instance, all set up with his little blue fishin box and fancy catchin pole. Round here, strangers stick out like pups born in the wrong litter. Nones of us wears them kinda clothes nor hats such as the one he’s clamped over his hair. Straw, that’s what we likes upon our heads. Don’t much admire his boots neither. Gots to have sandals strapped to the feets so’s you can feel them itchy sand kernels between your toes. Otherwise, you can’t figger where you is. Don’t knows xactly how he found our scrap of paradise but I reckon he won’t be stayin long. Billy Bets’ll see to that. Yep. He’ll wander on down there, talk a spell. For you can say, “Let’s have us a bar-be-cue,” there’ll be fresh meat for the grill.

An InLinkz Link-up

https://static.inlinkz.com/cs2.js