Archive for the ‘Uncategorized’ Category

The Push

Posted: February 4, 2015 in Uncategorized

Although this is a rather peaceful picture, it leaves me with a cold and lonely feeling. Perhaps it’s the shadows? The abandoned building? The weak ray of light giving the scene the feeling of abandonment before the gloam of evening? At any rate, here’s my 101 word submission for this week’s gathering of muses. Thank you Melanie Greenwood for the picture and to Rochelle for providing it as a prompt. garden maze
“In this maze we call life, what really matters?
We are here – then gone in a blink.
A fraction of a second in the scheme of life.”

“But, Papa.”

“We are born, we live, we die.
In between, we do the best we can.
Good over evil. Wise over foolish.”

“But – ”

“Life must be lived to the fullest every second, every minute.
What counts is what we leave behind.
Your sister leaves a trail of love and laughter.
A myriad of friends.”

“But – ”

“Silence!”

Emil locks the truth inside.
Now no one will ever know Britta did not trip on the stairs.

This is my 100 Word contribution to Friday Fictioneers. We can thank Ted Strutz for the thought provoking picture. If you want to learn more about Tabitha Babbit you can find a very brief history at – http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Tabitha_Babbitt

PHOTO PROMPT - Copyright Ted Strutz

“Square peg in a round hole that one.”
“Ah, she ain’t so bad.”
“Nuttier than a walnut tree.”

Paying no attention to the men sweating over the pit saw
Tabitha places her invention beside them.

“It’s a spinnin’ wheel.”
“But what the hell has she done to it?”

The notched tin disk rigged to the spinning wheel begins to whir with the touch of her foot on the pedal.
Tabitha takes the half log the men have been working, pushes it against the disk.
With a squeal the log rips into two perfect boards.

“I’ll be damned. A circular saw.”

Even though you have a good life – a great life – you often long to walk in someone else’s shoes.

Take the guy you found on Facebook – by accident – and you thought “what a funny guy” because the picture was of a road sign that read INDIAN WRITING with an arrow below the words, and the arrow was pointing at the guy, an Indian, standing in the road with a notebook and pen – writing. You ask him to be your friend and, even though he has no idea who you are, he says yes. The more posts you read, the more you like him. He is an archaeologist. You did archaeology for twelve years! He posts selfies: him on the rim of the grand canyon, him holding an ancient pot shard, him uncovering the floor of a long-abandoned hogan. Oh, how you want to walk in his shoes – for just a day, maybe two. He posts pictures of his legs spread long on a couch with his favorite cat nestled on his knees. You love cats! He is also a rancher. He posts pictures of empty cattle troughs and thirsty cows. He explains how many trips it takes to fill each trough by water truck. How much that costs. He shows pictures of dying cattle. His last post says he is out of money. Not even two pennies to rub together. You decide your shoes fit just fine.

Take your favorite co-worker. We’ll call her Eva. Everyone admires her – loves her if truth be told – not just because she is a Scandinavian beauty with hair the color of golden silk and eyes bluer than flax flowers. They love Eva because she does simple things: throws “baby” showers for newly acquired pets, remembers children’s birthdays, brings chocolates to anyone feeling down and out, and always, always laughs at corny jokes. You love Eva because she called every night for a week after your mother died. You would wear her shoes in an instant if it meant you could learn how to be as thoughtful and kind as Eva. One day Eva is fired. Gone in a snap. True, she deserves to be let go. Each day for a month she has carefully peeled the end paper off a spool of thread – thirty shades of pink – then put the end paper back. Not much, but surely dishonest. You don’t know why she has stolen thread, nor do you care. No one asks. Not even your boss – no second chances. Everyone drops Eva like a hot rock. Especially you. Stealing is wrong – even something as simple as three yards of thread is too much. Later you discover she lives in a broken down trailer on the wrong side of town with her mother – turned invalid by her drunken father. She supports both of them and two nephews abandoned by her sister. Today a hand-made quilt arrives for your newborn baby girl The card reads “Love, Eva.”

Today you decide your shoes feel a bit worn, too tight, and maybe you need to rethink the style.

Heart Song (Hjerte Sang)

Posted: December 24, 2014 in Uncategorized

PHOTO PROMPT - Copyright -Björn Rudberg

Ten years ago Britt kissed Bjorn on the rocky steps
built above the stone wall overlooking Sognefjord.
Oh, that kiss! Warm – in spite of the crystalline spray rising
from the wind-churned waters twenty feet below.
Air vibrating with the calls of fulmars and gannets,
Britt’s heart beat with a rhythm she’d never felt.

Now Bjorn is gone – lost in a battle filled with whispering arrows and ringing axes.
Moans. Howls. Cries of victory. Shouts of loss.
And the never-ending scent of enemy blood.

What remains of him? The song of gannets and the smile of a child named Hjerte Sang.

 

The Kaleidoscope

Posted: September 24, 2014 in Uncategorized

Copyright - Marie Gail Stratford

Hungry, dirty, and scared, David huddled in the attic corner, wincing each time an explosion rocked the earth.
“If we don’t return,” Father had said, “look inside the kaleidoscope.”
David had. Bits of glass, beads and pebbles whirled inside – reflecting off the mirrors.
“I’m going blind, looking inside the kaleidoscope.”
What was he supposed to find? Who knew?
What he wanted – water and a hunk of cheese.
The eye piece felt cold against his skin.
Yellows and reds were the predominant colors. Some blue. Lots of boring white.
David shattered the kaleidoscope against the wall.
Seven perfect diamonds spilled across the floor.

Saving Saphira

Posted: September 17, 2014 in Uncategorized

©Tales_From_the_Motherland

His sister’s fate in his hands, Deide had much to think about.
Mother said Saphira had been flirting.
Father said she had shamed not only them but their ancestors.
Saphira said she had merely nodded to the man as he handed her the pearls she was to wear on her wedding day.
The acid was easy to come by, Mother admitted. Easy to toss on her daughter while she slept.
Beauty gone, pain constant, Saphira begged Deide to make it all go away.
How could he? He loved her. How could he not?
Deide picked up his gun.

Sorry today’s tale is a bit dark. It stems from an article I read about a woman who threw acid on her daughter, burning over 70% of her body, just for smiling at a merchant in the market. I thought, How can a mother give birth to and rear a beautiful daughter, then ruin her so completely? Anyway, thanks for bearing with me and thanks to Dawn Landau for the gorgeous picture and thanks to Rochelle for keeping us on our toes.