Decision Made

It’s Wednesday-Friday! Thanks to Dale Rogerson for posting her FF story or I wouldn’t have remembered the day. And thanks to Rochelle for keeping us on track with wonderful photographs to inspire 100-word stories. This photo was provided by Jeff Arnold. Thanks, Jeff, we all need rainbows these days.

Mom loves me, I know she does, but, even though my name is Angela, she calls me Ditzy. Always. No Kidding.
Tonight, I’m living up to that name in spades. After meeting him once, David said, “Come to my boat. I’ll make you dinner.”
Sure, he’d described his boat, color, size, and told me the number of the mooring slip. Now, with the wind whipping blonde curls in my eyes, I don’t remember.
Red? Blue? Sailboat? Motorboat? Slip 9? 14?
Heck! You only live once. I choose the white yacht at the end of the rainbow.

Underground Railroad

This is my 150-word submission to What Pegman Saw on Saturday in Christchurch, New Zealand.

 

 

Ah
The memories you have of that boathouse
When you were
Seventeen-years-old
Blonde
Blue-eyed

Angelic, some said
A demon, a vixen, a harlot
A saint
A savior
The Madonna herself
Names did not concern you

You expected
You waited
Watched
Worried
and hoped

Time was not on your side
You had all the time in the world
Shadows were your friends
and counted among your enemies
Darkness hindered
Darkness helped – when candles were involved
Rarely

They came to you in droves
One at a time
or as couples with children
and without
Some cried when they saw you
A few laughed in panic
and surprise

They mouthed
Help us!
Save us!
Thank you!
Here! Take this!

You did not accept money
Kisses
or hugs
Merely shoved them into
canoes
drift boats
scows

Whispering
Not now
Be silent
Go! Go! Go!

How many did you save?
Ask them
You never counted

 

<!– start InLinkz script –>

An InLinkz Link-up

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

Almost

Wednesday/Friday has rolled around once again. This is my 100 word submission for Friday Fictioneers inspired by sad news reported on the radio last week. Do they ever report good news? Every now and then, I suppose. On that note . . .

They’d left Myanmar on Nakaji’s fishing boat – just the three of them.
“Stupid idea,” Swimon had shouted.
“You got $300?” Nakaji had asked.
High seas, enormous freighters then the big storm. They lost everything – the child, each other.

Which way to go now? Nakaji fidgeted at the crossroads.
He recognized her star pasted to the pole – proving Swimon had made it here alive.

People hurried by whispering “Arrest” “Riff-raff”
What did that mean?
Across the street clogged with cars, he saw her beautiful face. Called, “Swimon!”
He stepped from the curb.
“No you don’t!” Police. Handcuffs. Swimon disappeared.

Their Story

Let’s say we have a man and a woman. Let’s say they’re in a boat. Let’s put the boat in a lake.
He wraps an arm around her. She leans into his shoulder, kisses him and says, “Love you.”
Oh, I know it can go another way.
Maybe she doesn’t want the arm there. You can tell because she pulls away.
Maybe she’s waiting to tell him, “I’m pregnant.” or “I’m leaving.”
But I’m telling you it goes the first way.
Maybe they remove their clothes,
make love with swans floating around them. Hokey, I know.
But this is their story, not mine.

An InLinkz Link-up