Hard Times

Once again it’s time to sketch a story from Rochelle’s weekly picture prompt. This week’s photo has been provided by Amy Reese. Thank you, Amy. My story weighs in at 103 words, whittled down from 111.

A pack’s worth of cigarette butts lay at Jamar’s feet when he rose from the bottom step. His knees and shoulders ached from hunching in the 20-degree cold. No coat, no hat, shoes held together with tape. A slap to his thigh brought his lab, Tinker. Together the old pals shuffled through the snow to the corner – their corner – hard won and jealously guarded.
Jamar set the cracked porcelain bowl beside his foot, pulled a harmonica from his pocket. The first note was raw. Still, a dime clinked into the bowl, followed by a woman’s voice, “That child can’t be more than ten.”

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Never Ending Time

It’s Wednesday – Friday again! Doug, thanks for this picture. There’s so much going on it was difficult to decide what to write about. Most of all it made me want to go to a warm beach and collect flotsam and jetsam that has floated up on the sand. Thanks, Rochelle, for keeping our merry band of writers on our toes.

Time seemed jumbled – years piled upon years.
People from all over the world visited Toyashi,
bringing shells, beads, bottles, rocks.
Payment was not important.
In return he healed their wounds
with elixirs he himself created.

He loved many who had come,
stayed, then died.

At first the years arrived like storms
full of laughter and dancing.
Later they resembled warm summer days
he wanted to last forever.
Now they are cold and never ending.
Like Toyashi.

The one thing people asked for –
knew he had –
was the secret to eternal life.
That elixir Toyashi would not share
and wished he’d never found.

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