Posts Tagged ‘escape’

Today Pegman took us to Cape Town, South Africa. While scrolling through the sites I found this lovely sculpture on the lawn – somewhere.

“Damn it, June! You’ve hidden my eyeglasses again.”
You can’t keep track of your own nose, old man. “I think you left them on the lawn, next to the lounge chair, Samuel.” June tosses a sweater in the laundry bag.
“Why on God’s green earth would I do that?”
Why indeed. “You read out there last evening.” Five pairs of underpants and a bra go on top.
“That has nothin’ to do with nothin’. Where’d you put ’em?”
If I had a penny for every time you asked that I’d be rich. Two shirts and three pairs of slacks fill the bag. June tugs it closed before lacing up her favorite tennies and slinging the bag across her shoulders. “I’ll go check.”
” ‘Bout time you did something worth doin’.”
Junes steps on Samuel’s glasses on her way to the car, ticket to France bunched in her fist. It sure is.

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PHOTO PROMPT - © Dale Rogerson

“Last time I seen Teadora she was collectin’ them river weeds she weaves in ta’ baskets.”
“Been weavin’ that same old basket over a year. Ain’t got no real shape. Looks more like a banana than a bowl. Big, too”
“She’s a crazy nigger. Not worth a hoot. Stupider than a stump.”
“And I paid 800 bucks for her.”

Behind the house, Teadora listens. Smiles. Loops the bag over her shoulder. Inside? All her belongings – one blouse and raggedy scarf.

By the light of a half-moon she strolls to the river bank, climbs in her tule reed boat and paddles away.

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PHOTO PROMPT ©David Stewart

Sitting alone, listening to umpa music, wasn’t what Rolando had planned.
The night was to be full of adventure, excitement, freedom. And flight.
Yes, he and Fastina were escaping this tiny town full of prejudice.
Returning to Mexico where people ate tortillas stuffed with chicken mole
while listening to mariachi music. And dancing.
Fastina’s father had shouted, “No!” Rolando’s mother? She cried.
Still, the couple packed their bags – hid them by the gazebo.
So where was Fastina? She promised to meet him at 10:00.

Fastina screamed Rolando’s name as five enormous white men
watched another rip the buttons off her blouse.

Almost

Posted: January 7, 2015 in Friday Fictioneers
Tags: , , , , , ,

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 . . .

Begin the Route

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.