Paper Dreams

Wednesday/Friday is here again. Thanks, Rochelle, for posting such a pretty picture provided by Priya Bajpal. My stab at writing a 100-word story follows.

photo by Priya Bajpal

They suggested Anya write wishes on paper and put them in a jar
saying this small action would provide hope.
Selecting the color and texture of the paper
was more difficult than knowing her wishes.
Food. Water. Freedom from pain.
Small comforts. Clean sheets. Crisp gowns.

Every day Anya slipped a wish into her crystalline jar
then nestled a polished shell on top
because Father told her shells carried
luck within their curls and swales.

Skeleton thin, and calling
for water, water, water,
Mother died writhing in pain.
Anya dropped a match in the center of her wishes.

 

Madness

Wednesday/Friday has rolled around again. It took some time to come up with an idea to go with the photo our Fairy Blog Mother, Rochelle Wisoff-Fields, posted this a.m. but here is my 99-word stab at a story.

“Oh, Anne, you know Samuel’s dead.”
“No, he’s still alive. I feel it, here, in my heart.”
“Two years . . .”
“A mother knows if her son is dead. Mine isn’t.”
“But we found his camera. Shoes. And horse bones. All wrapped in vines and decay.”
“No matter! My Samuel doesn’t need those things to live! My Samuel is strong and smart.”
“But he knew nothing about the Amazon. Snakes, gnats, mosquitos can drive a man insane!”
“This was his third expedition. He knew! He did!”

Glassy-eyed Samuel walks silently along the Xingu River. Ten shrunken heads dangling from his belt.

The Wishing Tree

Wednesday-Friday has rolled back around. Thanks to Rochelle Wisoff-Fields we have another picture to weave a 100-word story around.

At some point, everyone delivered a wish.

The believers arrived regular, bearing all kinds of gifts.
Patty: Appeared every Sunday totin flowers, til “Baby” was born too early.
Wall-eyed Lester: Brought colored rocks. Hopein for a girlfriend. I tried. I did!
Ain’t seen neither of em for a while.

The scoffers turned round after some twist of fate or nother.
Lindsey-June: Stage 4 cancer. Didn’t even try.
Jim-Bob: 57 Chevy caught fire on bridge #7. No fixin that!
Clairene: Not nobody can patch a dog flattened by a truck.

Today, everyone delivers one wish.
Wall-eyed Lester revs his chainsaw.

I make a wish.
No one tries.

Until We Are No More

Pegman took us to Sambor Prei Kuk Temple, Cambodia today. What an amazing place. I wandered around the grounds until I found this amazing picture. My 119-word story follows.

 

Oh, we are a pair are we not?
Wound around one another’s lives
One of us limber and forgiving
The other solid and stern

We laugh over the details
of our failures
We cry over the unforgivable losses
Children
Parents
Homes
Jobs
Joy
Not because either of us is to blame
but because there is no one to blame

We cling and claw our way
through days
And languish in our nights
Making love
or fighting
It doesn’t matter which

Because each brilliant dawn
we awaken with the hope
that one of us will
Let go
Cling tighter
Love harder
Turn away

Or we will both
remain the same
and get on with it
Until we are no more

What Mother Wrought

Lovers come to the bench.
The teenagers spy.
Ephemeral. Unmoving. Only their heads peek ’round the hedge.
None speak. They simply watch.
Tommy ponders the smoothness of women’s skin.
Annabelle enjoys the muscles rippled across men’s backs.
Susanne resents everything about the couples. Would stop them if she could.
For the siblings will never feel such things, make such sounds
or hear the words, “I love you.”
Suffocation should have put an end to anticipation and hope.
But, they feel the need to return. Night after night.
Year after year.
Century upon century.

Today’s Photo Prompt was provided by Liz Young 

Summer Dreams

Today Rochelle Wisoff-Fields both provided and posted the photo prompt for the Friday Fictioneers Clan. Our Fairy Blog Mother takes good care of us.

 

Bent beneath the children’s backs, the grass smelled like spring and hope and freedom.
“What you see in them clouds?”
June, “I sees a angel. Wings spread wider ‘n Papa’s arms stretch when he wants a hug.”
Todd, “A frog wid fifteen fat legs. Cut ’em off so’s Mama can pop ’em in the frypan.”
Rosie, “An airplane. Me flyin’ it.”

Back at home, the house smelled of old grease and unwashed, drunken Papa.
The frying pan sat empty, but the bed was full of Mama, bruised and broken.
“Soup?” Rosie stared at the last cans in the cupboard. “Or beans?”

(100 words)

Broken Promise

I’ve been told that this picture has been used before for our Friday Fictioneer prompt. When I went back into my archives, I found the picture but I’d never written a story. Who knows what happened that day? So here’s a fresh never been told, by me, story. Thanks Rochelle and Al.

 

PHOTO PROMPT © Al Forbes

If it ain’t been for da’ problem, Jacob and Ruby would a’ made it cross dat lazy ole river
but God or da water, somethin’ or someone had a different plan.
All morning they’d lugged moonshine up dat hill to Mister Avirett’s Model T.
He’d promised them $50 and a ride to Orleans
where Jacob could finally start his night club.
Yes, indeedy Jacob shore be lookin’ forward to dat.
When they found my boy and his wife all drowned
Mister Avirett act as if he never seen them two before.
Just drove away with $200 worth of ‘shine hid beneath the seats.

(101 words)

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The Busker

Goodness! Wednesday/Friday has rolled around again. Thanks to Dee, we have snow in July. My 101 word story was inspired by an article on NPR – so, thanks to them, too.

Billy slipped into his shoes, holes and all, and stepped outside. Ice crystals tickled his skin. Snow. Tightening his shabby coat across his ten-year-old chest, he shuffled to the train station. The soles of his feet registered the number of travelers scurrying across the wooden platform – more than usual. Perhaps this would be the day he could buy carrots and potatoes for his mother. Quickly retrieving five leather balls from his pocket, he began juggling – sensing the balls by the change in the air.
Billy heard a coin drop.
“Come away, Stephanie,” a woman said.
“But, Mamma, Blind Billy is back!”

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