Holidays with Dad

“Portishead? What part of Saskatchewan is that in?”

“Not in Saskatchewan. Not even close. Not far from Bristol though”

“So what about it then?”

“Holidays Dad. Holidays”

“When are ya goin’?”

“We”

“We what?”

“When are we goin’, Dad”

“I’m not goin’.”

“Sure ya are.”

“Nope, not me.”

“Ya can write there, Dad.”

“Write what?”

“Yer poems.”

“I don’t write. I specially don’t write poems.”

“They’re stuck up on post it notes all over the house.”

“Crap”

“I like this one, Dad”

“What’s it say?”

“’This is the beginning of forever and ever’”

“Sounds more like a fortune cookie, ya ask me.”
.
.
.
“Here’s a good start on another, ‘Two young hares, rump to rump like dueling pistols, crouched by the gate.’ Pretty deep that. Where ya goin’ with that one, Dad?”

“’Spose, I’m goin’ to fuckin’ Portishead with that one, eh.”

“Yep, ‘spose so.”

Third place in the SpeakEasy – No one is more surprised than I.  No one is more honored than I.  Too cool.  Too cool.

Rules:
• Your post must be dated April 6, 2013, or later.
• Submissions must be 750 words or fewer.
• Submissions must be fiction or poetry.
• You must include the following sentence ANYWHERE in your submission: “Two young hares, rump to rump like dueling pistols, crouched by the gate.”
• You must also include a reference to the media prompt

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I Don’t Have a Clue

“Well if you’re so smart? Who dunnit?” she asked.

“Professor Plum, in the conservatory, with a rope,” he replied.

“Are you sure?”

“I’m positive.”

“Only fools are positive,” she quipped.

“Are you sure?” he asked.

She shrugged, “I’m not sure of anything.”

 


Recipe for a proper gargleblaster

  • Entries must be 42 words exactly. We count.
  • Non-fiction, fiction, and poetry are all welcome.

This week’s question:

Who dunnit?

 

Daily Prompt: Make Me Smile

Daily Prompt: Make Me Smile

If you’re feeling blah, what is the one thing you do that you can count on to put a smile on your face?


 

“OK, look at me and say ‘Cheese’”.
“Cheeeeeeese.” The shutter opened and the flash popped.

***

Doctor Jekyll swallowed the serum, clutched his throat and fell behind the lab table, writhing and choking. When Mr. Hyde arose – he brushed off his trousers, checked the cutthroat razor in his coat pocket, placed his hat on his head with a rakish tilt, and headed out the door for an evening’s entertainment, smiling and whistling an unidentifiable tune.

***

“Of course, I’ll marry you,” he said. Then they kissed, smiled and got lost in one another’s eyes.

***

Michelle typed in all caps, ‘THE END’. She pulled the final page from the platen and grinned as she placed it gently atop the others. She straightened the edges as she flipped the pile over, took the first page off the stack, and leaned back in her chair to read.

***

The man stepped out of the hospital elevator on the ground floor. His face was lighting up the room when he put the cigar into my breast pocket, patted it and said, “It’s a girl!” Then without further ado, he turned and walked towards the front door.

***

When she placed the forkful into her mouth a warm smile spread slowly across her face. Warmer even, than the apple pie.

***

The blast was small and contained, but still raised a lot of dust. As it settled, Ruben stepped over the rubble and looked into the ruined vault. A slow upturn of the corners of his mouth betrayed his emotion as he started filling bags.

***

Livingston raised his eyes, looking upward without lifting his head. He pointed his right index finger at the sky and slowly smiled, “Eureka, I’ve found it.”

***

“Mom, Mom – I’m in” she squeaked. Jumping up and down, she clutched and waved the letter excitedly.
“I’m so proud of you,” her mother beamed and came around the desk to give her a hug.

***

“OK, contestants, Are you ready to play?” he shouted. Then, as if flicking a switch, his hundred watt smile lit the stage.

***

“No, no; Marie. Don’t smile. I want you sultry.” He scolded as he stepped around the camera.
“Sultry? Me?” she threw back her head and laughed. A full strong laugh.


 

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