A place filled with mostly unfinished stories. Begun primarily as a direct result of my association with the OC Writer's Guild
A mini saga (50 words) for this week’s prompt at Tuesday Scribes.
Mercier kneeled, surveying the scene.
Presently… “It’s clear what’s happened, Addington,” he addressed his assistant.
“Obviously, Wilberforce was perched on the wall, enjoying a cuppa and reading the Times. He angered the wrong fire god.” Rising to his feet and with a flourish of his cape Mercier added, “And exploded.”
You are never going to believe this, but I spent a couple of days on this one.
It was done for OLWG#61
This week’s prompts were:
Written for the July 26th Flash Fiction Challenge
The prompt and instructions were:
In 99 words (no more, no less) write a story about what happens next to a stranded suitcase. Go where the prompt leads you, but consider the different perspectives you can take to tell the tale.
I spent more than twenty-five minutes
Writing this one for OLWG#60
This week’s prompts were:
Written for the July 19th Flash Fiction Challenge
Grandma pointed at the faces in the photo one by one.
“That’s Bea, she was my mother. These here are her sisters; Beryl, Fannie, and Clint. Bea became an oilman’s wife and your great-grandma. Clint ran the ranch for as long as she could. Beryl taught at the schoolhouse. She was a teacher of mine when I was young, and Fannie – well Fannie disappeared up north. Some say she was a spy or an assassin. That her life caught up with her, others say she was a gambler; killed in a poker game at a saloon in Kewenaw.”
Just a Cigarette Story
Written for OLWG#59
Silver skin birch lined the ridge behind the house. We could see them from the porch, leaves, just a blur of undulating variations of green as the breeze rippled through them in the sunlight on those fair days. Celeste longed to hike up to those trees; we talked about it – we talked about it a lot, but somehow the time got away from us. We even went so far as looking up trails along the ridge, and there was one. Reportedly, it was little more than a track and we wanted to do it, but as I said somehow, time just got away from us.
Years sped by, as they will. We always had other things that needed doing. Work on the house that required doing. There were birthday celebrations, weddings, and funerals that needed attending. We took trips to Stockholm, London, København, Firenze, Paris, Sydney, Rio, and Hong Kong. We never did get around to that hike along the ridge, that walk through the birches. We both had our work.
When she took ill, the ridge walk dropped off the table. On hold, until she got well. We spent over a year in consultation and treatment with doctors, specialists. Yet, it was for naught. When Celeste passed, almost fifteen years ago now, it was for the best. She’d suffered enough. I found it difficult to move on. I developed a tendency to crawl into a nearby bottle when life got tough and life was pretty tough without her.
This morning, though, I was thinking of her and the weather was favourable. I grabbed water and food, food that was heavy on the carbs and protein. I threw my pack in the truck and drove south to the pass. I came to a fire road cutting east that disappeared into the foothills. I didn’t make it far before I had to jump down from the cab to lock in the hubs on my old truck. The road was climbing, and pretty rough, but I kept on. I finally had to pull off the track and leave the truck burrowed into the brush. I grabbed my supplies and started walking.
“I thought we’d get a bit further before we had to walk, Celeste. We may not make it to the ridge today. If we do, it’ll be late.” I told her, as I shrugged my pack up higher on my back.
I got to where what I figured the right ridge to be. It rose off to my left. I turned and walked a couple of hours before stopping. I had found a flat rock in the sun so I feasted on a PBJ, and half a bag of jerky, finishing it off with too much water. I studied the red and umber striations in the warm, flat rock where I lay and dreamed of Celeste. She looked young and unravaged by the disease that had taken her.
“Turn around,” she told me, “go back. You’re too old for this kind of shit. We’re both too old.”
“I want to see this place. I want to show it to you.” I said.
When I woke, the sun was a lot closer to the horizon. I judged that I had slept for at least an hour and a half, if not more.
I peed before continuing my trek, but the trail was tough. It had lots of ups and downs, lots of switchbacks. I still hadn’t made the trees when it began to get dark.
“We oughta pack it in for the night,” I told her. “This track will be pretty treacherous in the dark. I don’t want you getting hurt.”
She laughed at me, “Worry about yourself, old timer. I’ll wait for you at the treeline.”
I found a flat spot with good grasses for a cold camp and Celeste continued up the trail.
I slept – rested until well into the morning before continuing after her. The trodden grass, broken twigs, and turned over stones made her easy to track. Finally, around mid-morning, I caught sight of the trees in the distance. Pushing on, I found her in a clearing, waiting. She had a fire going and coffee on the boil. As I approached, she poured a second cup for me and held it out. She didn’t speak.
“Thanks,” I said taking the proffered cup. I scouted out the nearest tree where I sat down and leaned my head against the trunk; closed my eyes, and drifted off. She stayed nearby.
This week’s prompts were:
Just a moment or two
Written for OLWG#58
Brian Yednak looked at his phone. It was a message from reception telling him that his 1030 appointment was in the lobby. Sighing, he rose from the desk, pulled his sport coat on over his shirt and felt the pocket for his pipe. It was there and he longed to take it out, clench the stem between his teeth, and inhale the ‘over processed’ office air through the scented tobacco that he had loaded in the bowl. Years ago he could have gotten away with that but not today. These days you weren’t allowed to smoke at work. Hell, he couldn’t even wear aftershave, or a scented deodorant. Somebody might be allergic to it.
Brian grinned to himself as he made his way into the passage and headed to reception. Girls used to like the ‘Sport’ scent that he wore then. Girls liked ‘Sport’ and when it was combined with the vanilla scented tobacco, it drove ‘em crazy. Well those things combined with his boyish grin used to pack ‘em in. Then the world changed, but it was OK. These days; girls loved secrets. They’d do anything if they thought it would get you to tell them your secrets. Brian found it easy to make up secrets but he was getting older, he didn’t smell like ‘Sport’ anymore and couldn’t smoke in the office. Girls were harder to come by nowadays. He turned right at the main corridor and pushed his way through the door out to the reception and there waited a young guy with a bad haircut and an ill fitting suit; he was tall and lanky when he stood, appearing to be about twenty-five pounds underweight. He looked in Brian’s direction, but not actually at Brian. He didn’t say a word.
“Ballantyne?” Brian asked.
The young man nodded his head and glanced at a small slip of paper he held in his hand, “Mr. Redneck?” he asked back.
Brian grimaced, “Yednak,” he corrected the young man, “Yednak.”
“What?”
“My name… its Yednak. Not Redneck.”
“Oh, sorry; my mom took the message. She wrote Redneck. She’s getting older and her hearing must be starting to go.”
“Not a problem – happens all the time. You should just call me Brian. How old is she?”
“Who?”
“Who? Well your mom. Weren’t you talking about your mom?”
“Oh, yeah. She’s really old. She’ll be fifty in a couple of years. In some ways she’s still good, ya know? I mean, she still drives and cooks and all. She gave me a ride here today because, I don’t drive. She parked in the shade under that big tree in the lot. Do you think she’ll be OK there?”
There was an awkward pause until Brian laughed. He clapped the young man on the shoulder, “Let’s go down the hall. There should be a free meeting room close by.” He looked at Emily, the receptionist who nodded.
“407 should be free,” Emily informed them. She leaned over and handed Ballantyne a sticky note that she had folded in half. Her hand lingered on his.
“Call me, Matthew,” she blushed and looked down, “anytime.”
“Oh, sure, thanks.” he replied as he hurried after Brian Yednak who was strolling down the passageway, shaking his head from side to side.
This weeks prompts:
Forty-four words
Written for OLWG#57
Annabel’s eyes snapped open and she gasped
Something? It was faint but might be growing.
A crackle
A whiff of smoke
Buttery coloured light, lithe on the walls.
Get up-
get the dog-
grab a toothbrush-
snatch that photo of Mom by the door.
This weeks prompts:
tnkerr-Writing Prompts and Practice 