Carrot Ranch · Poetry · writing

Snowed In

  I wrote this for the Intermittent Challenge

I thought it wouldn’t matter much.
I had plenty of food;
electricity and gas are still on
‘least for now.

Then I ran out of beer.

I climbed from a second floor window onto the garage roof
and used a broom to clear a path to the edge
where I could sit down and put on my new snow shoes (couple hundred bucks at REI).
Stepping off the roof I only sunk a foot or so.

I can do this.

Leena’s Liquors is on the highway just this side of the river bridge.
It’s about three miles or so.

The prompt and instructions were:

In 99 words, no more, no less, write a story about “buried in the snow.”

OLWG · writing

OLWG#91- Code Name: Scheherazade

Written for OLWG#91

Marney and the Captain sat close to one another in the rear seat of the taxi as it cruised the neighborhoods between Main Street and North Broadmoor. Marney cradled a chrome plated .45 in her lap as they looked for Scheherazade. They’d been driving for almost an hour when Marney glimpsed a splash of colour moving in the park. She nudged the Captain and pointed. He, in turn, leaned forward and spoke to the driver, with a soft voice. The gypsy cab glided to the curb. Marney clasped the door handle. As she pulled the door open she looked back at the Captain and asked,

“Do we really have to kill her?”
“’fraid so, Marney; she knows too much.”

This week’s prompts were:

  1. a gypsy cab glided to the curb
  2. It’s a shame about your future
  3. she knows too much

OLWG · writing

OLWG#90- Piggly Wiggly Book Covers

Written for OLWG#90

Rachel sat apart from the others in detention. Detention, at her school, was like a forced study period that you attended after your class or during your lunch period. This was a lunchtime punishment that Rachel had earned, along with a five dollar fine, for being tardy to Mrs Gaughan’s Civics class and, she passed the time by wadding sheets of notebook paper and trying to toss them into the scoop light mounted high on the wall.

Sometimes she would shoot spit wads at Amanda Bishop through the yellow barrel of her fine point BIC pen. Sometimes she would stare out the window or draw pictures on the covers of her textbooks. Covers made from brown paper shopping bags, cut and folded with the Piggly Wiggly logo in the middle of the front cover.

Amanda Bishop was a bitch who thought she was better than everyone else, smarter than everyone else, prettier than everyone else, but she wasn’t. She was just “dumb ole” Amanda Bishop.

Rachel had just nailed Amanda with a spit wad right near the corner of her left eye when she noticed that there was a tendril of smoke rising from the scoop light where two sheets of paper had actually gone in. She smiled and sat back to watch things unfold.

Amanda Bishop screeched and spun around to look for her assailant at almost the exact moment Mr Pittman noticed the smoke curling up from the light. Pittman panicked and jumped up from his seat behind the desk where he had been reading a newspaper as he oversaw the band of delinquents serving their time in detention. No one had ever seen him move so fast; their attention was immediately drawn to the front of the room.

“Miss Bishop,” Pittman exclaimed, “Go pull the fire alarm.”

“But, but,” Amanda protested wiping the soggy ball of chewed paper from her face.

“NOW, Miss Bishop!”

Amanda stood and moved to the door and out into the hallway. Four or five seconds later she was back and more smoke was coming from the light fixture.

“I can’t get to it, Mr Pittman,” she said, “it’s behind a piece of glass and someone’s taken the little hammer that used to hang there.”

Rachel laughed aloud when Pittman actually grabbed his hair and began pulling, “For God’s sake, Miss Bishop – just break the glass!”

Amanda snatched up her purse and dug out her compact then rushed back into the hall.

“Students,” Mr Pittman addressed them all as he gathered his wits. “Slowly, calmly and, in an orderly manner please exit the classroom and leave the building. If anyone becomes separated from the group, meet at the tennis courts.”

Amanda apparently got the glass broken because the fire alarm pierced the warm spring day with three blasts, “aaagh, aaagh, aaagh,” it sounded.

At the tennis courts, Mr Pittman was pacing nervously back and forth. Amanda Bishop was fussing with her broken compact. Lisa Sullivan and Nicky Shaver were sitting in the grass, making out. Everyone else was just standing around. Rachel made her way over to Amanda Bishop.

“OMG, Amanda,” she said, “you were so brave to go out and set off the alarm. You might get a medal for this; God only knows how many lives you saved today. Did you break your compact?”

“Yeah, I did,” Amanda replied, “It must have broken when I hit it against the glass.”

“I hope you didn’t break the mirror,” Rachel said, “that would be seven years bad luck.” She turned away to watch Lisa and Nicky. Lisa Sullivan was such a slut.

This week’s prompts were:

  1. man-eater
  2. white noise
  3. just break the glass


Carrot Ranch · Poetry · writing

The Matchmaker

  I wrote this for the February 14th Flash Fiction Challenge

My elderly neighbor, Mrs. Silverberg, is always trying to fix me up.
She once arranged me a date with her granddaughter, Ruth.
I liked Ruth, just fine. Ruth just didn’t like me.

She told her grandmother that she had found me – awkward.

On the first of Shevat I happened to meet Mrs. Silverberg at the park.
She wanted to talk with me; about me.
She offered to coach me, so that I might become – less awkward.

It seems that her Rabbi’s youngest daughter may be looking for a husband.
Mrs. Silverberg believes I can be ready by Valentines.

The prompt and instructions were:

In 99 words (no more, no less) write a story about valentines. It can be Valentine’s Day, the exchange, love for another, romance, or friendship. Have a heart and go where the prompt leads!

OLWG · writing

OLWG#89- All Day and a Night

Written for OLWG#89

Duffy had a barred window that let sunlight in, but it was not very large and it was placed high on the wall so he couldn’t see much more than the sky when he looked out of it. At night he would lean against the bars, roll a cigarette, and watch the stars as he smoked.

The glimpse of the night sky that he was afforded was one of the only things that brought him a little peace.

“Hey, Duffy,” the CO yelled from down the block. “I can smell your cigarette. Put it out, NOW!”

“Roll up yer window, ye fuck,” Duff hollered back, “I’m trying to shorten me sentence.”

This week’s prompts were:

  1. he leaned back and lit a cigarette
  2. Window to the stars
  3. ulterior altruism



Carpe Diem

I sit awake in our bed as
You slumber next to me
It’s cold
There’s frost on the garden and I struggle to steal your warmth.
Across the room – a blackened window
A simple thing, of little import, until
Old Sol peeks over the eastern
edge of the earth
Sunflowers turn their heads
to wish him well, as they are want to do.
You stir,
and slide closer.
Today begins anew, as yesterday ended.

Carrot Ranch · Poetry · writing

Country Music

  I wrote this for the February 7th Flash Fiction Challenge

The sign on the door read, “The Unwritten Halibut”. She stood just inside waiting for her eyes to adjust to the gloom. This was her kind of place. It was a drinker’s bar. Dark paneling lined the walls; a couple of neon beer signs glowed in the back. A ghost of smoke held up the ceiling in defiance of a local ban. Rainbow colored bottles sat on glass shelves and four or five patrons rested at the bar; staring into their drinks, not talking. The volume was low as Hank Williams sang a hard luck song on the box.

The prompt and instructions were:

In 99 words (no more, no less) write a story that includes a sign. It can be a posted sign, a universal sign, a wonder. Go where the prompt leads.

OLWG · writing

OLWG#88- Eight Seconds

Written for OLWG#88

Esteban Cuarto stood on the plank that ran across the back of the chute.  He crossed himself and said a quick prayer as he climbed up and over. Esteban stood above the animals back and rubbed with his foot to let him know that there was someone there, then slowly and carefully he lowered himself into position, sitting just forward of the flank rope.

Esteban wore a white cotton shirt with pearl snaps up the front and over the two pockets on his breast. Dark brown leather chaps covered his new blue jeans, and an old sweat stained black felt Stetson perched atop the slicked back dark hair on his head.

He positioned his hand in the handle of the bull rope and pulled it tight wrapping it around his hand in such a way that he clutched several layers of rosined line. Then scooched up close to the bull rope and positioned his pointy toed boots just in front of it, checking that the toe-bugs were where they should be. Leaning forward he tucked in his chin and gave a nod to the gateman.

This week’s prompts were:

  1. veinticinco
  2. pointy toed
  3. What do you have against theatres?


Carrot Ranch · Poetry · writing


  I wrote this for the January 31st Flash Fiction Challenge

Roger stood in the bow and watched the fog roll in. He hunched in his Pea Jacket to stave off the weather. His hands were in his pockets where he clutched a silver flask of brown whisky.

He felt it before he saw it.  He watched it emerge from the haar that obscured visibility to the north. It was an old Soviet boat, running on the surface, twin screws churning the water.

Roger reached for the handset of the sound powered phone, “Bridge – Bow.  Surface  contact  bearing  tree fife  zero,  fife hundred  yards,  moving  left  to  right slowly.”

The prompt and instructions were:

In 99 words (no more, no less) write a story about sea mist. How does it create an environment for a story? It can set the stage or take the stage. Go where the prompt leads.