A Young Girl’s Radiant Hair

Written for this challenge – Thank you Peter



pineapple, slickers, lemon cakes and, autumn leaves
Texas flowers; Sulphur; and a long brick road
butter, canaries, scrambled eggs too
don’t forget dump trucks or cheese, chicks and daffodils cannot be forgot
there’s also a certain old dog who deserves to be here

turmeric sprinkled on a bowl of mac and cheese

a moon, a lion, a taxi, rubber ducks
banana popsicles, sunsets, and sunshine (in general)
pages, apricots, squash, or mustard
a young girl’s radiant hair
a river in China, Pikachu too
Van Gogh, his sunflowers, and the bee he never drew

the humble school bus


The prompt that I chose was:

Yellow

OLWG#130- 90 point 7 – Take 2

This  was written and then rewritten for OLWG#130



The smooth voice of Eugenia Ricks, host of Jazz Flavours, washed over me in waves, as the music faded out behind her. I smiled.

“You’re listening to WVAS, 90.7 on your FM dial. This is Eugenia and that was the Pennywhistle Band performing their version of “The Swallowtail.”

I’ve known Ginny since I was five years old, when her parents bought the house next to ours on Willow Court in Horace. She’s two months younger than I. Her birthday’s in May while mine’s in March. She and I became fast friends, bicycling together in the summer months; sledding together in the snow.

There was a period of time there, I guess it was when we were about sixteen or seventeen were her folks, along with mine tried to keep us apart. They said it was inappropriate for us to be so close but that didn’t work for very long. We were best friends. After graduation we went to different schools. I went to Rasmussen and got my Bachelors in Software Applications Development. Ginny went to NDSU and studied broadcasting. We got married when we finished school and lived in Ginny’s parent’s basement while she looked for work. I earned a little money by doing freelance programming and some consulting work in CyberSecurity. Then Ginny got the offer from WVAS. It was a long way from where we had always called home and a long way from our families, but we talked about it and decided that was the point. We wanted to start a life of our own, find our own home, and build our own family; together. She took the position offered and we moved down south.

WVAS is a Montgomery Station but you can pick it up in Selma. Eugenia and I live in Selma. The cost of living is more than 10% better in Selma. She bought a hybrid and commutes to Montgomery every day to do her show and all the other work that a radio personality has to do. She does appearances, she does a lot of paperwork, she mans the phones (maybe I should say that she womans the phones), and she plans things. Who would have thought that broadcasters spend so much time planning things? I followed her here from Fargo when she got the job. I write code. I can work from anywhere and honestly, I’d follow Eugenia everywhere.

Love’s the word I’m searching for, love’s the word.


The prompts were:

  1. Pennywhistle Band
  2. followed her to Selma
  3. love’s the word

I rewrote this because of a comment I received on the first publication. It made me realize that it needed to be redone. So I redid it. Sorry for the confusion Leigh.


OLWG#130- 90 point 7

This  was written for OLWG#130



The smooth voice of Eugenia Ricks, host of Jazz Flavours, washed over me as the music faded out behind her.

“You’re listening to WVAS, 90.7 on your FM dial. This is Eugenia and that was the Pennywhistle Band performing their version of “The Swallowtail.”

WVAS is a Montgomery Station but you can pick it up in Selma. Eugenia and I live in Selma. She commutes to Montgomery every day to do her show and all the other work that a radio personality has to do as well. She does appearances, she does a lot of paperwork, she mans the phones (maybe I should say that she womans the phones). I followed her here from Fargo when she got the job. I write code. I can work from anywhere and honestly, I’d follow Eugenia everywhere.

Love’s the word I’m searching for, love’s the word.


The prompts were:

  1. Pennywhistle Band
  2. followed her to Selma
  3. love’s the word

Not a Good Day to Become an Outlaw

I dusted off some old words and reworked them – pared them down for the November 21st Flash Fiction Challenge



Kid Kevin rode into town ‘bout high noon. He tied Ole Paint to the rail at the bank, drew his pearl-handled revolvers, and kicked open the door. The new schoolmarm, Hermione Perkins, was inside.

“Oh Kevin,” she swooned, “Thank God you’re here, Grizzly Hank just emptied the vault.” She gathered her skirts and ran to the door. “He went thataway,” she pointed. “If you hurry you can most likely still catch him.”

Thinking quickly Kevin decided not to become an outlaw today. He mounted up and took off in hot pursuit of the robber.

Miss Perkins might be grateful.


The prompt: In 99 words (no more, no less), write a romance. Focus on the relationship between two people. Build tension and end on a happy(ish) note. Go where the prompt leads!

OLWG#129- Three Short Poems

This  was written for OLWG#129



I.

The moon held water – Beth held tight to Chief’s mane and galloped through the night.

II.

The white canes drummed, jarring – sharp, as the vermin chased the farmer’s wife.

III.

Life is temporal – not forever, so lock in tight and scream with joy.

 


The prompts were:

  1. racing the moon
  2. the tapping of a blind man’s cane
  3. locked in tight

I believe I got all three!


The Lonely and Bitter Man

Written for this challenge – Thank you Peter



You think me beneath you, I’m one you despise
You spurn my advances, damn your eyes.

I bared myself seeking acceptance from you,
But scoff and sneer is all you do, damn your eyes.

You are the treasure I’ve longed to find
You remain aloof, you remain unkind, damn your eyes.

I’ve made you immortal with my verse
I’m met with contempt -my name you curse, damn your eyes.

I spent my bitter life without you, alone
Now I laugh as I dance, round your headstone, damn your eyes.


The prompts were:

  1. This was literally the worst thing that ever happened to me…
  2. Your eyes.

A Bit ‘o Friction ‘tween Old Jenny and Mulvaney

Today I received an invitation I had not been expecting. Below is my acceptance of same. Thank you, Tish. This was fun.



Nobody believed that Old Jenny was dead. They believed that she wanted them to believe she was dead. One thing that Mr Mulvaney knew, for certain, was that Jenny was a gardener. She needed dirt beneath her fingernails to feel alive. She needed to feel the soil slip between her fingers in order to feel whole, to feel complete.

Once he learned she had left her watering can behind, Mulvaney put a watch on her allotment. After all, that can had belonged to her Ma, and to her Ma’s Ma ‘afore that. Jenny wouldn’t leave the watering can. Not for long. It was too dear.

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It had been several years since Jenny had slipped under the radar. I was one of three sentries Mulvaney had detailed to keep an eye on the allotment, an eye on the can. He was certain that she would come back for it. We were under strict instruction, that when we saw her, it was always “when” never “if”, we were to follow her, but not confront her. Once we knew where she was hiding we were to contact him, and only him. We were to let him know where she was. Then the guard would take over and we would move on to our next assignment. I hoped we never saw her.

I’d become quite fond of this part of the world. This Shropshire town of Much Wenlock, peaceful, picturesque filled with the kind of people my Ma had been. In this town there was all the things you would expect from a Medieval village. There was holy wells, cobbled streets, stocks and whipping posts. There was even a museum filled with all sorts of Olympian artifacts. I would love to stay here forever, but I knew I wouldn’t never fit in. I’m the proverbial square peg and Wenlock is the archetypal round hole.

Last week I was keeping an eye on the allotment but not paying too much attention. A job like this can lull you into a sense of complacency. All of a sudden I realized that a woman was lingering about the watering can. Her back was to me so I couldn’t tell who it was, exactly. I thought she might be a bit tall for Old Jenny and she moved like a younger girl, but I paid attention. If that can were to disappear on my watch; Mulvaney would have my hide for sure.

It turned out to be a false alarm, though. ‘Twas only Ms Farrell. She’d come out with her camera to take photos of the can.

I noted the date and time in my log so I could report the activity to Mulvaney. He’d want to know. He might even send someone by the Farrell’s to find out what had sparked the sudden interest in the old can. See if maybe Jenny had contacted them. I see Ms Farrell out with her Camera a lot. She just likes to take photos. She’s an artist and a writer too but I still needed to report the activity. Mulvaney could decide for himself if it meant anything. That’s not my job. Well above my pay-grade. I just watch for Old Jenny. That’s what I do.


Tish Farrell is a writer on the edge. She’s living her life to it’s fullest. I’ve followed her blog for years. I recommend it, highly recommend it. Stop by and graze on her words and photos. You won’t regret the time spent.

OLWG#128- It’s Not in English

This  was written for OLWG#128



I rubbed my eyes and copied the number that had been written on my forearm to the notepad that sat on the bar beneath the wall phone. Over the top of it, I wrote ‘Rosario’ and I pictured her in my mind.

Tall, long legs

Thin

Long dark hair – thick and luxuriant

Flawless skin, the colour of café au lait

Full lips, quick to smile and tasting faintly of sweet drinks and caffeine

Gathering my courage, I ran my hand across my face and exhaled. Long and slow. I grabbed the phone and dialed before I could talk myself out of it. I listened to the phone ring once… twice.

“Hello?” It was her. I recognized her voice.

“Oh, hello. Rosario?” I asked.

“Yes.”

“Rosario, this is Peter. I met you last night at The Clock Bar in uptown.”

“I didn’t go The Clock last night,” she said with a slight accent and hung up the phone.

I pulled the handset away from my ear and stared at it for a moment. What? I looked at the phone and dialed again.

“Hello,” it was her.

“Rosario, please don’t hang up.” I said quickly, “it’s Peter again. Peter Austin. You gotta remember me. We left the bar at the same time. I held the door for you and we walked to the station together.” I was talking fast to keep her on the line.

“I’m sorry,” she said.

“Wait.” I blurted out desperately, “you showed me your new tattoo, the one on your shoulder, beneath your collar bone. You told me that it says, ‘Every dream has its price’ but the tattoo… it’s not in English.”

“Cada sueño tiene su precio,” she whispered, “it’s Spanish.” Then a bit bolder, she added, “I’m sorry Peter; you did say your name was Peter? I don’t remember showing anyone my tattoo last night and like I told you the first time, I didn’t go to The Clock.”

“You wore a green sweater,” I said, “we took the same train and you got off at Lexington. You gave me your phone number and told me I could call you.”

“Is this some kind of joke? Did Emmy put you up to this?”

“No, no, no, I don’t know anyone named Emmy and, honestly we didn’t talk much in the bar. We just left at the same time and we rode the same train.”

“What do you look like, Peter?”

I’m about six feet tall, brown hair, glasses.”

“Half the boys I know meet that description. Tell me something that’ll help.”

“We spent most of the train ride making out, all the way from Adderly to Lexington. You kissed me with your hand in my lap and you bit my lower lip. You wrote your number on my arm with purple ink. You told me to call you and I asked you if today would be too soon. You told me that it might not be soon enough. Then you bit my lip and got off the train. Don’t tell me you can’t remember. We were both a little bit drunk, but…? Surely you remember.”

“I’m sorry, Peter. I don’t have any recollection of any of this.”

“Well, maybe I could come by. We could go for coffee or a walk in the park.”

“That’s quite forward of you Peter. We’ve never even met.”

“We have though. You bit my lip. No one’s ever done that to me before. I found it incredibly exciting.”

“I’m going to hang up now Peter. Please don’t call again or I’ll have to get a restraining order.”

I heard a click and the line went dead. “No!” I yelled into the phone, “Wait…”


The prompts were:

  1. beach city camp meeting
  2. dog me down
  3. a spider in the tub

I don’t think I got any of them.


Lluvias Monzónicas

I wrote this for the November 7th Flash Fiction Challenge



Just up country from the old church, a redbud tree stood alone on a rock strewn hillock, a vigilant sentinel minding the landscape, watching. At least thrice a week Miriam would walk there with a yoke and two large buckets filled with sweet water drawn from the creek.  She’d sing and offer water to the tree.

When the lluvias monzónicas came and swept away Miriam’s adobe she went to plead with the redbud tree. She went to ask for shelter. Redbud shuddered with the storm and cooed, “Of course niña. Come close, take refuge, and sleep beneath my branches.”


The prompt: In 99 words (no more, no less) write a story that includes Water Walkers. It does not have to be in the Anishinaabe tradition; in fact, it would be more interesting to see interpretations from across all nations and walks. It can be a title or used as a phrase. Go where the prompt leads!

OLWG#127- Eberardo Arcidiacono

This piece was inspired by La visione della bellezza, written by Violet at her site, “Thru Violet’s Lentz”

This is also a second take written for OLWG#127



Aaron Brown shuffled the papers on the desk in front of him when the copy boy scuttled in from off camera and laid a new sheet down, on top of all the others. Aaron glanced briefly at it and his eyes got wide. Then he cleared his throat and, in his most professional voice, began to read…

“I’ve just been handed a breaking news story out of Las Vegas. Eberardo Arcidiacono, alleged head of the notorious Arcidiacono family has been shot and killed this afternoon by the pool of his hotel/casino. Reports are that a beautiful assassin, wearing a tiny, shiny blue bikini is the alleged assailant, and that security cameras apparently caught footage of her getting away. A massive police search is now ongoing.

“Witnesses have told reporters that no one saw the gun prior to the shooting. No one knows how  the killer got so close to her target, or where she had the gun hidden prior to the shooting because, there are not a lot of places to conceal a weapon when  one is wearing only a tiny bathing costume.”

At that moment the copy boy crouched and made his way back onto the set where he placed another piece of paper on the desk in front of Aaron.

Grabbing the new sheet, Aaron continued to read, “Witnesses now tell us that the alleged killer had the gun in her hand the entire time she was out by the pool. She was able to slip past the Arcidiacono bodyguards because, of course, no one was looking at her hands.  Channel 7 is currently working to get the images from the hotel security cameras. Film at eleven.”


The prompts were:

  1. a shiny blue bikini
  2. slide trombone
  3. Tahoe mud