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Category Archives: Fiction

Betrayal

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“Remember — they’re relying on you!” Churchill’s propaganda ensured no rebellion from patriots evicted by war.

Victory achieved, vague promises broken; we never returned.

Today, betrayal blows in the wind as rain batters our beloved Tyneham’s ruins.

Silly me, thinking the three extra words granted in this weekend’s Trifextra: Week 60 challenge would make life easier. I had no problem incorporating the three assigned words, rain, rebellion, and remember, into my piece, only creating the impact I desired in 36 words. Still not sure I achieved it, but ready to walk away for today. If inspiration strikes in the middle of the night, I’ll be back to post a revision.

For a brief history of England’s lost village of Tyneham, check out the article on ForteanTimes.

 
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Posted by on March 24, 2013 in Fiction, Sunday Best, True Life

 

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Thirsty

thirstyPhoto copyright Douglas M. MacIlroy

“Let’s go, kid,” the editor’s two-pack-a-day growl floated through the mailroom. “I know you’re thirstin’ for a spot on the news beat.  You can get your feet wet at the mayor’s press conference.”

Minutes later, my raised hand was acknowledged among the throng of reporters.

“Mr. Mayor, you’ve endorsed a citywide ban on sandboxes as a result of Tuesday’s tragic incident, but sandboxes didn’t hurt those children, sir, the bully who flung the sand caused the harm. What is your response to those who say a ban on sandboxes infringes on the rights of the children who use them responsibly?”

Hmm, I see a thirsty horse standing in a puddle of his own making; could my story have a more tenuous link to this week’s photo prompt from Friday Fictioneers?  🙂

 
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Posted by on March 22, 2013 in Fiction

 

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Tag

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There wasn’t nobody in the park Monday, Billy and I checked. He stood lookout while I tagged the bin. I wanted to do a throw-up, but Billy says to lay low for a while since I just got busted last month. Won’t be no community service, them cops catch me again…judge says I’m goin’ t’ jail next time. But I ain’t no pansy. I ain’t gonna let worry infect me, keep me from writin’. I gotta practice, show some mad skills if I wanna get in with Billy’s crew.

But man, now I’m freakin’. Somebody been blowin’ up my phone since 2 a.m. with the same effin’ picture, over and over. Caller ID says UNKNOWN. CCed to UNKNOWN RECIPIENTS. WTF? Who’s doggin’ me like this? What’re they tryin’ to do to me? Who they sendin’ this picture to? If that judge sees this, he gonna lock me up for sure. If my mama sees it, I’m gonna wish I was in jail.

This post is a mash-up of challenges…First it’s a response to The Daily Post’s Weekly Writing Challenge regarding a mysterious photo coming through on a cell phone at 2 a.m. It also incorporates Trifecta’s Week 69 challenge to use the third definition of the word infect (3a: contaminate, corrupt  b: to work upon or seize upon so as to induce sympathy, belief, or support ). Finally, it’s a shameless attempt to use one of my Iceland photos as a writing prompt. 🙂 

NOTE: I am NOT up on the current lingo used by young graffiti artists. If anyone has any suggestions to make the vernacular more realistic, I’d be very appreciative!

 
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Posted by on March 19, 2013 in Fiction, Tuesday Tales

 

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Serenity

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Photo copyright Lora Mitchell

I admit to having trouble figuring out where this photo from the Friday Fictioneers challenge was going to take me. I wasn’t able to totally (or even partially) let go of a literal interpretation of the photo as Rochelle encouraged, although I gladly ignored that little video icon in the top left corner  🙂

Laura’s Sunday evenings were normally a time of frustrated anxiety, and one this dreary had been known to reduce her to tears of self-pity. No matter how ruthlessly she restricted her social calendar, there were never enough hours in a weekend to grade all the papers or plan all the lessons. Tonight however, a strangely serene Laura pointedly ignored the school bag in the corner. The lily her parents had sent silently chastised her for not attending Easter Mass this morning, but Laura’s prayers of gratitude did not require a priest’s guidance. Thank you, Lord. Thank you for spring break.

 
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Posted by on March 15, 2013 in Fiction

 

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Stone

100_1262In rage and disbelief, I followed them, my Nikon capturing irrefutable proof for my client. A stone’s throw ahead, the faithless husband paused and passionately claimed my wife’s willing mouth with his own.

Ever a glutton for punishment, I’m pushing the minimalist limits by accepting Trifecta‘s weekend challenge, the Trifextra for week 58. The instructions were simple…write a 33-word story featuring the word “stone,” using any definition of the word. Constructive feedback is appreciated!

 
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Posted by on March 10, 2013 in Fiction, Sunday Best

 

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Pulled

stairwayPhoto Copyright Jennifer Pendergast

Above me, in the glare of the light, my parents urge me with outstretched hands to join them, but the drama in the lobby below halts my upward progress. The concierge frantically punches numbers into the phone.  Guests circle the blue-lipped man on the marble floor. Smartphones capture the hotelier pounding the prone man’s chest. Suddenly, I lose my grip on the railing and am pulled violently downwards. Gasping for breath, I look up into a sea of curiously concerned faces. I trace a trail of drool from my chin to a complimentary mint lying wetly on my aching chest.

This is my second attempt at a Friday Fictioneers challenge, and after an hour of editing, I finally managed to pare it down to exactly 100 words! Hopefully I didn’t pare out the entire plot in the process…

If you’d like to read other authors’ responses to this photo prompt, click on the blue froggy guy below.


 
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Posted by on March 8, 2013 in Fiction

 

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Twenty-five

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I turned twenty-five today.

I didn’t mind the number too much until Garrett pointed out at lunchtime that I’d been on the planet for a quarter of a century. Why did that particular wording make me feel ancient? Even more troubling, why did it make me feel impotent?

I hid in my cubicle for the remainder of the afternoon, pondering the life I had lived until now.

Did I believe I had lived each day thoroughly? No, after overhearing Heidi holding forth in the break room after many an adventure-packed weekend, I definitely couldn’t claim that I had.

Had I grabbed every opportunity that been offered? No, I’d been convinced by an inner dialogue not to reach too far beyond the familiar.

Could I be proud that I’d been in command of where I’d been and what I’d done? No, I tended to try to make other people happy, and that need to gratify had herded me more than once down a path I’d rather not have taken.

I did not like what I found in the examination of my initial quarter century. Without fail, I had done what had been expected of me. I had not rocked the boat. I had not created conflict. I had not incited worry. I had not provoked excitement. I had merely been.

No more.

In that moment, I vowed to approach life, MY life, with a different attitude. If only I had an indelible reminder of that pledge to break free from the predictable routine I’d formerly permitted…

Garrett appeared over the top of my cubicle, joyfully offering a chocolate cupcake while brazenly murdering the time-worn birthday melody.

“Thank you, Garrett. Hey, I’m going to get a tattoo tonight, wanna come?”

You could have knocked him over with a feather and I’m willing to wager he won’t be the only one left with mouth agape in the next quarter century.

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Hee hee! I took some liberties with this one, in my classic overachiever style. The original prompt from The Daily Post was a challenge to choose one letter of the alphabet to omit from my post, using only twenty-five letters instead of all twenty-six. I decided while I was at it, I’d also make the theme of the story twenty-five, and use twenty-five sentences in its telling. This post-script excluded, can you tell which letter I omitted? (Hint: I did not take the easy road by choosing q, x, or z.)