Archive for August, 2012

Friday Fictioneers 8-31

Posted: August 30, 2012 in Uncategorized

Read or join the “Friday Fictioneers” by clicking on the cute blue face below my below my story. Each week Madison Woods posts a photo by great photographers, we are then invited to write a 100 words story based on the prompt. I am posting early this week as I will be busy the rest of the week, but I wanted to participate.

Unease plucked at her nerves as she dropped her overnight bag on the bed. Moving to the balcony, she remembered how much she hated the city, the stench of humans, car horns and flashing signs. She longed for her ancient house nestled next to the mountain, where the only sounds came from nature. But she knew she would stay as long as she had to.

He was here, she could smell him, and he would rue the day he drove a stake through her partners heart. His would taste good with dry wine and a loaf of bread.


Friday Fictioneers – 8/22/12

Posted: August 24, 2012 in Uncategorized

Read or join the “Friday Fictioneers” by clicking here or on the cute blue face below my below my story. Each week Madison Woods posts a photo by great photographers, we are then invited to write a 100 words story based on the prompt.

Time had been eaten by the mist, she may have been on the mountain for days, or months. Unable to find a way down, she rationed food, ate plants and drank from puddles. Now, the food was gone, water scarce. If the mist didn’t leave, she would die.

When the darkness fell, she felt herself rise from the ground, surrounded by gnome-like beings. She briefly wondered if they came for her soul.

“We’ve got a pulse!”

Cracking one eye, she looked up at the paramedics. Where? What? How did she get down the mountain? Then she remembered the vision, but there were no such thing as gnomes, right?

I love reading and writing for the picture it & write group. Each week they post a new photo prompt, stirring my creative juices. Click on the logo below my story to read, or write your own contribution.


He knew she could end his life in a heartbeat, yet he knew she wouldn’t, unless he gave her a good reason to.

“Why should I spare your measly life?” the ancient voice asked.

“I am not here out of fear, I am here to find my mother, taken by the crows,” he said without blinking. He had come this far and he wasn’t about to be scared off by a mystery voice hidden behind a tree.

“Ah, a cocky young man,” the voice chuckled, “you are no different from the thousands who have come before you.”

“I beg to differ, I am my own person and I shall not leave here without my mother!” he growled.

“Every boy loves his mother, they all think their’s is special, but they are just humans full of sin and greed. I fear you see your own mother through these colored glasses. Turn back and leave her to her fate as you go forth to make your mark in the world.”

“Ah, you are not as wise as you think! My mother takes in orphans, feeds the needy, sews clothing for those living on the street and teaches the illiterate to read. This world needs her and I will not leave until she has been returned! Will you stand aside or shall we do battle?”

The ancient one was confused, the crows rarely made mistakes, they didn’t grab any soul that didn’t belong in her world, but something in the boys eyes gave her pause.

“The crows do not grab innocent people as a rule. They grabbed your mother for a reason,” she explained.

“I believe they were there for me. I have fallen into drink, gambling and prostitutes. If anyone deserves to be dragged to hell it is me, not my mother. She has done nothing but make this world better. I offer myself in her place.” He said, rising to his full six-foot height.

“Well, I’ll be damned, this is the first time someone has offered their soul to the crows to save someone they love,” the voice answered, “If the crows are in agreement, we will return you mother to Earth. If not, she will remain here.”

“Fair enough, but know I am prepared to do battle if needed.”

When a pale hand thrust itself from the fog he pulled it to his chest, kissing his mother on the head before moving toward their home, vowing to clean up his life so he was worthy of this second chance.

I sprung from bed each day, donning expensive suits, tending to my hair and putting on make-up. Years have passed and  health issues forced me to give up my career.  I have aged, experienced grief, insecurity and shame, but this week  I had an epiphany, I like getting older!

I am wiser, calmer and more self-assured. I approach life with a wisdom I didn’t have when I was twenty. I am not what I look like, my being is defined from what is inside. My face may have   lines and my jowls may sag a bit, but my heart, and my mind are the same, only better now that I have embraced the knowledge, experience and wisdom of my years.

I may no longer raise the blood pressure of young men when I enter a room, but I know what is right and what is wrong. I can tell good people from bad. I consider the result of my actions before acting. I try to respect others and take care of my own.

I am me. I don’t wear designer suits, I don’t slap on make-up, I don’t attend high power meetings anymore, or attend all night parties but I contribute to the world in my own way, through art and creation. I try hard to instill family values in the kids, have a bit of fun every day and embrace nature as often as possible.

I did it all when I was young. I had a date every night, I drank, danced, worked in bars and engaged in risky sex. Now, I wake each day surrounded by pets and family, I sit by my backyard pond and talk to the frogs as I paint or write. I have discovered the joy of making homemade candies and baking. Instead of bar hopping or dancing we hike with the family.

I am living a life a twenty-year old would deem lame, but you know what? I have never been happier! I am free to be me, not an image presented to the public. Age, wisdom and a bit of sagging skin, who could have predicted this would bring happiness?

It ate the exhaust fumes, swallowed noise and kept the neon lights from tainting the windows of sleeping children. “It” was an over-grown hedge lining her driveway, the only thing that stood between her and relocation. When her family had taken possession of the house, over fifty-years ago, the area was a sleepy burg with a gas station, a bank and a butcher on the corner. Kind, caring neighbors who knew her and her children by name.

Happy in her studio, she thanked the hedge for keeping the prying lights of cars at the gas station from her windows. That hedge sucked the fumes from the air before they reached her home, it grabbed the profanities from the bar, muting them to a level safe from her children’s ears. It allowed her to groom her yard, enjoy her backyard pond and sleep in peace. Without the hedge her home would be filled with noise, fumes and sound that would make life in this home unlivable.

Then he showed up, the man with the clipboard. He told her she had three weeks to cut the hedge to a height of three feet. This would never do! She wasn’t going to cut that hedge down! It had stood tall and proud for fifty plus years. Let him send his letters and hide behind his clipboard, he didn’t scare her!

Then came the day he caught her in the front yard as she pulled weeds around the walk. Moving toward the driveway she rehearsed what she was going to say, but she never got the chance.  The hedge bowed to the ground. His screams chilled her blood as the angry boughs lifted him from the ground, swallowing him before she could react. Noticing a shiny metal clipboard at her feet, she grinned.

” I guess he won’t be picking on that hedge anymore!” she chuckled. “When will tiny men with a whit of power learn to deal with each person  or circumstance on its own?”



Stepping out of the limo, her leather coat flapped at her ankles as she made her way through the fields of her youth. It was here she studied the masters, Aretha, Dinah, Billie, Ella… Perched atop her favorite tree she belted out songs, dreaming of the day she would enter their world.

She had found that world, her voice was heard around the world, but something was missing. Smiling when her tree appeared she kicked off her heels and climbed. Ignoring her shocked driver, she made a list of everyone she wanted to visit.

Picture it, Write it 8-12-12

Posted: August 16, 2012 in Uncategorized



“Damn, damn, damn! I hate bridges,” she growled as her shaky hand clung to the rail. In the last ten hours she had survived an accident, getting lost in the wilderness and miles of walking, all on an empty stomach.

Then there was, “the thing.

Peering over her shoulder she made sure she was alone. She didn’t know what it was, or if it was human or animal, but she knew it stalked her for miles, grunting at her heels. It caught her once, it nails ripping her back as she struggled from her jacket to free herself. At one point, it cornered her in a creek, she could see the moon glint off its eyes as it sniffed the air, moving closer as her mind turned to cheese.

Grabbing a tree to pull herself up she cursed as the branch broke in her hand. When it attacked, she threw her arms up, screaming as the stick penetrated it’s eye. It crashed into the creek and she ran, not stopping until she reached the highway. Surely if she survived today, she could overcome a simple bridge phobia. Spurred to action her feet took her past kissing couples and winos as she made her way home.