Is This my Done Day?

What if today was my “This is my Done” day? What if today was the day I took my last breath? Fini, game over, you’re outta here day!

Did I do something to be proud of? Was I kind to someone? Did I take a moment to enjoy myself, or do something to enrich my life?

Or did I get up, grumble, snarl, procrastinate, complain and do nothing to better my day or the day of another?

I don’t know when I will go, I do know that today wasn’t my “done day,” so I am going to think about this when I rise. The last thing I want is for my last words being angry or critical. Kids need guidance and discipline, but I need to find a way to do both so they aren’t left with only the  criticism. I need to find a way for my mate to know I may have been angry over one of their actions, but I love them we would have worked through it.

If today was not your “done day,” you have time to rethink things and stack the deck in your favor.

Friday Fictioneers – 1/25/13

The Friday Fictioneers, hosted by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields, is a group of writers that come together to share weekly stories based on a photo prompt. Go HERE to read or submit or your own story; or click on the little blue guy under my story.

Copyright-Renee Homan Heath

“Paradise my ass!” She growled, the jerk had already ruined the trip by booking coach, losing her shoes and reserving a crappy room. If that wasn’t bad enough, the climate was too damn humid with too many bugs. He was worse than useless.

He urged her to meet at the end of the pier to see the greatest gift ever, knowing she couldn’t resist. Stepping off the boardwalk she found him smiling in the sand.

“Hi baby, where’s my gift?”

“I never said it was for you,” He grinned, raising the gun to her head.

Yarns – A gathering of Flash Fiction. 1/21/13

Join us on Monday’s to spin a yarn based on a picture prompt. Submissions welcome all week.  Submit a short story or poem, of five-hundred words or less. Poetry and all genres welcome, but we do ask that you preface your post with a disclaimer if it contains graphic sex or extremely vulgar language to avoid offending anyone. If you desire critique and technical advice say so, if not, let us know in your introduction.

A new photo will be presented each Monday so you can spin a new yarn.

All rights to the photo remain with the photographer. Photo submissions are welcome.

To enter your story leave your URL  in the comments section. A link management tool will be added at a later time.

Now, on to the fun!

                                                                                                               Copyright 2013 Jane Kohler

“Freakin’ perfect!” she shouted when the car stalled,  “I guess John is incapable of pumping gas, well, that and being faithful!” she shouted, jumping from the car. Unable to erase the image of his naked body on her equally naked neighbor, she set her jaw and started walking.

She would deal with him later, right now she had to find gas. Shouldering her bag she checked for a cell signal as she tried to remember how she ended up here.  She had no recollection of leaving the freeway, but here she was, all alone on an unpaved road in the middle of nowhere. She headed north, willing to settle for an old-fashioned pay phone.

A mile in, her feet reminded her she had fled the scene in the red stiletto’s she wore to work. At mile two,  the sun began to set as she broke the heels off on a rock. Wincing, she returned the heel-less shoes to her feet, freezing when a trace of music reached her ears. Music meant people and people meant help! Following her ears, she left the road, ignoring the branches tearing at her clothes as she pushed forward. She was about to turn back when she fell into a clearing.

Feeling like she had fallen back in time, she marveled at the beauty and simplicity of the sun dancing over the glassy lake as it shrouded an ancient barn and house in shadows. She was so lost in though she never heard the man approach. When he touched her shoulder she screamed, spinning to face her attacker.

“Sorry Ma’am! ” he sputtered, holding up his hands, “You look like trouble found you, I wanted to help. ”

Trusting the large, dark-haired man immediately, she let him lead her to the house where he put her on the couch with her feet up and a cup of hot tea in her hand. Twenty-four hours passed before she realized she was probably imposing on the tall stranger, but it was like she had known him her entire life. She had tried to leave numerous times, but in the end, she stayed. It was now twenty-nine years and counting.

Writing Exercise Invitation

One day, while playing Pictionary with my kids, I hit on the idea of putting slips of paper naming random objects, places or people in a jar, I added slips that had the name of different genres or events such as mystery, romance, humor, eerie, horror, party, wedding, funeral etc.

Then, when I was in a writing slump I would draw slip from this old peanut jar and match a random object with a random genre,  scenario or event.  I challenged myself to build a story around these items, keeping it to 250 words or less. Stuck in my studio due to excessive heat, and bored out of my gourd, I remembered the jar and pulled out two slips. (sometimes I end up pulling out two objects, but I just throw one back in and draw again, until I have a genre or event.) Poetry or fiction, it doesn’t matter.

The slips I pulled out this week were;

Object: Sun dress
Genre: Romantic Mystery

I invite you all to create your 250 word story using these prompts. You can leave the link to your stories in the comment sections. I would love to read everyone else’s version of the prompts I am using. (250 words is my personal guideline, feel free to post a few less, or a few more words.)

OK, my story below. Looking forward to reading others.

Watching the cream blend into her morning coffee, she jumped as something fluttered onto her balcony. Rising to investigate she found a pile of lilac colored material adorned with pastel flowers. It looked clean so she bent to pick it up. Letting it unfurl, she realized it was a sundress. Gauzy and flowing, with tiny straps and a bandanna hemline, something she herself might buy.

When a knock interrupted her thoughts she moved to answer it, asking who it was before releasing the  dead bolt.

“Police ma’am, we are investigating a death in the building and would like to ask you some questions.”

Dress in hand she opened the door and the detective froze when he spotted the dress in her hand.

“Where did you get that?”

“It fluttered onto my balcony a few minutes ago,” she sputtered.

“May I have it please,” he said in a voice that sounded more like an order than a request. She quivered as his fingers brushed her arm and she felt him freeze as he gazed into her eyes. “You don’t know it, but you may have just broken this case wide open,” he said before marching off.

When he returned the following day, and she knew he would return, he told her a suspect described the victim in the dress, but when they found her she was nude, only the killer would have known about the dress before he raped and killed her. Eternally grateful to the sun dress, they found the love of a lifetime.

The Storm

Electric air, anticipation, yearning
Trees, sky moving as one
Swaying movement alive with scent

Wild turbulence orchestrates nature’s manic dance
Electric, magnetic
stirring body and soul

Vibrating skies rumble
Lightning captivates
Dance, embrace the chaos
Welcome cleansing rain

Slumber to natures liquid drumming