Water Falls

Written by Charli Mills

Charli Mills, a born buckaroo, makes literary art accessible at CarrotRanch.com. She writes about the veteran spouse experience and women forgotten to history.

April 20, 2022

Welcome to Carrot Ranch Literary Community where creative writers from around the world and across genres gather to write 99-word stories. A collection of prompted 99-word stories reads like literary anthropology. Diverse perspectives become part of a collaboration.

We welcome encouraging comments. You can follow writers who link their blogs or social media.

Those published at Carrot Ranch are The Congress of Rough Writers.

The Wrong Way to Grieve? by Anne Goodwin

When she didn’t cry at the hospital, they said it hadn’t hit her yet. When she didn’t cry at the funeral, they decided she was still in shock. But when they called in to check up on her and she remained dry eyed, they wondered if she really missed him, if their marriage had died before he did. Feeling redundant around her, they saw her less and less. So it was a while before they discovered she was on a psych ward. There, as her tears spilled how water falls, they said she should be over it by now.


Eyes of the Waterfall by Hugh W. Roberts

Water flowed from the bottom to the top, yet everybody else told Miranda it flowed from top to bottom.

“Not true,” Miranda shouted as she snatched her hand away from her mother’s grip and strode across the shallow pool through the crystal-clear waterfall.

“Miranda! Come back now!” screamed her mother while watching her daughter get soaked.

Looking through the waterfall at her mother, Miranda noticed it flowed from top to bottom, but the strange, terrifying creatures looking back at her from the other side of the waterfall petrified her more.

Only when the waterfall stopped did Miranda’s nightmares begin.


Disappeared 6 by Liz Husebye Hartmann

He hadn’t expected the transformation when he spoke aloud the words etched into the sewer wall. Nor were the words of the reversal spell anywhere near, certainly not in the crumbling mansion that’d been his home for the past decade. Or was it longer?

He sighed and the echoes whispered off the sewer’s bioluminescent walls. Wastewater flowed, a waterfall after last night’s storm, and turned back under the city, poisoning its groundwater.

Above him, a flashlight flickered, went dark, and was hurled with a metallic rattle and a man’s curse.

In that flash he saw a familiar image: himself?


Water Falls by Duane L Herrmann

Water, what normally rests in a pond or lake or bucket, can sometimes fall. It can fall out of the nothingness of the sky, nothingness except for clouds, though occassionally the cloud might be unseen. Water falls! What a miracle!! Water falling is part of the cycle we can see: the rising, we can’t see. Rising, falling: water is always cycling. That should be a lesson: all things cycle, all things change, yet all things remain the same. Water falls, water rests. We should rest too, from time to time. Water falls. In my time, I, too, will fall.


Pot, Kettle by Gloria McBreen

She calls me black; I say the same back.
She’s older than me, jealous you see.
Water falls piping from my curvy spout,
she splatters and drips from her tiny pout.
She’s boring and plain, I’m impressive and vain.
I’ve come so far since days of old,
I shine like silver and sometimes gold.
I can be tall, small, skinny or fat,
Mrs Pot; she’s not all that.
I whistle and sing, I let off steam,
I invite Mr Teapot to join my team.
Teapot and kettle on proud display,
while Mrs Pot to her dismay, stays hidden away.


Water Falls by Ann Edall-Robson

Spray lingers on the branches, droplets fly through the air to pools below. Soothing babble navigate nature, a language few take time to recognize or learn. Wild watercress floating, seemingly unattached, shadowing the craggy tufa rocks, nurtured by drenched, decaying foliage. Fall adds to the creek bed cushion. Spring pushes new life to the surface. Summer blooms along the shore. Winter shows off ice sculptures artistically designed from the water’s mist. The creek never freezes over, its life taking on a new persona each season as the water falls with grace and aggression over terraces of historic tufa rocks.


It’s a Trap! by Joanne Fisher

“There must be some way out of here!” Yelmys said to herself as she watched the rising water.

She had sneaked into these caverns searching for fabled treasure. After creeping into this room, the door slammed behind her and water began to cascade in. She tried opening the door, but it wouldn’t budge. What diabolical genius had devised this trap, she wondered. As she stood there watching the water fall, she knew if she was ever going to find a way to escape this room, she had better do it quickly, the water would soon be over her head…


Water Falls by Charli Mills

Water falls through the hatch. Unsecured cargo slams into lashed barrels and crates. Roaring seas drown Minnie’s whimpers. She huddles in a bunk, her muslin dress sodden. Three rats cling to her hem and she tries not to hurt them when waves batter the groaning ship. She had only meant to steal food. An accidental stowaway. Will her brothers mourn or rejoice her unexplained disappearance from Copper Harbor? The lone girl among six orphans, her elder brothers labored underground to barely feed them all. Water falls. The hatch crumples. Minnie keeps the rat that survives the wreck with her.


How Aloysius Got His Name by Nancy Brady

Aloysius, the white cat enjoyed seeing new things and having adventures.

One sunny day Aloysius headed for the nearby woods. He’d been close to the woods, but had never ventured within. He wandered across the black horse’s field, crossing the bridge into the woods.

Two paths branched off, and Aloysius chose the left. He found himself walking beside the creek. The water gurgled over rocks. Up ahead is a cataract. The water falls over the rocks, splashing his fur.

Shaking himself free of the droplets, the sun sparkles on his fur producing the colors that gave Aloysius his name.


Willing to Pool Resources (Spot On?) by JulesPaige

Salted water falls from her eyes. The old pink rotary phone only clicks its imaginary tongue. Reprimanding her as if she were a child. Gertie dreamed that she is much older than now. Like when her grandmother was blinded and consumed by age. Knowing she is so much stronger than any old technology or outdated political agendas, Gertie Simple vows to herself to keep Jane safe.

Gertie knows she’ll get needed help with regards to that task. She mentally vows to call her own daughters soon. At Jane’s bedroom door Gertie pauses, tears from Jane should be for relief.


Mac’s Story (Part I) by Sue Spitulnik

Join the Army they said
You’ll become a MAN
Little did “they” know
I became like a drop of water

In a pool of soldiers
Giving up identities
Losing our roots
Creating an everlasting bond

Running together
Thinking as one
We shipped out as a unit
To the jungles of Vietnam

Heavy survival packs
Weighted down with ammo
We followed orders
Though we didn’t believe

We ate little
We slept little
We had no baths
Why are we here

Go take the mountain
We moved as droplets
Seeing when the water falls
It doesn’t run clear. It runs RED


Mac’s Story (Part II) by Sue Spitulnik

I survived the mountain
And others after that
My comrades fell
Running red

I had the chance to love
Producing a beautiful son
Unaccepted by his grandfather
We were sent away

My survival was for him
Our own country turned on us
The caring lady Nan was not deterred
She loved us both

Shunning the scoffers
We opened our lives
Helping other veterans
Looking for no thanks

A vacation to Niagara Falls
One winter season
Went terribly wrong
Red lights shining on water

Sent my mind spinning
To horrible killing fields
I barely survived
I’m sorry. I hate waterfalls


Water and Time Falling Away by Bill Engleson

And there you go. A walk in the park. Easy peasy. Yeah, we went for a walk in the park one early fall day. Autumn on the cusp. Crinkly leaves. And that roar. Growling water rushing! Not as noisy as spring runoff but still chugging away like an old locomotive.

There were fewer people than expected. Most had dogs, big dogs, a couple not on leashes, running ahead of their handlers, sniffing, snorting, excited like toddlers.

We finally arrived at the Falls, and stood there, mesmerized as always.

“Splendour in the Grass?” she said.

“I remember,” I answered.


Reaching for Stars by Colleen Chesebro

Alone in the cocoon of my dreams, I listen for the murmurs of the marsh fairies. For now, is not the time to be all in my head. I must also listen to my heart. Here, I fish for stars—those promises shimmer in starry pearlescence beneath the water. I stretch, grab, and fail, but I never stop trying.

hot tears—water falls
in the autumn of our years
farewell songs explain
dreams together fade away
a slow ripple on the pond

Reconciliation feels elusive. I’ll follow you anywhere or leave you behind. The choice is up to you.


When The Waters Call, Do You Answer? by Miss Judy

Rachel looked over at the churning Niagara; it fell in thundering torrents over the rocky cliffs.
She knew of his affair, he of hers. The gold band burned, a constant reminder of their love, long lost. Why still wear it? Pretenses for family and friends? Her friends knew the lies. They urged her to leave. How could she?

Go where? Do what? The questions always a torment.

The falling water called, “Come fall with me. End it here, now.” Many had. Startled awake, she knew, “Get out before…”

Rachel pulled off the ring and threw, “I’m done. I’m free.”


Falling Waterfalls by Gypsie Ami Offenbacher-Ferris

it slides over soft mounds
riding a short hallow plain
before hitting the high ridge
only to cascade down down
becoming droplets of sorrow
or rivers of pain

one river begets another
and another until soon
hundreds of waterfalls form
no one is immune
young nor old
a torrent begins – unstoppable

pain – grief – betrayal feed
the waterfalls bulging
with the tears of the lost
the neglected – unable
to hold back the floodgates
released by crescent lips

cascading into nothingness
weighed by waterfalls
filled to capacity with tears
of unrequited love, with loss
of friends – of lives – loss of self


Changing with Gentleness by Sadje

Some say that gentleness is wasted on the hard-headed, hard-hearted people, but like the drip of the water falling slowly on stones, it does have an impact.

People quote the example of Sara’s dad, Ethan. He was a proud haughty man and Sara was the exact opposite. Over the years, after her mom passed away, she changed her callous father into a gentle man just by being herself, a sweet kind person.

When he shouted, she replied calmly, when he was angry, she was unperturbed. He’s now grateful to her for showing her how to be a good person.


Rain by Saifun Hassam

The rain is coming down in sheets. It’s late winter and the rain is cold. Still, I can’t complain. I was born in Texas and grew up in California. I remember flood and fire. Some winters, and springs, there was essentially no rain. One time I lived in an old trailer home. That spring, it rained hard, every week. The roof leaked like a sieve.

The mountains are shrouded in impenetrable clouds. Their glaciers are melting, stealthily, inch by inch. Crevasses tear the glaciers apart. In summer, water falls, drop by drop, over the serrated edges into the abyss.


Water Falls by Norah Colvin

The water fell, gently at first then obstinately, in unrelenting torrents, like uncontainable tears from a sky in mourning. A ‘rain bomb’, they said, a ‘one in one hundred years event’. It swelled the rivers and flooded the lands mercilessly, taking lives and homes and destroying livelihoods. Water from dams filled beyond capacity cascaded over spillways, intensifying the deluge. A supercharged natural event not experienced before, never expected again. When the sky opened just a few years later, crying those same mournful tears of loss and destruction, surely the denials would cease. As indisputable that water falls, they didn’t.


An Unromantic Waterfall by The Curious Archaeologist

It was not what she had expected, on a honeymoon in the Alps you admired waterfalls, perhaps sketched them. What you did not do was stand beside your new husband as he measured the temperature of the water at the top of the fall, and noted down the figures his friend shouted up from the bottom.

“The water is warmer at the bottom of the waterfall,” his friend told her, “he is proving that heat is produced from motion. Mrs Joule, your name will be famous.”

She doubted it.

She was wrong.

Joule = the international unit of energy.


Water Falls by E.M. Kingston

The fresh water falls upon my head, cleansing away the impurities

The falls’ water fed graciously from the rains from above, heavenly

The mountain’s rough rocks wash the water as it falls, refreshing

Turns the plants green and makes the flowers blossom, renewed

Freshness, replenishment, natural exhilaration for you and me

My skin dances in the crashes of water upon my skin, ahh

Nature’s shower in botany, untamed beauty

Bliss becomes a brand new playground

One no one would want to leave

Not me, not you, not them

Water falls upon me

With the birds

I sing to me


Water Falls by Scott Bailey

Oh, I’m sure physics can explain it but I don’t want to hear that. I don’t want to know whether that raindrop disappeared when it fell into that puddle or if it still exists but in a different shape.

Would it rather have fallen in the grass instead of the driveway? Falling from the sky must be scary, poor raindrop. I wonder if the landing hurts? Does the puddle feel it? Does the puddle mind the visiter?

An oily sheen on the surface of the puddle, I bet the raindrop didn’t count on landing in that! Poor little guy.


Sometimes When Water Falls by Gary A. Wilson

What a mess! I thought.

Darn hail –but what’s this?

I bent to look closer and yes; the blasted stone — was steaming.

How’s that possible?

I recalled how: in the turbulence at the leading edge of storms,

water churns up and down,

freezing each round,

layering more water on each lap until the weight is sufficient and the frozen water falls.

But steam?


Ah; I recalled; some science class mentioned this.

If conditions are right,

warmer days, bright sunlight,

hail doesn’t melt into water but jumps, sublimating straight to steam.

Very cool, but my windshield is still destroyed.


Unwelcome Fame by Geoff Le Pard

Little Tittweaking had nothing famous, unless you count the occupier of No.27 The Droobes. When yet another queue formed outside word, PC Roger Andout, with measured treat plodded round. ‘Move on, please. I know your guide book says this is where you’ll find Little Tittweaking’s famous waterfalls but you won’t. The topography is all wrong for starters.’

As they crowd left, Roger knocked on the door. ‘They’ve gone.’

Walter Fauls peered out nervously. When he was sure they were alone he ushered Roger inside. ‘Tea?’

‘It will stop one day, Walter.’

‘Until then it’s all uphill I guess.’


A Dry Year by Margaret Leggatt

The dam’s drying up. As kids we’d go rafting and jump in, trying to touch bottom. We never could.

Good years. Until Harry arrived.

“Don’t,” Mother warned. I didn’t listen.

Then came a hot Sunday afternoon. He took the boys rafting—his drunken attempt to play dad. They came home alone, crying, and I ran toward his shouts, then stopped, waited for silence.

I turned back and phoned for help.

When the level of the water falls below that rocky layer in the dam wall, the cattle get bogged. I come here to check, dreading what might be revealed.


Sun and Water by Reena Saxena

Water falls, because a gravitational force pulls it down. In the right atmosphere, it vaporizes to steam and moves upwards. It chooses when, where and how to fall. Water freezes. You are able to walk on snow with the right boots. Your homes are not ravaged by floods.

combine to make you feel
powerless, when Sun joins hands with

She looks up from the screen, and finds the Sun winking at her. It’s time to start a new routine in lovely sundresses.

sun-starved beauty
emerges from layers
to make its presence felt. Nature
shows all


A Musical Night by Ruchira Khanna

“I see a clear sky. The rainy season is behind us!” said Mali with a breath of sigh!

“We can now sleep in peace,” clapped an elated ten-year-old Loli.

“The pitter-patter and the mosquitoes have gone with it.”


The mother-daughter finished their only meal of the day, consisting of broth and bread.

The duo lay on their cots, and the mom was about to hit the snooze button when the tip-tap noise widened her eyes, and she looked at her leaky roof.

“Ugh! get the utensils, Loli. Courtesy of the water fall; tonight will be another musical night.”


Rain Falls by Anita Dawes

I care less where it comes from
Only that it comes
Liquid magic from above
Tiny drops that cling
To the edge of a leaf
A jewel that remains for hours
While others disappear
Watch the birds taking a bath
Creating perfect dancing spheres
Of liquid magic
That drop into the pool
Waiting to dance again
Where would we be without it?
No puddles to splash in
No boating holidays
No lounging by the sea
Life cannot be without it
I cannot be without it
Best of all, rain on my window
Watching each drop race down…


Water Falls (Part I) by Miss Trie Wrighter

Though it’d been claimed that neither rain nor snow nor dark of night (or some such things) were to keep her from her appointed rounds, the rain was falling something fierce. Frankie led Burt onto the veranda of the bunkhouse where the old horse gratefully shook himself. Frankie looked back through the veil of water falling from the eves. Two figures emerged in the mist—

“Pepe! Logatha! Git up here outta that torrent.”

“Are day here?”


“Day are not in de barn, day have not been by da saloon. Shorty hasn’t heard anyteeng. Keed and Pal are gone!”


Water Falls (Part II) by Miss Trie Wrighter

Frankie used her handkerchief to dry her eye while musing on the disappearance of Kid and Pal. She reached into the mail pouch to show the LeGumes what might or might not be a clue.

“Eet ees a post card. What does eet say?”

“The ink has run in the rain.”

“Yes, dees card ees poorly wreeten.”

“All I kin make out is Dear Ranc…”

“Rancid? No! Ranchers! Dear Ranchers… and look, eet is signed DAVE. Den eet ees blurry again.”

“Dave? D. Avery! She must know something.”

“Not so much, I teenk, Frankie. And she ees gone too.”


Thank you to all our writers who contributed to this week’s collection!

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  1. Jules

    A collection of differing opinions, science, fun and Miss Trie Wrighter!!! Where is everybody???

    • Charli Mills

      Only the Miss Trie Wrighter knows! 😀

      • Jules


      • Charli Mills

        I saw Frankie heading West. Maybe she picked up a trail?

  2. Scott Bailey

    Wow, lots of great stories here but the three that stood out the most, at least for me, were:

    First: Annes’ “Grieve”. I liked how she basically said “who are other people to dictate how someone else feels.”

    Second (but maybe tied with first): Duanes’ “Water Falls”. I liked that whole “cycle of life” thing and how rest is followed by falling. Good stuff!

    Third: Sadjes’ “Changing”. I liked how it starts by showing how even a small drop of water can reshape stone, then ends with the daughter reshaping the father.

    Of course these are just my opinions, your mileage may vary.

    • Charli Mills

      Scott, what I appreciate about Anne’s writing is how she constructs a story so it can unfold as one ripe with ideas. To me, it speaks of a society so fearful of grief that it shuns those grieving. I have a good friend who is a grief counselor and we often discuss the need to have community space for grief. You picked out great nuggets among the collection. I also liked how this one came together with so many contrasting ideas and tones.

  3. Sadje

    Excellent collection. Thanks for the inclusion

    • Charli Mills

      It’s a dizzying array of water falling and flowing, Sadje! And, thank you, for your contribution.

      • Sadje

        Thanks ????????

  4. Doug Jacquier

    This drip missed being part of the deluge this week but I can’t resist making a few comments, some drier than others. 😉

    Anne – stunning piece that darkly illustrates what happens when people ‘should’ on you.
    Hugh – you made me wonder why the waterfall stopped. Bigger story here I suspect.
    Gloria – what a delightful and insightful take on that ancient saying.
    Ann – Loved ‘Winter shows off ice sculptures artistically designed from the water’s mist’
    Joanne – After “There must be some way out of here!”, I kept waiting for “said the joker to the priest.” 🙂
    Charli – ‘Minnie keeps the rat that survives the wreck with her.’ No sinking ship for that rat.
    Bill – ‘Splendour in the Grass’? Just what are you confessing to? 😉
    Norah – A case of climate changes but people don’t?
    Scott – love your original take on the prompt but answer me this, how would the raindrop feel if it fell on your head? (cue song, maestro)
    Margaret – So much evoked in 99 words and a ghost may be heard.
    D – I see you hiding in there. Miss Tree indeed!

    • joanne the geek

      You’re the only that’s commented on my use of that quote. I was feeling rather dismayed no one else seemed to recognise it…

      • Doug Jacquier

        Especially seeing his Bobness is a Nobel Laureate. 😉

      • Scott Bailey

        You know, I saw that line, figured it for a quote but completely missed the source. I was thinking it came from some escape room horror movie thing, not a world famous song! What a Maroon!!!

      • Charli Mills

        Joanne, Anne Godwin has an excellent post this week on exactly this topic! https://annegoodwin.weebly.com/annecdotal/no-two-people-will-read-the-exact-same-story

        And personally, I love it when we can discuss writing as something that exists in a shared realm between reader and writer. I read your line as part of the drama that gripped me through your story! Now I can appreciate it in another way, too. It takes discussion to achieve the full richness packed into literary art so thank you for being willing to talk about what you wrote!

    • Charli Mills

      Ha, ha! Doug, every drip counts at Carrot Ranch, including the readers and commenters for the sacred triad of literary art flows between writing, reading, and discourse. Thank you for participating and solving a mystery.

  5. pedometergeek

    Finally had a chance to read them all. Well done, all. Ann’s Grieve was spectacular.

  6. Jennie

    Charli, on a side note one of our favorite authors, Patricia MacLachlan, died a few weeks ago. “The Poet’s Dog” will always be beloved to me, and to you. I’m having a hard time shaking this one. I wanted you to know. “My Father’s Words” is just as wonderful, and I hope you treat yourself to reading her book. Sigh!


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