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Heard on the Radio
Cruising down the road, and an old song plays over the airways, taking us back to another place and time. Whatever we’ve heard on the radio has an uncanny staying power you can’t forget. Music, or even stories, forge our memories.
With nostalgia — or not — writers took to the radio as a signal for crafting stories. Flipping through the stories in this collection is like dialing in different stations. Hope you tune into some favorites or surprises!
The following is based on the September 10, 2020, prompt: In 99 words (no more, no less), write a story that includes something heard on the radio.
PART I (10-minute Read)
Journeys of a Kind by Saifun Hassam
It was maybe in 1967.
Sitting on the steps outside the kitchen.
Summer sunset.
Farm fields, wheat rustling in the slight breeze.
Great music pouring out of the transistor radio
Something about a guitar man, wandering the lands.
She cried and she laughed – just like the song said.
She’s now 70?
Those faraway crazy days listening to
Bob Dylan; Peter, Paul, and Mary; Joan Baez.
Now it’s the Intenet.
Vivaldi; and Dvorak’s “New World Symphony”.
Great mix of classical guitar and jazz piano by Claude Bolling;
Jazz of Michael Silverman;
And the haunting notes of Eric Tingstad’s “Badlands”.
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Tuning In by Norah Colvin
On sheep and cattle stations in outback Queensland in the pre-television and digital era, when mail and groceries were delivered fortnightly, the party line telephone and radio linked families with the outside world.
Mealtimes were scheduled to conclude with news broadcasts. The chatter and clatter ceased the moment chimes announced the start. Graziers inclined towards the radio, concentrating to extract words from the crackle, hopeful of positive stock reports, promising weather forecasts and news of world events.
Unable to affect, but affected by, the situations reported, the graziers returned to the day’s tasks, hopeful of better news next report.
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“We Interrupt This Programme” by R. V. Mitchell
Six-year-old, Alice was dancing with her doll to the music on the radio. Suddenly, the music stopped and a man’s voice said, “We interrupt this programme, with an important bulletin. The United States’ fleet in Pearl Harbor, Hawaii has been attacked by air and naval forces of the Empire of Japan. I repeat, the American fleet has been attacked in Hawaii.”
Alice ran to tell her mother.
“Mother, the Umpire of Japan attacked Hawee.”
Her mother instantly went pale, and stared out into their Nebraska pasture.
“Mother, where is Hawee?” the little girl asked.
“Too close, Darling. Too close.”
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On the Radio by Colleen M. Chesebro
“Welcome to the Mercury Theatre on Air…” the voice echoed from the radio in the next room.
Rosemary stayed at the sink. She scrubbed hard at a burned spot in the pan. It was her turn to wash the dishes. Meanwhile, her brother and parents relaxed at the table, sipping coffee after dinner.
“…An unusual object has fallen on a farm in Grover’s Mill, New Jersey…” The radio sputtered with static.
Grover’s Mill? That’s where I live! Rosemary felt fear.
The announcer’s voice declared, “…It’s the War of the Worlds. Is there anybody out there?”
The radio went silent.
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Radio Ga-Ga by Tyler M Deal
Narrator: Nearly paralyzed with fear, she inches closer to the open window. The cold, night air chills her skin. Closer… closer… hands trembling, she reaches for the window seal. She swallows hard and looks out. A shadow in the darkness; a gruesome disfigured hand reaches up and… and…
Woman: Ahhhhhhhh!
[Silence]
Announcer: We will pause here briefly with this ad for Radium Water. Radium Water, it’ll cure what ails ya and leave you with a healthy, vibrant glow. Radium Water! Available wherever NukEx products are sold.
Narrator: And now… for the thrilling conclusion of… The Withered Hand of Rrrrrrrrasputin!
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On Being a Believer by Judy Marshall
If you found inspiration today from God’s word, please support our broadcast with a donation…
Grandma rose early Wednesday mornings to hear Dr. Samuel preach. Her battered old radio sat on the kitchen table.
KRST-AM crackled from 8:00 to 8:30 with Dr. Samuel’s soothing voice. Wednesday’s were almost better than Sunday services she attended. She felt renewed from the singing and fellowship of her fellow worshipers.
From these inspirations, she wrote checks. She tithed with a monthly check as God directed She donated to Dr. Samuel and bought his books.
Grandma truly was a believer. RIP with God, Grandma.
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October Road by Liz Husebye Hartmann
The sun was a memory, the road a straight line swallowed by an empty horizon. This relic of a rental was so old, the radio was one speaker, with five buttons and a dial to select AM stations. Too late even for radio ministry, too early for the farm report; he cranked open the window for the wind’s whistle.
Rubbing his eyes with one hand, he cupped the wheel with the other.
“Joe? Are you there?”
He started, cranked the window shut to hear the radio
“Mary?”
Her voice was clear and strong, as if she was still alive.
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It Had to Be a Sign by Anne Goodwin
“Living Doll” crescendoed as Steve pushed through the swing door into Theatre Six. Three figures in scrubs, and no instruments in sight except the whiteboard marker pens held, like microphones, to their mouths. It had to mean something, Jerry dancing in the middle, the father he never had.
He used to jive with his mother when his big sisters were at Guides. “Did he really do that, Mummy? Did Cliff Richard lock a lady in a trunk so no-one else could have her?”
Now he has a house, a cellar, bolts across the door. A girlfriend, threatening to leave.
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In And Out On The Radio by Hugh W. Robeerts
“Hello,” said Juliet, knocking the side of the ostentatious object, “Who’s in there?”
“Come away,” demanded her mother.
“How can all those people be in there? Why don’t they come out?”
“Don’t be silly! They can’t come out. They’re not inside the radio. They’re broadcasting from the BBC.”
“I want to broadcast from the BBC and come out on the radio,” demanded Julia.
Forty-one years later.
“Today on BBC Radio 4, we’re interviewing actress, Juliet Greenwood,” announced the radio presenter. “Good morning, Ms Greenwood. Are the rumours true?”
“Yes, they are,” declared the radio soap opera star. “I’m gay.”
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True Radio Memory by Sue Spitulnik
A phone call on a weeknight from my UPS driver son wasn’t a common thing. I asked, “What’s up?”
“Every place I made a delivery today the ladies were crying about some DJ dying. Who was he and were you crying too?”
“On my God, yes. Bill Coffey from WBEE dropped dead yesterday after the show. Terry and Billy told us this morning. We all cried together.”
“Did you ever meet this guy?”
“No, but I knew him well. Those DJ’s are my friends.”
“They don’t know you.”
“But I feel like I know them.”
“I don’t get it.”
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Lost Daughter by Charli Mills
Clementine heard her mother over the Stockton radio. She’d entered the small house at the edge of farm fields, picking up fallen produce in the road. Harvest trucks left a trail, speeding to city markets. Her landlady called the rental the Road Garden. Clem thought she meant “rose” and was disappointed to find weeds and a weeping willow. Her mother played Rambler on the banjo and Clem recognized the Tennessee picking popular among California cowboys. She recognized her mother’s name but not her voice. One day, maybe she’d meet the woman who abandoned her for a life of music.
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On the Radio by Eliza Mimski
I’m sorry, so sorry
That I was such a fool
I didn’t know
Love could be so cruel…
Brenda Lee’s voice bled through the radio. The walls sagged, the lights dim with memory.
Marla could not turn back the hands of time. She was sorry. She had been a fool. And from her end, cruelty had entered into their break-up.
There was only one thing to do. She would buy new makeup. She would get a new haircut. She’d go to her aesthetician. She’d practice her coy smile in front of the mirror.
She would get her man back.
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Songs One Can’t Forget by Frank Hubeny
“I hope the kids don’t remember that song you used to sing to them about the bird and the word.”
“I didn’t sing it for long. When they got older, I pretended to be the voice of their doll, Sweetie Baby.”
“You know, we still have that doll in case they ever want it.”
“It’s good to keep stuff like that. Actually some of those old songs aren’t any goofier than the ones they sing today. No wonder we’re all messed up.”
“At least the grand kids don’t know the song.”
“Unfortunately I sang it to them as well.”
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Triggering the Howling Stage by Anne Goodwin
I considered myself happy, that final summer of my childhood, playing housewife, home alone. My mother away, securing my future, my dad at work, my brother at play. My chores complete, I’d doze off with the radio in the afternoon heat. Until a sentimental song kicked me into consciousness, ambushing me with feelings I didn’t recognise as mine. A howling thrusting from my bowels and discharging from my throat. An animal sound, alien, drowning the jingle, almost choking me. Arrhythmic breathing, such wild and weird wailing, it made me laugh. A dramatic overture before the symphony of weeping commenced.
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OMG by Simon
A man was walking down the road thinking. He was listening to radio station, a hot news on the radio station, it said “Ghost writer exposed, he is none other than Sam from a small village in India, and we will be hearing his success story from him very soon, until then stay tuned.” Everyone celebrated and jumped and lifted him. He did not understood why they are behaving strange, his Mom came outside and gave him a spoon of sugar and said, “You idiot, you never told us you are writer.” Sam gasped and said, “OMG! I’m revealed!”
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Live Author Talk by M J Mallon
Those bloody motorbikes can’t they stop! 1 A.M. no chance I’ll get any sleep. Tomorrow’s the live show. Never done this before. What will it be like? I’ll soon know. Introverted writers, tonight at 9 p.m. I’ll talk live. Bound to be a problem with the connection. We’ll get there… I did it! I listen, damn, I can’t see my weird mannerisms, but I can hear them. Perhaps I should have had some water instead of that glass of wine, stupid faux pas, one or two!
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PART II (10-minute Read)
Radio Stories by Susan Zutautas
Dan Hill a Canadian pop singer/songwriter was on the radio telling the story of how “Sometimes When We Touch” came about.
A girl he liked was dating a football player and he wrote and sang her his song. She felt he was too intense for his age. Off he went hurt by her reply. He tucked away the song until he was older.
Working with Barry Mann one day he asked him to come up with music for his poem, not mentioning any of the history behind it. It came out in 1977 hitting #3 on the U.S. billboard.
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Heard on the Radio by Anita Dawes
I remember falling in love with a song
After hearing it coming from
my mum’s little Dansette radio
Indian Reservation
Years later I bought it on vinyl
Played it until it became paper-thin
The neighbours banging on the wall
Begging me to play something different
It’s strange how one song
Heard on a tiny radio
Can colour your life
To me the world suddenly
became wonky, off-kilter.
Why do people think they can take
what doesn’t belong to them
Changing Nations with their greed
Indian Reservation
remains one of my favourite songs
to this day
Played often…
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Driving Me by Joanne Fisher
As she drove me home, she sang along to some song on the radio. I wasn’t even sure what it was. She glanced sideways at me and smiled.
“Hey this could be our song babe!’ she said, and then she abruptly began to sing again loud and off-key, as always. Our song? We had only been going out for two days now, and I wasn’t that sure if we were going to last, yet.
“Sure sweetie.” I replied with a half-smile. She laughed loudly and patted my leg.
“That’s my girl!” she exclaimed. And then she started singing again.
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Radio Reboot by Bill Engleson
“He finally bought it?”
“Bloody miracle. Melania kept pounding away at ’em. Know what finally brought him around?”
“No idea.”
“The initials. DJT. She kept repeating FDR JFK DJT FDR JFK DJT.”
“Seriously?”
“Yup. Had him running around the bedroom chanting it. FDR JFK DJT. It was a hoot.”
“And he’s willing to go to the next level?”
“Bet your booties. Anything to get the geriatric vote back. And the younger demographic will be amused.”
“Not quite a fireside chat.”
“No, but ‘Tweet nothings from the Prez’ has a ring. Every radio station we can get. 7:00 am…sharp.”
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Mixed Media by JulesPaige
Even those stations that attempt to bring us enjoyment often spouting that they are the best – this is the icing on the cake – we’ll take care of you, we’ve surgically removed all of the calories. A line we fall for too easily because we sometimes just really want to be fooled. We want what was, that simpler time forgetting the long list of woes each preceding decade has had to deal with. And yet we still seek that sugar rush. Looking for a sweet life wanting music that soothes.
frosted, sugar, chilled?
media complicates things
with their bias views
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Good News on the Radio by H.R.R. Gorman
David wrote nervously at his desk. He scribbled numbers and added them to prepare other people’s taxes. The radio played in the background, droning out music and ads from a tinny speaker while David waited.
When the news came on he fiddled with a key on his ring. Bay of Pigs, Gulf of Tonkin, U2 spy planes: one day they’d go too far, and the red trigger would be pushed.
David was prepared. Years of food, fluorescent lighting to grow plants underground, a generator, barrels and barrels of diesel. Just give the word, radio, and he’d leave accounting forever.
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1938 CBS Mercury by Kerry E.B. Black
The rich-voiced announcer interrupted our background music with a report. A Professor from Jenning Observatory detected explosions on Mars.
I shared a nervous laugh. “Nothing to worry about, children. Let’s carve our pumpkins.”
The reporter interrupted again. A hideous monsters that had fallen from the skies. I bundled the kids close, jack-o-lanterns forgotten. We crept outside, but nothing disturbed the starry expanse overhead. No Martians. No attacks.
A neighbor asked if we were alright.
We whispered, “Martians are attacking New York.”
“You don’t say?”
We nodded.
“Way I see it, you shouldn’t listen to Orson Wells’ show. Charley McCarthy’s funnier.”
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Station To Station by Geof Le pard
‘Let’s have some music, Logan.’
‘There’s nothing worthwhile.’
‘That’s ridiculous. American has more stations than All India railways.’
‘But they’re vacuous. Not like Radio Three on the Beeb.’
‘You mean pretentious presenters widdling on about Bach’s innovative use of the semi-breve?’
‘Exactly. Better than some tight-trousered troubadour bemoaning his herpes.’
‘That’s your summation of a whole genre, is it? Go on…’
And now a word from our sponsors, Artic Deodorant…
‘See, just bloody adverts…’
‘Shush, you may learn something…’
It may be winter outside, but it’s always August under your armpits. Freshen up…
‘You’re right. Turn it off, Logan.’
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Beyond by D. Avery
They pulled the door shut against the snow squall. “We made it.”
He fumbled for a switch. “There’s still electricity.” Then the lights flickered out.
“Not surprising in this storm, but look, there’s wood, and there’s coals glowing in the fireplace. The owner must have preheated the cabin for us.” He soon had a fire blazing. She spotted a battery-powered radio.
Roads becoming impassable…
“Radio works… now for this lantern.”
Police have suspended their search for an escaped serial killer.
The lantern beam encircled them like a snare. Stepping from the shadowed edge of light, a silhouette took form.
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Time in a Radio by Chel Owens
“The shadow knows…” cassette-crackles our road trip-bound car, forced upon us by ancient parents. I can’t wait for
“That was Mars, The Bringer of War…” intones the always-calm classical voice, soothing from my bedside speaker. I’ll never change to
“Help! I need somebody…” Another sort of Classic, crooning comfort. “Here comes your ghost again,” cannot be replaced by
“Video killed the radio star…” my teenage mouth moves along. Why kill art; why listen to anything but
“The shadow” bzzt “Mars” bzzt “diamonds and rust” bzzt “all that glitters is goooold” bzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz
Dial broken, static cleared; I play them all.
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Music by FloridaBorne
The first time I heard the continental divide of music, I was at a stoplight that stayed red for so long it tried my patience.
“Bye Bye Miss American Pie…”
The light turned green just as the song began, and I shifted into first gear. I drove a Nash Metropolitan, not a Chevy, and there was no levee in sight.
Age 21, with an entire lifetime ahead of me, the song was screaming out a message I was much too young to understand.
It’s been almost 50 years. Will our republic lose control of the plane in this battle?
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On The Radio by Donna Matthews
I drive across the lot and find a spot. I turn off the engine, head in, and scan quickly for an open seat and friendly face. New writing class jitters.
The instructor opens with the 19th 9/11 anniversary. 19 years! I still remember all that time ago sitting in traffic, hearing the news on the radio, and thinking how surely it was a terrible accident.
Our assignment is to imagine a moment from the perspective of someone there. This is horrifyingly simple. I picture the spouse picking up their car from the ferry dock among the hundreds still there.
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Now Why? by Reena Saxena
The road trip was taken against her wish.
A sense of foreboding descended on her, as they drove on the same zig-zag roads climbing up the mountains, but she controlled herself. Teenage children don’t listen anyway.
The familiar refrain of a song brought her out of her reverie.
“OMG! This is not possible. It’s the same song.”
“You enjoy old songs, Mom…”
“This radio channel closed down long back.”
The same figure in black stood on the roadside with an infant in her arms. She had stopped them a decade ago.
She’d died fifteen years ago. Now why?
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iAiai by D. Avery
“Pal, do you have a ipod?”
“I don’t.”
“Should git one.”
“I won’t.”
“Pal, we’re out here all the live long day, we should have a playlist fer when we work.”
“Yer hardly workin’, Kid. Jist leave the singin’ ta the birds.”
“Y’ever yodel, Pal?”
“Never.”
“Knock, knock.”
“Ah, jeez. Who’s there?”
“Little Old Lady.”
“Little Old Lady who?”
“Gotcha ta yodel, Pal!”
“Hmmf.”
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Brain KROT by D. Avery
“S’pose all we need’s thet old radio in the bunkhouse, tuned to KROT. Weatherman says them high winds is slacked off. Says the skies are not cloudy all day.”
“Sportscaster says the Rodeo’s comin’!”
“Yeehaw!”
And the Ads Played On
“Yep, KROT’s a good station, plays jist what ya wanna hear when ya wanna hear it.”
“How da they manage that, Pal?”
“Reckon ‘cause they’s fictional, like us. Shush listen.”
Come shift or shine ya don’t need no fancy wine but fer a real good time try Ernie’s Corn Juice! Ernie’s Corn Juice— dis still the one fer fallin’ down fun.
“Ernie’s advertisin’ on KROT!”
‘Ello. Dees ees Pepe LeGume of LeGume’s Cleaning Services. Leave a shine behind! For a clean that lingers, hire LeGume’s.”
“More ads!”
Frankie delivers da letters with an eye to quality.
“Kid, iquit radio!”
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First Flight
From the nest to new ventures, first flights are often fraught with hazzards and delights. Birds test their wings and people test their abilities. No matter what happens next, it is the first time that remains memorable.
Writers imagined those moments. The first leap, jump, departure. Some landed and some flew beyond our gaze.
The following stories are based on the August 13, 2020, prompt: In 99 words (no more, no less), write a story about a first flight.
PART I (10-minute read)
First Flight by Charli Mills
The phoenix spent a lifetime reinventing herself. Each experience stabilized the bits, girding future wings. Her thoughts solidified. From dusty ashes, elegance rose. Sometimes her development caused an imbalance—she’d gain strength in one wing, leaving a talon incorporeal, a sooty ghost foot. Failure created more ashes, but ashes packed form like down in a pillow. Soft, at first, the padding transformed to muscle and bone. Fully engineered, the phoenix’s original vision improved with age and wisdom gained. A fire of kindness flamed her fully actualized self and she burned, a sacrifice to the ashes of her next life.
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First Flight by Joanne Fisher
She was the strongest and first of her brood, and had eaten her brothers and sisters as soon as they hatched. Now she was perched on the cliff edge and something instinctive began to take over. Without even thinking, she launched herself into the air. As she plummeted, for the first time her wings began to stretch out. She swooped up into the blue sky, the red sun glistening on her scales. She knew she would grow larger and master this element. Nothing could defeat her now. She roared into the wind and the first trace of flame appeared.
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First Flight by Colleen Chesebro
The wings were brand new. The two small buds on her back had blossomed into full-fledged wings covered with white feathers. She stretched these new extensions as far as she could, flexing the newly formed muscles taut.
She was sure that they made these new appendages for flying. How long had she wished to fly free like the eagle and the hawk?
She sniffed the air and pawed the ground. From a canter to a dead run, she was ready to spread her wings. At the cliff, the ground fell away, and she flew. It was unicorn’s first flight.
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Flying Pizza by Geoff Le Pard
‘I tried to talk to that rock woman again, but she just got in the lake and swam away.’
‘She swam in that?’
‘She could be a mermaid.’
‘More like a nice maiden. Or it could be a version of our hard-wired response to danger.’
‘What’s that?’
‘Haven’t you heard of the fight or flight response, Morgan?’
‘My hard-wired response is different.’
‘Of course it is. What do you do if danger threatens?’
‘I eat pizza.’
‘How on earth did those palaeontologists miss that third hard-wired response? It explains those Stone Age ovens.’
‘Experts, huh?’
‘Exactly.’
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First Flight by kathy70
I’m taking the early first flight out this morning. Handy trick learned years ago that allow options if I miss it. DC is ugly hot this summer. Today’s assignment is to meet an old friend for lunch. Twenty years is a long time, I wonder how he’s changed. Will he know me? My job today is simply gathering information on what’s next years hot clothing color. How does a nice girl from Kansas get in the spy business? Should I have married that farmer? On my flight there is a familiar face in the next seat. “Hi I’m Dorothy.”
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Betsy 1965 by Deborah Dansante
Callow listened as the weatherman told her she would wash away in the storm unless she got out now. The siren sounds the radio made when the warm winds blew down to Grand Isle from New Orleans helped Callow to believe this was true. Callow took up her lamp. Kneeling in prayer, Callow repeatedly raised her arms up and down, finally letting them fall gently to her sides. This was to remind Callow of what to do if she was to suddenly to take off flying with the hurricane. Callow fell asleep listening to the buzzing sounds of WWL.
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First Flight by H.R.R. Gorman
It was our land which had the wind, the sand, the beach. It was here they assembled the pieces, here they first revved the engine, here they first left land. Here mankind first leapt to the heavens during 26 seconds that shrank the earth. Only five witnesses saw the first moments of mankind’s destiny, a destiny riding upon muslin, and aluminum engine.
Arise, children of Earth! Fly upon wings of intelligence and daring, upon the backs of bloody lessons learned! From a colony lost to the sky found, the Carolina coast is there.
Oh, and Ohio can suck it.
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The One by Paula Puolakka
No 9/11. No pandemic. The airplanes could have not worked as weapons of mass destruction and a swift way to spread the virus if the citizens of the USA would have agreed with the One who tried to stop the madness from happening a long time ago. Instead, he was called crazy, locked inside a vault, and quietened.
The first flight can be observed after the first attempt to fly and after the first fall. Just listen to “Learn How to Fall” by Paul Simon, and you will realize that (ad nauseam) the truth will make you try again.
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Metamorphosis, Revisited by Jeff Gard
Jerome’s thumbs peck the screen. His eyes burrow through layers of lamestream media to find the Truth. Hunched over his phone, bones strain at skin, T-shirt molting against expanding shoulder blades until leathery wings sprout.
Truth flees sentences, buzzing through air, swarming like gnats. Everything the establishment hides, deep state crimes of pedophilic cannibalism obfuscated by so-called experts – these morsels can only be consumed by minds adapted to bite-sized, carefully coded minutia.
Jerome chases the latest conspiracy out a window in dusk where other believers gather. They speak in stuttering chirps, guiding each other with the sounds of night.
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A Flightening Experience from Back in the Day by Bill Engleson
“It was up there,” Ham Slater, the friendly, eager, local realtor said, pointing to the high bluff running along the skyline for a few miles.
“Really?”
“Yup. 1968. Hot summer evening, they say.”
“They?” I asked.
“Yup. Locals. Ones playing golf on the meadow below.”
“The island has a golf course?” I interrupted.
“Wellll…not officially. Mostly farmland. Sheep keep ‘er nicely chomped.”
“Ah,“ I said, not fully enlightened. “So, the bluff?”
“Zeke Buttworm, old time farmer…inventor. Built a glider…also tried…mescaline…young hippie girl Zeke was…courtin’…Lass was devastated.”
“It crashed?”
“Yup. Killed Zeke dead…and three sheep.”
“Sad.”
“Oh! And one golfer.”
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The First Flight by The Curious Archaeologist
He stood on the edge of the tower, checked his linen covered wings, took a deep breath and jumped.
They worked! He glided for nearly two hundred yards before the gust hit him, he struggled as he dropped, his wings broke his fall. He awoke in the infirmary with a broken leg. The Abbot beside the bed.
“Brother Elimer, my old friend, there must be no more flying. I don’t wish to bury you next time.”
“But if I had a bigger tail I could fly”
“Not now.” The Abbot was firm, “One day perhaps.”
The year was 1005.
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First Flight by Frank Hubeny
The interviewer wanted to know whether Bird was scared when he jumped out of the nest for the first time.
Bird said, “Technically I didn’t ‘jump’. I flew. My wings moved. Soon the nest was far below me. I don’t know how it happened. It’s not like jumping. There’s a difference.”
The interviewer wondered, “Really? What’s the difference?”
He clarified, “You see, any monkey can jump out of a nest. You know as well as I do what will happen. I’m not going to go there. But birds, well – how do I put this? We don’t jump. We fly.”
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Earth is Curvy by Simon Prathap D
It was his first time, he was nervous. He looked at the place around, the man at the opposite was busy securing belt all over his body. He took a deep breath and counted one and before he said two he was pushed away from the mountain, his first skydiving. His partner laughed at his screaming. In few seconds he started to feel the wind, the air, the landscape, the beautiful mountains and the animals that was running in the wild, it all said him one truth about the universe. ‘Earth is not flat, it is curvy’ he said.
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First Flight by Liz Husebye Hartmann
She shifted her hips, attempting to get comfortable. Elbows on the counter, chin on fist, she gazed at the display, attempting to suss out meaning from the frothy spill of words. All gibberish. She sighed.
And she’d wanted to make a good impression.
He perched, mirror image to this beautiful woman, heels hooked on the stool’s rungs. He’d suggested this venue for its relaxed atmosphere, located between river and train. He also wanted to make a good impression.
“I don’t know beans about beer!”
“Trust me?” he leaned back. “Let’s share a flight. This brewery has a nice selection.”
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Viewing the Nazca Lines by Anne Goodwin
“After breakfast is best. The first flight.”
Gulping coffee and empanadas de queso at sunrise before cycling to the airstrip, I wondered if I’d heard him right. My stomach lurched as the plane vaulted the perimeter fence. Just us, our guide and the pilot: no other tourists to block the view. Pre-Columbian geoglyphs etched in the desert: how did they make them? Why?
There’s the dog! The spider! The plane tilts, wings verging on horizontal. Hummingbird. Monkey. Tree. I cup my mouth, breakfast tastes sour the second time around. How did I misunderstand it? Definitely breakfast after: desayuno después.
🥕🥕🥕
Take Off, Eh? by Annette Rochelle Aben
The honeymoon flight from Detroit to Los Angeles was her very first. Not knowing what to expect, the young bride allowed her more well-traveled husband to guide her along the way.
He graciously gave her the ilse seat and held her hand gently while the flight attendant covered the emergency instructions.
As the plane pulled back, he reminded her that she should put the chewing gum in her mouth.
“Honey, look we’re climbing into the clouds!”
She leaned forward to take a look, and vomited on the back of the head of the person seated in front of her.
🥕🥕🥕
Her First Flight by Ann Edall-Robson
Desk, check. Window, check. Binoculars, check. Camera, check. Water, check.
She sat on a log, enjoying the vista. The sound of the creek chortling over the rocks made her smile. A shadow of a cloud floated within sight. Lifting the binoculars to her eyes she almost missed the hawk lifting of its perch. Its flight taking the predator out of camera range.
Her contented sigh caused a misty cloud in the cool, morning air. Picking up her pencil, she started to write. Her first flight to work from home was a success. Outdoor office days were here to stay.
🥕🥕🥕
Arriving by D. Avery
Signs and arrows made navigating the mazelike interior of the airport easier than she’d imagined. Still she was passed left and right by more experienced travelers towing wheeled suitcases, rushing down the wide corridor labeled “Departures”. She clutched her satchel and continued until she was in a glassed in peninsula thrust into a sea of tarmac, roiling with activity. She found her gate, a closed door really, but one that would open for her, take her away. Away at last. Seated close to this doorway she again examined her ticket. One way. She would be transported and then— “Arrivals”.
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Just Another Baby Bird by Lottie M. Hancock
Women have mid-life crisis, too. Mine came with a thirty-six-foot wingspan.
Preflight checklist: Ready.
Doors latched. Check.
Fuel valve on. Check.
Butterflies in stomach. Check.
Trim set for takeoff. Check.
Heart raced. Check.
Wing flaps at 0. Check.
Breathe!
I kept the horizon level. The ground fell away.
My instructor stared straight ahead.
Power at 2200 RPM. Check.
The city I grew up in shrank. The sky grew.
I watched the gauges steady and trimmed the elevator.
A flock of geese formed around us. Just another baby bird.
Prepare for final approach. Check.
Regret having to land. Check.
Touchdown.
🥕🥕🥕
Dear Butterfly, Love Caterpillar by Norah Colvin
Dear Butterfly,
You make the impossible seem possible. You inspire our thoughts, our hopes, our dreams. How can I be like you?
Dear Caterpillar,
Dreams create possibilities but now you are exactly who you were meant to be.
Dear Butterfly,
Life is monotonous. Everyone does the same thing, day after day. Shouldn’t life be more than this?
Dear Caterpillar,
Nothing happens overnight. Patience, determination and persistence will reward you in the end.
Dear Butterfly,
I’m tired. I can’t do this anymore. I think I will sleep forever. Goodbye.
Wake up, butterfly. It’s time to spread your wings and fly!
🥕🥕🥕
PART II (10-minute read)
Joshua by Saifun Hassam
Joshua was excited as the pilot flew the Aerial Research seaplane over the offshore waters. This was his very first aerial survey flight.
Digital cameras revealed incredible details of shapes and colors of underwater rocks, once fiery molten lava. It was a feast for him as an artist and a geologist. Sea crustaceans, sea urchins and sea stars, jellyfish, and sea horses seemed like delicate otherworldly creatures.
Working with other researchers, he would use aerial photography to probe for undersea archeological sites, search for fine differences in the waters and along the seabed where buried structures might lie hidden.
🥕🥕🥕
Discomfort by Reena Saxena
She cringed on seeing the large number of people who had come to see him off. Well, it was nice that his employers were sending him abroad at a raw age of 23, and he was the first in the family to fly abroad, but the crowd was kind of too large for comfort.
It was the first glimpse of a culture gap. They shared too much, they had no concept of discretion or privacy.
Years later, she evaluates her discomfort with his family and finds the same reasons. She needs space, but they are unaware of the concept.
🥕🥕🥕
Fallen by Joanne Fisher
in the end I was always
a child of the dark, even though
once I was a shining light
there I was, in Paradise
but my heart was uneasy
never a team player, all I wanted
was a change in the management,
I was cast out, and fell a long way…
Hell was already there, all I did
was make it my own, a reflection
of my own torment
my wings broken, through
the long millennia they began
to heal, until one day
I launched into the air
and for the first time flew
above my own dark kingdom
🥕🥕🥕
This Life by Marjorie Mallon
Three years ago, we said our goodbyes at the departure gate before that first flight. How I cried. I wept for a day, and the next day I wept without weeping. My darling daughter gone so faraway. She braved how scared she was. Now, she is adventuring again – not so far this time! And yet her friends miss her already. I miss her already. This is life, young adults are always moving, taking those steps to independence. They never leave your thoughts. They’re always a part of you, wherever they are.
Daughters always remain in your heart.
🥕🥕🥕
First Flight by Anita Dawes
As we grow older
We tend care a little more
About the young ones
Children, animals, it doesn’t matter
If they’re young
We acquire a mothering apron
Fussy over their first steps
Eager that they don’t fall
A fall may put them off trying
God helps us when it comes to their
First steps to foraging for themselves
Mother mode goes into overdrive
Unfortunately, we cannot keep the door
Closed to the grown-up world
Wanting to, can’t make it so
You can only hope and pray
That you did a good job
Trust that you have
And let go…
🥕🥕🥕
First Flight by Christine Bialczak
When granny died mommy said that she went to heaven I don’t know if I know where heaven is or if it’s really even a place because when mommy told me the tooth fairy came and took my first tooth I think she was lying because I saw my tooth in the bottom of the trash can in the bathroom mommy said maybe the tooth fairy went in the bathroom for a drink and dropped it by accident and that I should just be happy with my dollar bill but I would be happier to know where granny went.
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First Solo by Donna Matthews
Charlie was out of bed before his mom came in to wake him up. He’d laid out his clothes the night before, and he couldn’t wait to wear his new tennis shoes. Running down the hall toward the kitchen, his mom intercepted him, leaned over, kissed his head, and asked him if he was ready. “Yes!” he nearly screamed. Barely tasting his cereal, he grabbed his new spiderman backpack full of all the new pencils, erasers, and folders and hopped at the front door. “Let’s go mom!”
She sighed, her baby on his first solo flight known as kindergarten.
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What Grandmothers Do by Eliza Mimski
She’d been there with him the first day of kindergarten, waiting anxiously at the classroom door when school was over.
She’d been there with him when he’d needed surgery on his toe, him later laying on the couch with his pain medication and Ritz Crackers on the coffee table.
She’d been there with him at every baseball game, basketball game, and she’d picked him up from his martial arts class.
She’d picked him up from middle school and taken him to get pizza, then to Burger King when he was in high school.
Now he was eighteen. Entering college.
🥕🥕🥕
First Flight by Susan Zutautas
It was all set, soon we would become empty nesters. It was sad to see them leave, and I knew we would miss them, but they had to go and start new lives and families of their own. I am sure we would see them from time to time and for visits on birthdays and holidays.
One bright sunny July morning we all woke up and I knew it was the day to teach the little ones how to fly.
Okay kids it’s flying day and we’re all going to go together. Watch what I do and follow me.
🥕🥕🥕
Fledgling Dancers by Sue Spitulnik
Before she moved home, Tessa’s sister had kept her informed about Michael’s growing involvement in community activities since his return. Ally had never mentioned a bar called the “No Thanks Needed,” nor the Irish dancing classes being held there.
Soon after she arrived in town, Michael invited Tessa to go watch. She had never seen Irish dancing up close and was surprised the youngest of the dancers were only eight years old. Compared to their teachers, Thad and Katie, the children looked like fledgling birds trying their wings for the first time. They were tittering like young birds too.
🥕🥕🥕
First Flight by Michael Fishman
I can’t say he took it all in, but today was a beautiful day for a first flight. The sun shined down from a bold blue sky and lit the runway.
“Ground control to Captain Griffin.”
“Griffin here.”
“We’re a ‘go’, Captain.”
And just like that things started to speed up.
“You got it?” I huffed as I started to run faster.
“I think so.” His voice was a little shaky, but not from fear.
“I’m letting go now, Griff. Hold the handles and keep pedaling.”
“I— I got it, dad!”
And just like that my son was flying.
🥕🥕🥕
First Flight by R. V.Mitchell
He was nervous, but the amount he had been offered was more than a mere street urchin could hope to acquire in a month. Now, standing on the rooftop, and the distance to the piazza seemed impossible.
Angelo felt the harnesses being tightened around his emaciated frame, and the canvas and weight of the wooden frame made him wonder if the experiment could ever work.
“Now,” the Leonardo called from the ground, and Angelo felt a shove from behind. He immediately crashed onto the cobbles.
“Not bad for a first flight,” Da Vinci said, looking down on the boy.
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Fight or Flight by Doug Jacquier
Every schoolyard has it’s Bomber, so-called for his propensity to drop tucked-legged from the high board at the local pool and make tidal waves that left smaller children spluttering. Big for his age, monobrow hovering over piggy eyes, permanent Band-Aids on his knuckles from the dragging and never short of choices for lunch. I knew my turn at victimhood would eventually come and it did the day I asked him to desist from inserting my friend’s head into a toilet bowl. Leering excitedly at the opportunity for fresh blood, he ambled towards me and my first flight began.
🥕🥕🥕
First Flight by Irene Waters
Unaware of the steps his momentum sent him flying through the air, arms and legs akimbo. The letter he’d been reading floating gently in the breeze behind him. His thoughts were those of a drowning man. This is what it feels like to fly? First his childhood, then the small amount of adulthood he’d experienced. Should have told Alison I love her. Should have written a will. A bellyflop onto concrete that’ll hurt.
He landed hard. He momentarily felt like Humpty Dumpty before all thought left him.
Alison screamed. “Don’t die. Not when you’ve just inherited and can live.”
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First Love by Kerry E.B. Black
He stared, a heat-seeking missile intent upon its target. She swayed to the music, spellbound, her motion a metronome, unaware of his interest until her friends elbowed her and whispered their giggling observations. She startled at his intensity but didn’t shy away. No, his open desire found in her an equal audacity. Without regard for decorum, she fantasized a relationship. It happened in a flash, an atmospheric conflagration that propelled her heart from its protection into the realm of pre-teen romance. The lead singer proclaimed nonsense and thinly veiled entendres while her heart took its inaugural flight of fancy.
🥕🥕🥕
Learning to Fly by JulesPaige
was judgement clouded
when the elementary
student left at lunch
first time run-a-way; gone south
trying to find those who cared
since it was so clear
that one little voice would not
be heard by adults
Over the years; still no one would listen. More attempts were fathomed, planned, engineered and carried out. No real truths were ever revealed leaving the past misted in disillusionment. No real resolutions, except to forgive those striving to do their best for themselves with only second thoughts to those around them. The pain lessens. Clouds parted for true love, laughter and compassionate hope.
🥕🥕🥕
A Graduate by Ruchira Khanna
Traditional hat toss. Some motion blur.
He throws his graduation cap in the air while I have tears flowing down my eyes.
He’s no doubt very excited about the ‘freedom’ that he’ll get. That involves no reminders or nagging from my end to do things.
As a parent, I ought to step back and give him wings to make his first flight away from home. Only then, I guess, he’ll realize the importance of all that care, love, attention, and the need to manage time well, that he used to knit brows upon.
As the wise said, “Give them wings to appreciate what they had.”
🥕🥕🥕
Basket Case by D. Avery
“Whoa, Kid. Stop. Back up. What’re ya plannin’?”
“Pal, this is gonna be great! We’re gonna fly!”
“Prompt says anythin’ or anyone thet flies, but I’m tellin’ ya, Kid, I ain’t goin’ in any flyin’ contraption. ‘Specially if Pepe LeGume’s runnin’ it. What in heck’s he know ‘bout aeroplanes anyway?”
“Ain’t gonna fly in a aeroplane, Pal. Pepe’s got a more economical idea.”
“Oh, jeez, Kid, what’re you two up too?”
“We’ll be up, up and away in a hot air balloon! An’ guess how Pepe plans on fuelin’ it?”
“Oh, the humanity!”
“Pepe’s an amazin’ human bean alright.”
🥕🥕🥕
Her Crowning Glory
Hairstyles might be low on the priority list mid-2020, the Year of COVID Hair but her crowning glory is still at the forefront of many minds (and heads). Traditionally, we might think of a regal character with long locks braided, curled, or teased like the heroine on the cover of a romance novel. But it could be unicorn mane. In the hands of creative writers, what might her crowning glory look like?
Those who chased the prompt this week found unique expressions and ideas to describe different possibilities. You’ll read about hair and so much more in this collection.
The following stories are based the July 30, 2020, prompt: In 99 words (no more, no less), write a story that uses the phrase “her crowning glory.”
PART I (10-minute read)
Gifts by Reena Saxena
“The Gift of the Magi” by O.Henry was a lesson in gifting. The writer’s intention may have been completely different.
It is difficult for a girl to give up her crowning glory to buy a gift, more so than it is for a man to give up his inheritance. I think about the story more now, when people are losing their steady source of income. Gifting may soon acquire new forms, as modes of celebration change.
Ria spent hours designing an online gift for her beau. Digital art is not easy, but one piece suffices for three boyfriends.
🥕🥕🥕
Crowning Glory by FloridaBorne
Queen Catherine loved her silver crown inset with sapphires and diamonds. She sat quietly on a smaller throne, a trait expected of the window dressing sitting next to her husband, and sank into mental soliloquy.
Her only sister had a washerwoman’s build and face. Catherine, graceful and filled with a legendary beauty, was traded into loveless marriage at 15 for a substantial fee. Women envied Catherine, but her sister chose to read, chose to be tutored by scholars, and still lived with her brothers.
Catherine had chosen the design of her crown.
Why did it seem a hollow victory?
🥕🥕🥕
Mrs. Brouillette’s Auspicious Adventure by Deborah Dansante
On Ellen Brouillette’s 99th birthday, unable to find anyone to climb Mt. Monodnack with, she decided to go alone.
Later, from her hospital bed, during an interview with Channel 2 News, Mrs. Brouilette insisted that her failed attempt had only to do with those awful black flies, which were particularly troublesome that year.
When Missy Jan, Channel 2 news anchor, suggested to Mrs. Brouilette a less dangerous activity for her 100th, Ellen Brouillette looked into the camera and asked the audience if they thought knitting cozies would’ve been her crowning glory or have gotten her on the evening news.
🥕🥕🥕
Stacking Stones by Frank Hubeny
Nature does a grander job. What we made was mindful. Besides that wasn’t why we piled stones on top of one another. We were testing each other’s patience.
I failed the test and let her set the last stone, her crowning glory, on top. They didn’t fall and so per agreement she left.
I would have told you about the arguments, but I’ve forgotten them. I only remember where we set those stones. It was out of the way. A decade later I came back. I looked everywhere.
Nature let us take our turn then washed it all away.
🥕🥕🥕
Glory by Pete Fanning
I was raised to think I was special. My mom liked to call me her crowning glory. She’d smile proudly whenever she said it, blind to my blemishes, immune to my mistakes. She’d look at me, eyes glazed, seeing what no mirror could ever produce.
The last time she said it was the day I went clean for good. We held hands, my tears spilling to my arm, washing over the scabs and needle marks.
“My crowning glory,” she rasped, sinking away, leaving me alone with my demons.
I knew there was a will.
But I wanted her glory.
🥕🥕🥕
Her Crowning Glory by Anita Dawes
She stands on the edge of decision
Beneath the pale silver crescent
Her earthly form chosen
Dark mane flowing
Magic cannot be contained
Her crowning glory, the spiral horn
Long sought after by man
One such as hers
Said to be held by Merlin
The magician, to raise Camelot
She must risk going back in time
When magic held no mystery, it just was
To find a mate, to keep magic
Between the worlds
As it had been from the beginning
Will she risk losing her magic
At the hands of some eager
Wannabe wizard
Or find her mate?
🥕🥕🥕
Unexpected Escort by Charli Mills
In the end, a unicorn fetched Sarah from her deathbed. She’d been hearing Cobb’s steed galloping five nights in a row, expecting he’d finally come to take her to hell. She’d lived with the guilt of his death for 76 years. Cobb’s soul would have vengeance soon. But it wasn’t the specter of the man she once loved. It wasn’t his horse pounding past her door. The unicorn’s crowning glory wasn’t flowing mane or golden horn. It was Sarah’s lovely daughter grown past the infanthood she’d never survived. Resplendent on the beast’s back, she said, “Let’s go home, Mama.”
🥕🥕🥕
Crowning Glory by R. V. Mitchell
Dora was the plainest maiden in all the kingdom. Some even said that she was ugly. It was precisely that fact that led to her retaining her virtue far beyond the time in which it was relinquished by her peers.
This purity, however, was also her crowning glory, for she could see and converse with unicorns.
“Oh, I wish I was as beautiful as you,” she said to Daisy, one day.
“And I wish I had your lovely voice,” the unicorn replied.
They were suddenly transformed, but Dora could tell no one – for she had become a little horse.
🥕🥕🥕
Crowning Glory by Jenn Linning
One evening, the national animals of England, Scotland, and Wales met to settle a friendly argument: who, if it came to it, would overthrow all the others in a fight to the death?
England’s lion went first, flashing his claws, gnashing his teeth, and roaring as menacingly as he could. Wales’ scarlet dragon laughed quietly at his non-magical cousin’s display, orange flames escaping carelessly from his nostrils as he did so. Scotland’s white unicorn simply rolled her eyes and bowed to display her crowning glory: her twisted opal horn, sharp as a dagger and a hundred times as deadly.
🥕🥕🥕
15 Years Later by Norah Colvin
A reunion wouldn’t normally appeal but the timing seemed right and, anyway, Miss R. would be there and, hopefully, Jasmine so she wouldn’t be alone.
Marnie inspected her reflection, predicting their scrutiny and subsequent reaction. What was once a nest of tangles was now her crowning glory, sparkling like gold. A final touch of the lightest spray smoothed every strand to perfection. Brucie, who’d once poured an entire pot of glue over her head, declaring it an accident, could — well, it didn’t matter. He couldn’t touch her now.
As she was announced, the room hushed. “Marnie? Really?” Brucie spluttered.
🥕🥕🥕
Coda? by JulesPaige
The instrumental of her voice, soft whispers, forced grunts, maybe even a scream or two. When she’d thought of all she’d ever done it was her crowning glory to ‘gift’ a safe arrival to her children. Everything else paled. Departing from graduation ceremonies, even the wedding ceremony – while still high on the list of accomplishments – the light of her life that brought her out of the darkest of thoughts were the successes of her children.
lullabies she’d sung
created solely from love
easing them to sleep
Still, she remained an individual. And perhaps that counted the most.
🥕🥕🥕
He’ll Walk for Emma by Sue Spitulnik
Tessa leaned close to Lexi to ask, “How did you get Michael to wear his legs for the baptism?”
“Reality, Mom. I simply told him I was afraid Emma wasn’t safe being perched in his lap while he was using his arms to wheel his chair and I wanted her grandfather to carry her forward when it was time for the ceremony.”
“That will be your crown of glory for years to come my daughter. Next time I think he should walk instead of ride, I’ll get you to convince him.”
“Not my doing, Mom. Give Emma the credit.”
🥕🥕🥕
Nandini by Saifun Hassam
Nandini, a graduate in the marine sciences, was a daughter of the Samari Archipelago. Her ebony curls and lithe bronze body reflected her ancient ancestry of Black slaves and Pacific traders.
Nandini loved exploring the abundant lagoons. Coral reefs ringed lagoons and extended into deeper waters. Her studies focused on reef growth and fragility, the impact of human activities and nature’s forces, of weather, of deep ocean volcanos.
When she won the coveted student award, “The Sea Urchin” in marine and oceanographic research, it became both her crowning glory and gave her a sense of direction in her career.
🥕🥕🥕
Knees Up by Geoff Le Pard
‘Aunty Madge mailed.’
‘How is the old loon?’
‘Fed up with lockdown, though she’s ridiculously excited she’s got a hair appointment.’
‘What is that all about? A hair cut? Sheesh!’
‘You’ve got none to cut. Mum always said her hair was her crowning glory.’
‘What’s yours, Logan?’
‘I’ve not given it any thought.’
‘Mine’s my knees. I’ve always thought they were rather finely sculptured.’
‘Seriously? Knees have to be man’s ugliest feature.’
‘No, that has to be elbows. Awful things. Come on, what’s yours?’
‘If I have to pick, then my intellect.’
‘More like your crowing glory, then.’
‘?’
🥕🥕🥕
Her Crowning Glory by Irene Waters
“I need a bathroom quick. “Ahhhhhhh.” Cramp.”
He guided his wife to the toilet block worrying about food poisoning. As he looked beads of perspiration dotted her brow and her crowning glory became wet and lank.
“Ahhhhhhhhhhhh!” His strong grip prevented her collapsing. He guided her into the first stall.
“Gosh it’s big. There’s a loo for everyone………..”
His wife moaned. “Feels like a ring of fire.”
“You’re Not pregnant?”
“No.”
He pushed her back and looked. “You’ve crowned. ” He caught the baby. “Who knew the family loos would be where we became a family. Let’s call her Glory.”
🥕🥕🥕
Leaving by Joanne Fisher
Though her work for the company was quite pivotal, Lily found herself largely ignored there. She had worked for a number of years in accounting, but often felt she was passed over, forgotten, even taken for granted.
One day Lily decided to leave, as she wanted to work somewhere where she would be more valued and appreciated. She baked a cake for her last day of work there, to let everyone know what she thought of them. Lily believed it was her crowning glory: the cake was the shape of a large hand, with the middle finger fully extended.
🥕🥕🥕
Part II (10-minute read)
Tip of the Hat by Ann Edall-Robson
The quiet rumble reminds her of far off thunder as the truck tires roll over the cattle guard. She knows her way out of the blackened ranch yard by heart, not turning on the headlights until she reaches the end of the lane. Her hand drops automatically to flick on the turn signal. She laughs at herself knowing the courtesy is only necessary when headlights or dust tails are coming toward you. In twenty minutes she’ll be in the hills waiting for the sun to rise. The morning’s tip of the hat, her crowning glory, to start the day.
🥕🥕🥕
Clover Crowns and Dancing Rings by Kerry E.B. Black
The cousins braided daisies into crowns and rested them atop each other’s heads. “What a perfect May Day!” The girls spun, hands clasped, until they fell laughing to the ground. The world spun on without them, and their stomachs fluttered.
“Let’s find 4-leafed-clovers!” Heather found one. Then another, and another. She discovered so many she braided them into her daisy crown.
Kay scowled at the field, determined to find at least one. Instead, she discovered a circle of white mushrooms.
Heather gasped. “Fairies dance inside those.”
They left their daisy chains within.
Heather sighed, “Fairy rings are cooler than 4-leafed-clovers.”
🥕🥕🥕
Never Mind by D. Avery
Never mind what exactly the boys said, the gestures they made. It was rude. It was disrespectful. And how they waited for her response, grinning, still taunting. Who would treat an elder this way?
She calmly unpinned her gray bun, shook loose her long hair. She stood tall, her hair now a high wind whipping and lashing the cowering boys. She watched, impassive, her hair now a frenzied torrential rain that pelted the whimpering boys.
Then she brushed her hair, now a golden sun, a dazzling halo. And she wound it back into a gray bun, her crowning glory.
🥕🥕🥕
The Queen of Winter by Colleen M. Chesebro
The wind howled like a banshee as the first storm of the season battered the cottage. Niall settled into his chair for the night.
Wild dreams tortured his thoughts. The image of the Cailleach Béara bloomed in his mind. Each year the old crone brought winter’s fury. When she appeared, stones flew from her apron and landed upon the ground. These stones, her crowning glory, grew into rock formations or mountains.
The next morning Niall’s home perched on the cliffs above the sea. Nearby, a large rock resembled the ancient Cailleach’s face. There she remains to the present day.
🥕🥕🥕
The Wheel Turns by Liz Husebye Hartmann
Chad scrunched his brow, tapping the turntable with a desultory forefinger. The sculpture rotated slowly, displaying all its sides, seeming to delight in its own ineffable shimmer and elegance. It almost winked at him, whispering “You don’t get me, do you?”
He shook his head and turned away to pour another dram of Scotch into the ceramic mug, one of the first pieces Susan’d submitted to apprentice with him. He threw back the Scotch and grimaced at its bite.
This was her crowning glory?
Yet there was something…artistic genius he couldn’t grasp.
The student had bypassed the teacher.
🥕🥕🥕
Crown of Snakes by Kerry E.B. Black
Medi scrubbed marble columns, hands raw but heart swollen with adoration for her goddess, Athena.
Poseidon, smelling of brine and lust, pushed Medi to the floor and stole what she’d sworn as sacred.
Athena found Medi clutching her torn chiton to her ravaged body.
Fury seized this goddess of wisdom. Dare Poseidon violate her temple with carnal acts? Debase Her by soiling Her maiden?
Athena couldn’t punish Poseidon, but by Zeus, she’d be avenged. She seized Medi’s silken locks and cursed. “Let none desire you.”
Hair transformed into hissing snakes. Eyes steeled into weapons. From then, all feared Medusa.
🥕🥕🥕
Mis-steps by Eliza Mimski
Genovese’s goal had always been to snatch away a married man. She was competitive by nature. The married man offered a certain kind of drama other relationships lacked. The clandestine atmosphere, the sneaking around, the mis-steps. So far she hadn’t reached her goal, but that in no way meant she wouldn’t, and that it wouldn’t happen soon.
She had her sights on the CEO, married for forty years to the same woman, and with three grown children. Just think of the accomplishment, hearts broken, tears falling, anger raging, and all because of her.
It would be her crowning glory.
🥕🥕🥕
Stand on Your Feet by Sanjuna.SR
A curly haired girl with honey-eyes well-groomed in blue gown is serving the most delightful delicious desserts in a small shop which was famous for its taste and People were praising her cooking skills stating “health to her hands”
To find the curiosity of why this pretty doll is working here? We asked her name.
For my surprise, her surname belongs to a respectful posh society yet she acts like a normal person and does not tout her background.
She is trying hard to stand on her own feet in spite of all the inheritance is her crowning glory.
🥕🥕🥕
Elevated Upcycle by kathy70
As we stepped off the elevator I felt a bit anxious. I was visiting my friends family lake front condo on the 32nd floor of this building and I had heard stories about the fabulous decor. The huge entrance hallway was a deep dark brown with floor to ceiling world renown famous artists works on display.
To me her crowning glory in this unit was the 3rd bathroom we saw. Bath mat, seat cover, tissue box and wastepaper basket all covered with mink. Upcycled old coats rescued and remade by her mom. So unexpected it took my breath away.
🥕🥕🥕
He Was Right by Paula Puolakka
The shift of the north magnetic pole has increased the leakage of space radiation. People are worried about its effect on The Global Positioning System, but nobody’s interested in health issues. The radiation is, for example, corrupting our brains and memory and increasing eye and heart problems.
In her crowning glory, as she’s trying to figure out things by using intuition and keeping her crystal skull (Sahasrara) clean, she understands even more clearly how Mr. Kaczynski was right all the time. The violent acts of today have been caused by radiation, together with the falsity spread through technological devices.
🥕🥕🥕
It Grows Back by Annette Rochelle Aben
They went to visit her mother. Both were in need of a haircut. Her mother was enrolled in beauty school and needed to practice on real heads as opposed to mannequins.
He went first. Drape in place, the scissors could be heard merrily snipping away. Renegade hairs were whisked off his shoulders and they pronounced him perfect.
When it came to her crowning glory, her mother was not so attentive. As her husband walked by to get a drink of water, he shrieked in horror. Her mother had replicated HIS cut on the left side of his wife’s head!
🥕🥕🥕
Shaggy Inktop by Anne Goodwin
Feathered frame for her face, her surprise lockdown hair was a triumph, visually. That couldn’t be said of the inglorious thicket that sprang from her crown. Sweat lathered her nape as the sun reported for duty. Fatigue in her arms as the queue formed outside the shower. Should she chop it to the bone, don a hat with her mask for the supermarket? No-one saw the back of her head on Zoom. Should she make it a feature, a topknot, a śikhā, a Hindu thread to heaven? Inspiration dawned with a fungus: inky black dye topping her shopping list!
🥕🥕🥕
Scat by Bill Engleson
She’d sneak into the rooms of others, paw their possessions, hold the ones that appealed, and then, rather than scurry away, hide in a closet, and listen for the sounds of other people living their lives.
We suspected she’d use whatever hairbrushes she could find and stroke her hair, leave some of the hairball bramble that always seemed to tangle her up.
More often than not, she would be discovered.
Occasionally though, her crowning glory was a sly entry, a sensuous caress of some personal items of another, secreting away, being pleasured by their sounds, and a clever exit.
🥕🥕🥕
Hiding Her Crown by Charli Mills
When Thomas fell down the main shaft and died, the mining company told his widow to send one of the boys or leave the company house. Jack was ten and frail from illness. Robbie was eight, and Brad six. Lizzie was fourteen and fit. She sheared her crowning glory of long red curls. No one likes a ginger, Mrs. Lewis next door would say, her mouth pinched perpetually. Wearing her father’s clothes tied and tucked into her brother’s boots Lizzie settled the miner’s helmet on her bald head. No one ever paid the poor Irish kids much mind, anyhow.
🥕🥕🥕
Colorful Souls by Donna Matthews
I hurried up the steps of the little clapboard house. Entering, I couldn’t help but notice the signs of neglect. But no time. I made my way down the hall and gently pushed open my mother’s bedroom door. Seeing her tiny frame under the covers, I swallowed my grief whole and picked up her white hand with my brown one.
Oh, mama
Tears falling, I consider the painting above her bed, from her college days. Colorful Souls, she called it. It was her crowning glory as an artist and how she met my dad. Two beautiful artists together again.
🥕🥕🥕
Acceptance As Kid’s Crowning Achievement (Part I) by D. Avery
“Kid, whyn’t ya ever take thet hat off yer head?”
“Whyn’t you? Ain’t we s’posed ta wear these hats, bein’ ranch han’s an’ all?”
“Ya mean fer UV ray pertection out here on the range?”
“No, I mean fer our iconic stock character status. Ya know, brandin’, like… a look.”
“Yeah, well, now I’m curious. Let’s have a look unnerneath thet hat a yers.”
“You first.”
“Oh fer shifts sake, Kid, jist take it off!”
“All right. There, ya happy, Pal. Pal?”
“Oh I never ‘magined thet!”
“Lemme guess, a dirty sweaty hat ring?”
“Ya’ve got a uni-corn horn!”
🥕🥕🥕
(Part II) by D. Avery
“Impossible!”
“Why? Jist ‘cause I an’ you ain’t never ‘magined it? Someone must’ve ‘magined it, ‘cause there it is, a nubby little horn jist unner yer forelock.”
“Someone! Indeed! D. Avery! Dang her! Why in heck’s she doin’ this? Thought she di’n’t even like uni-corns.”
“Heard she’s got a couple neighbors up in them woods a hers is workin’ on her uni-corn issue. Mebbe she’s jist ‘sperimentin’.”
“Hey, stop puttin’ a hole in ma hat!”
“Jist givin’ ya room ta grow Kid.”
“Hmmph!”
“Mebbe, Kid, it’s like Pinnochio, mebbe ever time ya whine an’ complain thet nub grows longer.”
🥕🥕🥕
(Part III) by D. Avery
“Hey Pal. Thanks fer doin’ ma chores. Don’t feel like goin’ anywhere’s like this. Uni-corn horn’s gittin’ bigger.”
“Huh. ‘Cause I know ya been workin’ real hard at not whining an’ complainin’. Mebbe thet ain’t the cause a it.”
“I been real calm, Pal, been mindful an’ grateful, an’ even practicin’ self-compassion. But when I git all like that, the uni-corn horn grows! This is some situation. Wunner what Shorty’s gonna say?”
“Shorty’ll be fine with it. Reckon she might even snort laugh.”
“That’d make this all worthwhile. Ya know, I’ve come ta accept this thing!”
“Kid! It’s gone!”
🥕🥕🥕
I Got Life
Nina Simone understood what it was to lack, but she crooned about having life. What we have lost can often define what we yet have — life. The world spins, seasons change, and generations pass on the baton.
Writers explored life and what it means to have it. Some stories offered insight, others humor, or unexpected twists. This collection has life!
The following stories are based on the June 25, 2020, prompt: In 99 words (no more, no less), write a story with the phrase, “I got life.”
(10-minute read)
I Got Life by Liz Husebye Hartmann
Pre-COVID, we met, early Saturdays, in the Midtown Market. Few stirred: lady mall cop, staff from the attached hospital, lone coffee shop doing brisk business, shops from around the world setting up. We were inspired by Heaven’s scents.
One restaurant owner allowed us space for a free-will donation; he’s a poet and painter himself. In another, possible future, we’ll enjoy his hospitality again. For now, we Zoom.
“Time?”
“Three minutes!”
“OK…prompt is ‘I got life.’”
Puzzled looks.
Anguish.
Biting pens, we gaze to a corner in our separate boxes. Pens touch paper. We begin to scribble.
We got this.
🥕🥕🥕
Result by Joanne Fisher
The scout ship jumped into a new system. Almost immediately the pilots launched probes to the nearest planetary body.
“Results should be coming up now.” said one of the pilots looking at the display in front of them.
“So far nothing.” the other pilot commented as she examined the results. As always, nothing promising… Suddenly there was an alarm and the screen went red. “Hey, I got life!”
They both looked through the window. There in the distance, just coming into view, was a small blue green moon orbiting the larger planet.
They now had somewhere to go to.
🥕🥕🥕
Planet Earth Is Blue by D. Avery
At first, before they sedated and intubated me, my eyes were open. They looked like spacemen.
Can you hear me Major Tom? They don’t know I can hear them. I can.
Though I’m past/100,000 miles/I’m feeling very still. I can’t move. I can’t speak. But I can hear them. They are worried about me. They are worried about themselves. They are scared.
Tell my wife I love her very much/ She knows.
They talk about how pointless it is, say I’m going down. I hear them. Can you hear me Major Tom?
‘Yes,’ I silently scream, ‘I got life.’
🥕🥕🥕
No Lazarus Me by Anne Goodwin
Nine weeks, they told me. Could’ve been nine years. Suspended in a solitary space capsule. Crashing violently to earth.
Resurrection bewildered me. Scarred throat sore from the breathing tube. Limbs learning gravity anew. Homegoing a second culture shock. Staff in scrubs a guard of honour down the exit corridor. Wheelchair-bound, I cringed at their applause.
I couldn’t scale the cliffs to seize the media moniker. I didn’t want to be a heroine. Lazarus. I wanted to be me.
Then sobbing in his arms, I got it. Comeback wasn’t me alone, it was everyone. I got life. We all did.
🥕🥕🥕
Now I’m Living by Susan Sleggs
I was a single military man
A lady here and there
Living the life
I thought of you
Even on the day I met the bomb
I lost my driver
I lost my legs
What’s the point in living
You wouldn’t want me
I met a fierce lady
She taught me to walk
I called her Clarice
She wasn’t you
I went back home
And by God, you did too
Twenty five years later
We’re together again
Today we held baby Emma
Her parents are moving to be near
Now I know why I have life
Four generations’ll do
🥕🥕🥕
Life Sentence by Jeff Gard
Closing his eyes, Marcel imagines there ain’t cinder blocks squeezing the bunk bed, creating a corridor so narrow he can’t walk in his cell without turning sideways first. He dreams of sky, sun, fresh air.
He can’t pretend the bed don’t shake when his roommate coughs and wheezes. He can’t ignore the face mask. When he inhales, it flutters against whiskered cheeks, contaminated air fogging his glasses.
“I got four more months,” his roommate repeats. “What you got?”
Marcel wants to disappear into the threadbare blanket around his shoulders. He’s sweating, but he can’t get warm.
“I got life.”
🥕🥕🥕
Private Percussion by Kerry E.B. Black
I’m a dancer hobbled by regulation. Still, I hum along to the private percussion my heart.
Momma secured an advantageous match for me, one with all the trappings of “making it.” So I try to live up to bejeweled expectations. However, I tumble from atop my stilettos, disused to the thinner, refined air.
I pull within a designer veneer until I’ve buried my old, rebellious self, but it’s like hiding muck-covered boots beneath my mother-in-law’s tea table. I notice guests wrinkle their perfect noses and feign ignorance.
And in private, I still tap out the percussion of my heart.
🥕🥕🥕
Full Sentences by Geoff Le Pard
‘Morgan! Morgan! Are you alright?
‘Wha…? Bloody hell, that was weird.’
‘You were screaming something.’
‘I think it was eating those cheese straws last thing. We had a huge fight.’
‘What about?’
‘What we should wear when we get to the Ranch.’
‘Seriously?’
‘Oh yes. I said jeans. You said a pin-striped suit and spats.’
‘Jeans?’
‘We fought. You died.’
‘Blimey.’
‘I was found guilty of murder, you of a crime of fashion.’
‘What was the sentence?.’
‘Since you’d got death, I got life.’
‘They threw away the key?’
‘They said I’d suffered enough and let me go.’
🥕🥕🥕
He Who Hesitates... by joem18b
I was on vacation in Virginia City when I stopped into an antique store to browse. In the back I found a stack of New Yorker magazines from the Thirties. I opened one at random and found a movie review of “The Wizard of Oz.”
Huh. Interesting. Put the magazine down.
Thought about it that evening. Returned the next day and headed for the back of the store. The stack of New Yorkers was gone.
Up front, I asked a handsome young fellow where the New Yorkers were kept.
“Sold the lot yesterday,” he said, “but I got Life.”
🥕🥕🥕
Hairy Thoughts by Bill Engleson
Simone!
Singing that song!
Hippie joy gone deep.
Soulful!
Hadn’t thought about this in years.
I took a bus to Seattle, late spring, 1970. June, maybe! I’d been bunking in with a friend, providing a shred of male influence to her house guests, first nations borders, teens, from isolated communities up the coast, on the island.
Its pretty much a blur. I was in such an in-between world, a lonely space, sleepwalking, trying to readapt.
So, off I went south to Hair, a local production playing at the Moore theater.
On my return to Vancouver, I got life back.
🥕🥕🥕
I Got Life by FloridaBorne
Once an eager student, the gangly girl finished her paper far later than the rest, eyes downcast.
“Your title is, I got life?” Mrs. Jones asked. “You have an IQ of 134.”
“My brother hits me if I talk like you.”
“We have two languages in the same country! The first is for people who want to have a good job, the second is for those who want to blame others for their failed lives.”
“I don’t know what to do?”
“What if I tutored you after school and called it detention?”
Sheena brightened, “I’d like that a lot!”
🥕🥕🥕
I Got Life! by Eliza Mimski
Miriam had grown up during the time when shaming fat girls was okay. She was heavyset in the middle and by the time she reached fifth grade she wore a C cup bra. Even though she loved to dance, loved sports, she quit because of the comments on the sidelines. But now, in her twenties, times had changed. Fat girls flaunted their bodies in yoga pants and form fitting tops. Miriam’s breasts, her large stomach jiggled up and down when she danced in nightclubs. “I got it! I got life!” she yelled as she kept time to the music.
🥕🥕🥕
Private Percussion by Kerry E.B. Black
I’m a dancer hobbled by regulation. Still, I hum along to the private percussion my heart.
Momma secured an advantageous match for me, one with all the trappings of “making it.” So I try to live up to bejeweled expectations. However, I tumble from atop my stilettos, disused to the thinner, refined air.
I pull within a designer veneer until I’ve buried my old, rebellious self, but it’s like hiding muck-covered boots beneath my mother-in-law’s tea table. I notice guests wrinkle their perfect noses and feign ignorance.
And in private, I still tap out the percussion of my heart.
🥕🥕🥕
Parting Gift by Simon Prathap D
Hey! Mr.Clown, Why you look sad?
I got this bag from a kid, that cried on my whole show, she lost her bag, it has cancer reports. she is just 17.
She will live.
No she won’t, My mom didn’t .
Let’s pray for her.
No, I got this life, with purpose, she never smiled today. I’ll never let her die without smiling.
That is not going to save her.
I am not going to save her, I will give her most happiest days of her life. No one deserves to die in pain. It’s my parting gift for her.
🥕🥕🥕
“I’ll Chase My Dreams! Find New Dreams!” by Saifun Hassam
Crystal clear mountain streams raced down ravines and clefts into the valley creeks. Water wheels turned furiously channeling water onto farms as they always did in springtime.
But this spring there were no farmers. Earthquakes had ripped through the coastal lands. The shores tumbled into the pounding thunderous seas. People fled. People died.
One lone figure stood near the broken ancient temple on the crest of a hill. His mind’s eye saw blue butterfly kites. He remembered children singing.
“I got life, got dreams! I’ll fly into the skies!
I got life! I’ll chase my dreams! Find new dreams!”
🥕🥕🥕
Let’s Do It by Donna Matthews
The little boy lying on his side pushed the car back and forth, whining, “I’m bored!” Rain on the windows and a virus lurking outside, the indoor day spread out before us like a neverending road to nowhere.
Play a game? No
Build a fort? No
Paint a picture? No
In defense, we’ve done these things. Life before the pandemic, a day stuck at home a delicious treat. Now, it’s more of the same with no end in sight.
He looks up at me, eyes pleading, “I got life to live!”
“Outside? Play in puddles?”
“Really?!”
“Let’s do it!”
🥕🥕🥕
I Got Life by Robert Kirkendall
Father ran out of the closet holding a board game. “Hey, look what I got. Life!”
“Another old people’s game?” son moped.
“Yeah, those those things are so passé,” daughter dismissed.
“It’s a classic!” father insisted.
“The kids these days just aren’t into board games,” mother said.
“But they’re so much fun!” father pleaded.
“We’ve already played a ton of board games because of this sucky quarantine!” son complained.
“We’re bored of board games,” daughter said.
“Then how about more stories of my high school glory days,” father said dreamily, “back when I…”
“Please! No more! We’ll play Life.”
🥕🥕🥕
I Got Life by Irene Waters
At sixty
the doctor said,
“Prepare to die.”
Not ready for death
she followed orders
special diet,
multiple pills ingested.
At seventy
the doctor said,
” Carry on.
Increase these pills
breathlessness will be gone.”
All good,
she thought
I got pills.
I got life.
At eighty
the doctor said,
“Things are worse.
Let’s experiment
for a longer life.”
Medication
replaced religion
giving life.
At ninety
“I don’t want to live.
Please Help me die.”
Stopping tablets
Not easily done
when the habit of living
is so strong,
pills taken.
No good,
she thought
I still got life.
🥕🥕🥕
Thank you, I Get It by Annette Rochelle Aben
When I think of all I’ve been through in sixty-three years on this little blue planet, I am in awe. The sad experiences that seemed they would tear my heart out. The happy times I enjoyed so much, they drained me of my energy. But I am not about to complain!
It has all made me the person I am today. Even though when you take a look at me, I may appear to be a bit worse for the wear, I am still here. No worries. And though there’s so much more to learn, halleluiah, I got life!
🥕🥕🥕
gone green and rainbow by JulesPaige
Used to up and left the building. Used to get a box full of mail, mostly junk. Nowadays days go by and nuthin’ honey. No cereal samples, no magazine subscriptions. Less stuff to toss. And because I don’t answer junk calls – I get less of them too.
I got life! My raised garden is growing, I completed a project, and I’m going out to eat tonight!
a tumble in time
chores, favors, fill the gas tank
sun shifts the shadows
six digit number on cell
out of country, hit delete
two hours til dinner
actually inside an
eatery…with friends
🥕🥕🥕
I Got Life by Pete Fanning
For weeks the crowds had swelled in numbers, a collective resistance simmering into rage as they marched the town. They were loud, boisterous, lighting fires and smashing windows, drunk on pilfered spirits as they arrived at officials’ quarters.
These final acts had pushed them too far. Treated as second class citizens, the wealthy had the nerve to say they lived too well. And now, led by Samuel Adams, the mob ransacked the Lieutenant Governor’s mansion, destroyed his possessions and looted the house of furnishings.
In the flames, a resistance was born. And soon, a new country would have life.
🥕🥕🥕
They Can’t Take It All by John Lane
The company can fire me because I argued to the supervisor that I felt running the bandsaw was unsafe. The mortgage company can claim a default on my mortgage because I don’t have a job to pay my bills. The bankruptcy court can take my home because I don’t qualify to have a plan. The bank can take my car for repossession because I don’t have the money to pay my loan. Landlords can refuse to rent to me. All these people can take everything from me, but one thing they can’t take. My spirit. Because I got life.
🥕🥕🥕
After the Boomtown by Charli Mills
Saxophone notes squeaked across the empty hard-packed street. Sophie swung her hips to the tempo, stirring a pot of slow-elk stew over a campfire. “What I’d give for carrots,” she told Hal.
He paused his playing. “You got seeds Miss Sophie. Plant a garden.”
“A garden means I have to stay in this god-forsaken ghost town.” She missed Italy. She missed rain.
Hal played lower, softer until Sophie dished them up bowls. “Won’t always be deserted,” he said when she handed him dinner.
“Got no customers. Got no gold. Got no carrots. Got no husband. But I got life.”
🥕🥕🥕
Got My Fingers, Got My Pal, Got My Hunger, Ain’t Got No Bacon…by D. Avery
“I’m hungry Pal. What’ve we got fer breakfast?”
“Outta bacon. Hens ain’t been layin’.”
“Dang, sure coulda gone fer some eggs an’ bacon. Mebbe you’d make me a smoothie?”
“Couldn’t even if we had the fixin’s. Yer fergittin’ yer blender blunder.”
“They was jist twigs.”
“Yeah, well, now ya know where birch beer don’t come from. S’prised ya still got yer fingers after thet. Shut thet fridge already, Kid. Starin’ an’ wishin’ ain’t gonna put food in it.”
“They’s a jug a milk. We got any cereal?”
“Thinkin’ we are a serial.”
“Aha! Here’s some cereal! I got Life!”
🥕🥕🥕
Deep Water
Before you take the plunge, take a deep breath. The calming presence of water runs deep — cooling, stilling emotions. There’s an element of exploration, too, a confrontation with the depths.
Writers sought deep waters for stories this week. Take the plunge with them.
The following is based on the June 11, 2020, prompt: In 99 words (no more, no less), write a story deep waters.
PART I (10-minute read)
Lofty Undertaking by Jo Hawk
Skyscrapers defined the canyon walls of Anders’ world. Imposing shadows modulated light and dark and framed his existence. He marched predictable paths that left him stuck in mechanized monotony.
Searching for more, his friends convinced him to kayak a Norwegian fjord. Landmasses dwarfed anything he had ever seen. The guides told stories of massive sperm whales, sixty feet long and weighing eighty tons, they ate giant squid who swam four thousand feet below his kayak’s thin fiberglass shell.
Anders imagined he was the whale, diving deep, he hunted dark waters. He breached the surface, reborn, and ready to soar.
🥕🥕🥕
Still Waters by R. V. Mitchell
“Still waters run deep.” What an amazing metaphor. But out on the big pond, still waters are a godsend. “The Deep,” has her moments of calm, but Magellan got it wrong when he named the Pacific. This expanse of deep shows her temper far too often.
Well, that is what the still waters of Petty Officer Mike Sanchez’s mind were pondering as he checked the lifeline on his harness, and made his way from the gun deck of his destroyer. As he did, the vessel pitched headlong into a trough, and the bow disappeared into a next rising peak.
🥕🥕🥕
Fishing by Allison Maruska
My destination lies ahead; its glassy surface reflects the morning sky. I beat my massive wings, and in a minute, I’m there. Tucking them against my sides, I dive. Water envelopes my scales. I can’t feel it through my tough hide.
Beneath me, several trout dart away. My keen eyesight zeroes in, and I push into the deep waters. I capture two fish and lurch around, facing the surface. With a waving motion, I propel upward, launching from the lake. When I extend my wings, spray reaches the opposing shores.
This is so much better than a fishing rod.
🥕🥕🥕
Emerging by D. Avery
He and Hope followed the brook through the softwoods to his favorite fishing spot. But when Hope saw the clear deep pool she was no longer interested in catching trout. She became a trout, flashing sleek and slippery through the water.
Hope stood briefly, a little girl again. Then she knelt beneath the surface, remained curled up on the gravel bottom. He held his own breath until finally Hope unfolded, emerging at last from the cold water. Solemnly she disclosed that she’d been a rock for ten million years.
“There’s magic here, Daddy.”
“Yes, Hope. I see it too.”
🥕🥕🥕
Deep Waters by Anca Pandrea
I have a pocketful of dreams. Heavy, they forgot how to breathe. I drag my feet through the afternoon light, dancing over the surface. Shadows reach out from the abyss, and ghosts are all shadow. I don’t look back, the shore I can’t call home anymore. I stumble. It’s hope that tugs at my feet, tiny and fleeting. The river runs slow and cold and blue. Do dark, almost black. Quiet and gentle and infinite. Not enough to drown the tears. I let go of my breath one last time. Between myself and I, only the deep waters.
🥕🥕🥕
Deep Waters by Anita Dawes
Forgotten by the people they had made
They came from a timeless place
Cold, hollow, brittle
I hoped they would not speak
For fear my bones would break
Already I am fading from this world
I heard a soft voice take my hand
You have fallen into a pit of despair
Let me pull you out…
I felt myself reaching for something
For something I could not see
The sea had swallowed me
Dashing my body against sharp rocks
Reaching my hand above the waves
Mind and body pulled together as one
I was no longer treading deep water…
🥕🥕🥕
Overlapping by D. Avery
She was eighty years my senior, I the youngest child of her youngest child’s oldest child. From the 20 years our lives overlapped I have only a handful of memories, recalled like sepia snapshots. But if I examine any one of those snapshot memories of us together, somewhere in the frame, in distinct shiny color, is her queen conch shell. Me trying to fathom the spindrift shell, she saying put it to your ear, smiling as ageless ocean washes over me in a rushing tide; us, swimming easily, floating in timeless deep waters that muffle all but that moment.
🥕🥕🥕
Still Waters Run Deep by Ritu Bhathal
We sat there, together, staring down into the water. Pops had allowed the boat to come to rest in the middle of the lake. Once the water settled, there was a stillness – just the gentle bobbing motion of our boat causing minuscule ripples along the surface.
“It’s deep, son. You gotta be careful. Going overboard here, goodness knows what you’d see, down below.”
Quiet contemplation from the both of us.
I looked at him. A serenity emanated from his form. He seemed at peace, but I knew what he’d been through in the past. Still waters run deep.
🥕🥕🥕
Deep Waters by Kathy70
I think I was 4 when it happened. I was sitting in the metal tub that we used for our baths and the water was cold, more was heating on the kitchen stove. An older brother came in, kettle in one hand, book in the other. The water began pouring and I began screaming, it went right on my leg. Mom came to my rescue, only time in my entire life as I recall. She was a lost person with all us kids, never had a chance to be herself. Then the real abuse started as best I can recall.
🥕🥕🥕
Podunk by Paula Puolakka
Y’all so crazy like you just escaped from an insane asylum!
That’s what I thought when I read about the NASCAR Confederate flag ban.
I’m listening to “Backyard” by Kevin Costner & Modern West and flipping through the pictures from the trip to Charlotte’s NASCAR Hall of Fame.
Whose life is this? Whose heritage are we treasuring? There should be room for everyone, they say, but that’s a lie.
I put on Kid Rock’s “Po-Dunk” and think about the stereotypes associated with us. I’m gonna move to Finland and start a colony somewhere deep in the eastern swamplands. Hell!
🥕🥕🥕
Cargo by Anne Goodwin
The body to my right had stopped breathing but the left one still groaned. I tried to comfort him but my words were babble to his ears. Too late, the white man taught me skin speaks stronger than tribe.
When they unshackled us, I expected new neighbours, but they hauled me to my feet, strapped a carcass to my back and whipped me up the ladder to the deck. My head span, the boat swayed, sea spray slashed my wounds. Parched, skeletal, unmuscled, I summoned strength to save myself and toss my brothers to deep water. Complicit? Plotting revenge.
🥕🥕🥕
Still Waters by Liz Husebye Hartmann
“Okay, you can uncover your eyes now.”
“Wow! That’s beautiful…and heartbreaking. Who made this mural?”
“Trevor made this one. And take a few steps around this corner. This is one by Teresa. Yeah…it makes me tremble, too.”
“Wait! Those quiet kids who never join in on anything?”
“Apparently they just don’t join in on the things we’ve been offering.”
“I had no idea.”
“Neither did I. It seems those still waters run deep.”
“So what do we do now?”
“We go back to school. Donate groceries. Attend drum circles and honor Juneteenth.”
“And never go back to normal?”
“Exactly.”
🥕🥕🥕
A New Tradition by John Lane
Many centuries ago, when the seventeen-feet deep Jordan River was clean and thriving, a man that wore camel’s hair was called by a higher authority.
After consumption of his diet of locusts and honey, John the Baptist waded in waist-deep to baptize in the name of his higher authority.
One day, his higher authority, also known as the Messiah, the straps of whose sandals he was not worthy to untie, showed up to be baptized. The Spirit of God descended like a dove.
And many centuries later, believers still carry out the tradition of baptism from John the Baptist.
🥕🥕🥕
Deep Waters by Hugh McGovern
“You can’t keep me here,” I said clutching the pillow in defiance.
“You are not ready to go home, yet,” she said. “Give it more time.”
“There is nothing wrong with me. You lot are insane not me.”
“No one said you are insane,” she said, coming to sit by the bed. “These things take time. What difference does a few weeks make?” She sat on the bed. “Do you still believe in global harmony?”
“I did. Now I don’t know.”
“Why not grow a beard?”
Drowning would be better!
🥕🥕🥕
Deep Waters by FloridaBorne
“The human race reminds me of a fool walking along a precipice,” my father said. “He falls and lands on the only tree growing out of the cliff.”
I once asked mom, “Why does he have to be so negative all the time?”
“He’s dying,” she said. “Agent orange is taking him away from us.”
I’d remembered his words as we stood on the deck of our family’s boat to throw his ashes into the sea. Sunny days, a soft breeze, calm waters, and whiskey were his solace.
Fifty years after his death, I’d never visited the ocean again.
🥕🥕🥕
There’s Always the Eye of a Needle by JulesPaige
Sun under wood, shaded yard
Scavenger loop, just to see the ‘mettle’ of the earth
My endurance lacking in the humidity for the time and being
And never said a word (not boo), let the crow catch a few seeds…
Those blackbirds they are skittish ~
Like me shopping with a mask this morning, just wanting home…
But before that, I paused at the first yard sale of the season –
Reaching into the depths of my wallet for two dollars.
More buttons and spools ~
if the bobbin would
stop cutting its own thread I’d
sew me together
🥕🥕🥕
PART II (10-minute read)
Deep Waters by Joanne Fisher
“It’s surprising we never became lovers. You know I’ve always had feelings for you Emma?” Michelle asked me in the cafe.
“Yeah I guessed. I have feelings for you too,” I admitted.
We looked at one another in awkward silence. We both knew it could never be. We had our own lives that seldom intersected with each other. This was the first chance meeting in a long while.
“Well I had better go,” she said. I wistfully smiled at her, not wanting to explore this any further. These were deep waters neither of us wanted to get lost in.
🥕🥕🥕
Famous Classmates by Susan Sleggs
Michael and Tessa gazed at the Wall of Fame in their high school. Tessa asked, “Did you see Phillip Sheppard when he was on the TV show Survivor?”
“I did, and his pink underpants didn’t surprise my Aunt Sue a bit. She said he was the character in her class. I wonder how much ribbing his brother James took as the Rochester Police Chief at the time. He probably felt like he was wading in deep water.”
“And Bill T. Jones was her student instructor in choir. Who knew at the time these three African-American students would become famous.”
Author’s Note: I ate lunch with Bill T. Jones and other friends every day when I was in eighth grade at Wayland-Cohocton Central School. He is now a world-renowned modern dance teacher and Kennedy Center Honors recipient. James and Phillip Sheppard were a few years younger than me. I had the opportunity to have lunch with Phillip after his second appearance on Survivor. What a fun guy to hang out with. And no, we had no clue while in high school these classmates would become household names. (photos on my blog)
🥕🥕🥕
Still Waters Run Deep by Eliza Mimski
My mother always told me that still waters run deep, that an ordinary man with ordinary looks could smolder with passion. He could take you to places you’d never been before, hidden places wild with excitement.
Oh, how I used to watch these ordinary men. The grocery clerk behind the counter. The man waiting for the bus, reading his newspaper, his glasses down his nose. The humble old man collecting plastic bottles from the recycling bins.
Inside of these men were hidden talents. They ran deep. Once you’d been with one of them you’d never settle for anything less.
🥕🥕🥕
Electric Skin by Janet Guy
Hot bubbles swirled around Dominic. Strong jets of water targeted sore muscles above his shoulder blades, along his spine, the backs of his calves. Dom shifted against them, letting new muscles get pounded back to health. Wrinkled fingertips skimmed the top of the water. A bell rang. Dom heaved himself out of the jacuzzi. He trudged over to a small circle in the floor. Bright light illuminated its still waters. Dom braced himself. He plunged into the icy depths. Every nerve sparked with life. Rainbows danced across his eyelids. Dom pulled himself out of the chilly water and grinned.
🥕🥕🥕
Deep Waters by Dave Madden
Terry was cognizant of the deep waters, though he hadn’t yet been there.
Ten-minutes disappeared from the clock, and he labored to leave his stool for the final round. Across the cage, a maniacal grin appeared across the opponent’s face as he observed Terry’s struggle.
Coach urged Terry to circle the cage. Easy advice when you’re not wearing weights around your ankles.
The opponent flashed some combinations before diving in on Terry’s legs, hoisting him into the heavens, and smashing him to the canvas. Too tired to escape the pressure, Terry drowned in the center of the cage.
🥕🥕🥕
Under the Waves by Joanne Fisher
“What’s down there mummy?”
“That’s the deep. We never go down there child.”
“How come?”
“There are dangers in those deep waters. Not even the light from above can penetrate that darkness and the nameless horrors dwelling there. We swim nearer to the surface.”
“What’s up there?”
“That is the place where the water ends. We can survive for a while there, but it is here where we belong. Not like humans.”
“What are humans?”
“They have legs instead of tails. They cannot breathe down here, which is why it’s amusing to drag them under and watch them drown.”
🥕🥕🥕
Deep Waters by Reena Saxena
The widow did not shed a tear, and the world was aghast.
They were such a happy-go-lucky couple.
She was labelled as stoic, determined not to display emotion in public, cold, manipulative and whatever they could think of.
Nobody knew she was breathing free for the first time.
Nobody knew the mental torture she had suffered for decades. Nobody knew that her parents did not stand by her when she needed help, and she had shut off the emotional tap.
You may be a coach, therapist or expert swimmer, but wading in deep waters of relationships is never easy.
🥕🥕🥕
Never So Free by Donna Matthews
They planned this excursion for the past year, pouring over brochures, scouring the internet, and reading the reviews of each tour guide. But now, here at the edge of the tiny boat, she wasn’t sure she could go through with it. Her new husband winked and fell backward into the sea. Finally, she surrendered and fell in too. Her first few labored breaths threatened to overwhelm her, but as she settled in, she saw a school of fish off to the right. Kicking her fin, she cruised right into the middle, scattering class. Giggling, she never felt so free.
🥕🥕🥕
Into Deep Waters by Charli Mills
What to place in my memory box? That last night out at the Fitz when the sun slanted across the western horizon dazzling like a copper-clad ruby while five-foot waves chomped the last of winter’s ice. March 13. We reached across the table, five friends sharing poutine and smoked brisket. We sang happy birthday. Later we dodged deer crossing the road back to Calumet, we stopped for a Bota Box of red wine. We found toilet paper, joking that Yoopers wouldn’t panic buy TP. Into deep waters, memories plunge. Most vivid — the last time I felt normal.
🥕🥕🥕
A Memory of Long Lake by Bill Engleson
It was my toughest bike ride ever.
Up to then, anyways.
Ernie and I usually rode up to the Dam to swim.
Or walked two blocks to the Millstream.
Not this time.
“We can’t do it,” I whined. “Gotta be a hundred miles.”
“Nah. Ten.”
“Fifty.”
“Come on.”
Early July.
Hot.
Pumping away.
Dripping sweat.
Train tracks snuggling the old highway.
Wishing we were crows.
Got there by noon.
Dog-tired.
A dozen local kids swimming away.
“There’s really no bottom to it, Ernie?”
“Goes all the way to China, I hear.”
I believed every word then.
Kinda still do.
🥕🥕🥕
Displacement by Jeff Gard
Nobody knows which raindrop transmuted our reservoir into a frothing bull that breached the levee, stampeding downriver, chased by debris. One moment, we marveled at the storm; the next, our recreational area transgressed its cage and reclaimed its territory: roads that scarred the landscape healed by a fresh, muddy skin, cloned McMansions gutted of their trophies, converted to bird houses.
On higher ground, we found sanctuary in the high school, now a bed and breakfast for a thousand refugees. While we waited on our cots, calmer voices gathered to assign blame with flashes of insight, booming words of consolation.
🥕🥕🥕
Profoundly Shallow by Geoff Le Pard
‘Where are we?’
‘The Great Lakes, Morgan. Lake Erie.’
‘It sure is eerie. Too bloody quiet.’
‘Can’t we just enjoy its magnificence?’
‘It scares the willies out of me. It’s… so deep.’
‘Yes mysterious. Profound.’
‘It’s just a lot of the wet stuff that given half a chance will swallow me whole.’
‘It’s majestic. Unknowable. Imagine what memories it holds…. You know what they say about Still Waters?’
‘He’s the best Pokemon Go hunter ever?’
‘What?’
‘Stile Warters, German Guy. He caught more Pokemon last year. Shall we see if any are here?’
‘Sure. Why not try out there?’
🥕🥕🥕
Terrified by Susan Zutautas
The waves that day were perfect for bodysurfing.
I headed into deeper water where the waves were forming so I could ride one back into shore. What I didn’t realize was that the undertow was quite strong and just as the wave was breaking, down under the water I went. The undertow literally dragged me across the bottom of the sea, my body feeling the gritty sand scratching and stinging my skin. I could feel the weight of the sand filling my suit. Finally surfacing disoriented, opening my eyes I saw I was at the shoreline, and stood up.
🥕🥕🥕
Crossroads: Journeys by Saifun Hassam
Over millennia, the chasm became a long narrow lake, its deep waters aquamarine, and emerald under the sun. The lake glowed, a burnished golden sheen as the sun set. Craggy volcanic cliffs stood sharply, sentinels guarding the lake.
The stranger gazed reflectively at the lake. He was from an oasis that shriveled as snowpacks on distant mountains shrank. He left when his father died in calm and peace. His heart broke as he buried his father under a giant palm tree. What sustained those groves, he wondered.
The shimmering lake beckoned, lifting his deep grief, healing, renewing his spirit.
🥕🥕🥕
Kiddhartha by D. Avery
“Feels like a long while since we jist ranched.”
“Yep, it’s good ta be out ridin’ the range, herdin’ hosses, gittin’ ‘em ta greener pastures. Whoa. There’s a river. Think we kin ford it?”
“We ain’t gotta buy it Kid, jist gtta git acrost it. Carefully.”
“Water looks still.”
“Still waters run deep. We’ll git the hosses down ta the river, let ‘em quench their thirst an’ rest up. ***
Dang, Kid. I led ‘em ta water but cain’t git these hosses ta drink. Kid?”
“Shush, Pal. I’m a settin’ here watchin’ the river flow. Havin’ me a think.”
🥕🥕🥕
And Justice for All
Hand over my heart, as a child, a white child in America, I pledged allegiance to the flag, reciting, “…and justice for all.” I believed those words, but now I’m an adult facing the truth of hollow ideals. My life’s work is to collect stories — I listen, process, write, read, and discuss. My platform is one I share with writers around the world to make literary art accessible. My white privilege is evolving into something I can use for good, but I’m still learning what that means.
This week, I invited writers to take on writing 99-word stories about justice for all. With a global community, the theme broadened beyond American civil rights. Each writer processed what the phrase means, or looks like, or how it is abused. This is a safe space for writers to explore, using literary art. Until all voices can feel safe sharing their stories, we’ll hold the space.
A long time ago in Montana, a young girl used to babysit my children so I could drive over a mountain pass to attend college classes for creative writing. When I’d take her home she’d chatter about the latest characters she was reading in a book. I was so proud of her when she moved to Minnesota to attend college, graduating with an English teaching degree. She now has a family of her own, and a masters, teaching college. She recently shared this with her students:
“All lives do *not* matter *until* Black lives do. {That’s how words work. “All” cannot be true as long as some are excluded.}”
The following is based on the June 4, 2020, prompt: In 99 words (no more, no less), write a story about justice for all.
Entitled by Anne Goodwin
They could’ve stayed in the apartment with their three sleeping children.
They could’ve grieved in private, they could’ve owned their guilt.
They could’ve recognised all families face tragedy and some tragedies loom larger than theirs.
They could’ve searched for ALL abducted children, campaigned for all victims of parental neglect.
They could’ve accepted police budgets have limits, that lost-cause investigations siphon resources from elsewhere.
They could’ve used their power, their professional contacts, their shiny media profile; they could’ve raised their white middle-class voices to shout for justice for all.
In their shoes – or flip-flops – would you have done the same?
🥕🥕🥕
Just Is by Bill Engleson
“S’not fair.”
“T’is.”
“Tain’t.”
Noisy kids. Neighbour’s grand-progeny. Visiting. Been a while. A Covid-19 while.
COVID?
DIVOC!
Hmm, need my morning cuppa…
Ready soon.
Sit on the porch.
Suck in the spring air.
“You’re hurting me. Get off!”
“Don’t be a sissy. And stop squirming.”
“I can’t…you’re hurting…”
What did Sam say? Oh, yeah; “Eight and ten-year-old’s…been cooped up in an apartment for months…missed seeing them…hope they don’t bother you.”
Right!
“Ear plugs, Sam,” I joked. “Ear plugs.”
“…under arrest…”
“Whafor…?”
“Being a brat.”
“Can’t brea…”
“Sure ya can…”
“Can’t bre…why?”
“Just is…is all.”
“Can’t…”
Kids, I think.
Kids.
🥕🥕🥕
Unrealized by D. Avery
“I think about Sofie’s Great Northern Migration project, how my grandparents’ dream is still unrealized.”
“It’s so sad, so scary, Toni; I have nightmares— it is a nightmare.”
“When my Joe came home from Afghanistan he had nightmares, haunted by what he’d experienced, but he went back, always a dutiful soldier. Said he fought for justice for all… If he hadn’t gotten killed over there, fighting against the Taliban— I wonder would he have been killed here in his own country? Here where it’s still the wrong time and place to be walking around in the ‘wrong color’ skin.”
🥕🥕🥕
The Injustice of Forgotten History by Charli Mills
Heat from the foundries blasted Big John every day. Sweat froze to his body when he walked home to Cliff where Sweet Mo had stew and thimbleberry cobbler waiting. He wore massive leather boots, tailor-made because he could afford them. Mo sewed colorful calico dresses and on Sunday they lifted the rafters with Jesus and friends at the African Methodist Episcopal. When the nation passed the Fugitive Slave Act of 1850, escaped slaves and freed people knew slave-hunters would avoid the rough and remote Copper Country.
One day, when there’s justice for all, we’ll record these erased black histories.
🥕🥕🥕
Take It All Back by Jo Hawk
It should have been a simple assignment. A modest portrait of his patron’s daughter. While he didn’t like children as his subject, the commission promised to launch his budding career.
Except, when she showed for her appointment, she wasn’t a child. She was no blushing bride-to-be, but a temptress with a siren’s song. Engaged, another man’s prize, she exchanged the poor artist’s heart with her own. Forbidden love blossomed.
There was only one solution.
“I cannot do her justice,” he declared, “For all our sakes, take these godforsaken sketches, and I will try to forget I ever met her.”
🥕🥕🥕
Running Low by D. Avery
“Right there, Nard. Why mention that the new guy is black?”
“Just providing a picture. He probably refers to us as white.”
“He doesn’t need to.”
“Anyway, he’s got a good sense of humor.”
“Yeah? What kind of jokes is he compelled to laugh along with? Jokes like your anti-gay name calling?”
“I’m more sympathetic now.”
Kristof chuckled. “Now that his steering’s aligned.”
“What are you saying, Ilene, I have to monitor my speech, reconsider what I think is funny?”
“That’s what I’m saying. But no hard feelings. Help yourself to my cooler.”
“It’s empty!”
“Just ice. For all.”
🥕🥕🥕
Justice to a Little Girl’s Eyes by John Lane
Eight-year-old Shanice Imani watched the news. She saw people of her color get their necks crushed, tazed on their backs and dragged throughout the streets. All done by police. Whenever Shanice slept, she had nightmares of police taking her out of her home to beat her. She woke up with tears in her eyes, afraid to go outside.
Shanice’s mother took a long time to convince her, but Shanice eventually agreed to join the peaceful march. During the march on Black Lives Matter Plaza, she noticed a policeman. She cried.
The policeman said, “I won’t hurt you.” Shanice smiled.
🥕🥕🥕
Justice for All by Susan Budig
I can’t write about justice
unless I write about peace
repeat after me, I will write about peace
I can’t write about peace
unless I write about healing
repeat after me, I will write about healing
I can’t write about healing
unless I write about brokenness
repeat after me, I will write about brokenness
Broken by what we lack–
compassion for our neighbor
empathy for one another
Broken by what we need—
energy
direction and
focus to stay the course
Broken in our poverty—
deliverance from evil
Deliver me into the hands of justice
and then I will write
🥕🥕🥕
Building Over Bones by Diana Nagai
“Remember,” Jiichan* bowed his head, “ the local bank president and minister bought our farm for one dollar. When my family was released from the internment camp, we bought the farm back for one dollar. They felt helpless in stopping what the government did to us, but they showed up. Others, not as lucky, had their homes and businesses destroyed or stolen. White establishments rose from those Japanese boneyards. It is my turn to show up. Until graveyards no longer serve as the bedrock for white success.” In alliance, he fell silent for the full eight minutes, 46 seconds.
🥕🥕🥕
Will There Ever Be Justice For All by Susan Sleggs
Michael sat with his fellow bandmates discussing the Pledge of Allegiance. He asked, “Have you ever thought about that last line, ‘Justice for All’?
Colm McCarthy, first-generation Irish -American who served in Vietnam, said, “Only when I get mad about how hard it is to get an appointment at the VA.”
Colm’s son, Thad, a Vietnamese-American who served in Granada, gave a disgusted grunt. “Try being a 50-50 and see how you are treated by others.”
Tyrell, the band’s African-American drummer, and Iraq veteran asked, “Are we talking about justice or equality.”
Michael responded, “I don’t believe they’re separable.”
Author’s Note: A 50/50 was the term used to describe a Vietnamese child that was half American.
🥕🥕🥕
Dime-store Justice by T. Marie Bertineau
“You did WHAT?” Mama asked.
Helena wasn’t expecting that tone, that volume, the stern expression. Not of Mama. A moment earlier, the grade-school girl with the fiery red ponytail had bounced in the back door. She’d been eager to share the news, eager to tell her mama what she’d done. How she’d stood up for the little Black girl. How she’d seen with her own eyes the neighbor boy take the candy from the dime-store—not the girl. She felt she had done a good thing, a just thing, the right thing.
But Mama’s face said otherwise.
🥕🥕🥕
Crossroads by Saifun Hassam
Jalil gently covered his mom with her green shawl. She was asleep on the sofa, exhausted from cleaning up their Little Asia neighborhood, after last night’s violent protests.
Little Asia in East Newberry. People from all over Asia lived and worked here, before moving on to other American cities. Shoppers came from other neighborhoods for delicious international foods, fresh fruits, and vegetables.
Little Asia. Brown, beige, ivory skins. Ancient Silk Road stories. Graeco-Roman features. Sky blue and hazel green eyes. Connections to North Africa, the Mediterranean, East Africa, the Indian Ocean.
Crossroads of ancient humanity written into their DNA.
🥕🥕🥕
Crossroads by Saifun Hassam
Jalil gently covered his mom with her green shawl. She was asleep on the sofa, exhausted from cleaning up their Little Asia neighborhood, after last night’s violent protests.
Little Asia in East Newberry. People from all over Asia lived and worked here, before moving on to other American cities. Shoppers came from other neighborhoods for delicious international foods, fresh fruits, and vegetables.
Little Asia. Brown, beige, ivory skins. Ancient Silk Road stories. Graeco-Roman features. Sky blue and hazel green eyes. Connections to North Africa, the Mediterranean, East Africa, the Indian Ocean.
Crossroads of ancient humanity written into their DNA.
🥕🥕🥕
The Aftertaste of Language by Jeff Gard
Today his name is John. They want him to forget what he was called yesterday, to reject his past, his traditions. They cut his hair, gave him proper clothes.
Their government created this school with trees from sacred forests. Its limestone foundation violates land that birthed his nation.
Teacher’s bony hand squeezes his darker fingers into the chalk, which drags against the slate, crying the letters of her language. Spirals and swoops, lines that lean, trembling with meaning.
He repeats the lumpy, starchy words she gives him. Pruned syllables, flogged rhythms, distorted shapes with an aftertaste of blood:
“Lib-er-ty.”
🥕🥕🥕
In the Impossible Woods by Liz Husebye Hartmann
In deep woods, somewhere near the middle and the end, launching from the first and hovering near the last, always returning to the origin, is a clearing. Sometimes there, other times elsewhere, most often not present at all.
In that clearing, in a shaft of light that is frequently utter darkness, rests a statue, carved in stone but liquid as snow near the edge of wildfire. It’s a work of ultimate, unwavering justice.
She journeys there, rucksack over her shoulders, wooden staff ready, to support or fight. Mapped in a dream, sent by the Oracle, it’s her lifetime’s journey.
🥕🥕🥕
The Next Morning by Joanne Fisher
“Brian Kent?”
“Yes Officer?”
“Last night you were observed going on a killing spree leaving around 80 dead, judging by the number of corpses left. How do you plead?”
“They were zombies!”
“So you admit it?”
“Of course I do! They were zombies trying to eat me.”
“Zombies have a right to live too. This isn’t the 1980s. You just can’t go on a killing spree and expect there’ll be no repercussions. How did you know they were wanting to eat you?”
“I just knew.”
“You mean you assumed. Think about the effects your actions have had. Sandra, cuff him!”
🥕🥕🥕
Injustice by Eliza Mimski
When she was eleven years old, her mother married a man who didn’t want kids, at least not her and her younger brother. Her mother and this man who she hated and whose name she never said aloud, wrote down or thought to herself and refused to speak to had two children of their own. Two different sets of rules applied: one for her and her brother and one for the new children, the first treated cruelly and the second treated with respect.
It’s taken her years to find peace around this, to let go of her burning resentments.
🥕🥕🥕
Justice For All by Kathy70
These words were repeated by rote as a child and shelved as a busy new mom, single parent of 3 and older independent woman. Now they shape all our worlds, force us to look at ourselves and everyone else. No longer can we ignore or hide from them. I am still learning and hope never to take them for granted, I may need help, so call me on it if you see it. I also hope we can all live and learn by this standard. Where we go from here could be very beautiful for all of us. I hope.
🥕🥕🥕
Bias Blinds and Binds by Reena Saxena
“Is the American story reminiscent of India against Corruption movement?”
“No. India against Corruption was an inorganic, planted idea, hence it fizzled out. It comes closer to the subversion of a particular community and their acts of rebellion.”
“The perception of justice may differ, but the ground reality remains the same. The people do not get justice.”
“There are predefined slots for problems – economic, racial, moral, socio-political…”
“Can I sum it all up? The fight is always put up by a minority against the majority. The majority view has become the norm. Confirmation bias blinds and binds the world.”
🥕🥕🥕
Misogynistic Scoundrel by Donna Matthews
That long-ago morning, Sue kicked Joe out. It would be the final time she bailed her scoundrel husband, drunk and violent again, out of jail for “disorderly conduct.”
It was 1955, and as she stood outside the Secretarial School, she didn’t know WHERE she was going, but she knew she couldn’t stay here.
As the years passed, she discovered scoundrels didn’t always come in the form of drunken husbands. She found them in break rooms and later board rooms.
Now, spending time with these beautiful young Ugandan school girls, Sue realized the biggest scoundrel of all… a misogynistic culture.
🥕🥕🥕
Racism (Dedicated to George Floyd) by M J Mallon
Jordan vowed to protect his world from deranged, hate-filled people. He vowed to be a braver man, to speak up against injustice, standing unified with his loving wife beside him.
His words: “Racism kills. It divides and discriminates.”
Her words: “We are one, we refuse to let the racists win.”
After the protest, his wife’s creamy fingers cupped his obsidian skin. Her loving eyes filled.
They both wept, remembering George Floyd.
Their thoughts raged no more hatred, ever.
Denounce racism, curtail this relentless boot inflicting suffocating death. Stop it now, end the pain.
🥕🥕🥕
Here Ends the First Lesson by Ellen Best
‘Anne, What if we chose not to feed that bird,’ Daddy pointed, ‘because it has a yellow beak? None with yellow beaks.’ Mummy joined in, ‘We could tell everyone how wicked the yellow beaked ones were, they would copy, and soon there would be nowhere for them to go.’ Tears welled in Anne’s eyes, her lip trembled. She stood, her eyes swollen with unshed tears. “No! Everybody needs kindness, you always tell me that. I will be very cross and sad if you do. Please don’t.’ They hugged her, assured her she was right not to discriminate.
🥕🥕🥕
Just Desserts by Ritu Bhathal
She walked into the kitchen, sniffing around for snacks.
Always hungry, that one.
Could never resist my cupcakes. There she goes, into my cake box…
Ha! Go on, eat that old collection of My Little Pony toys!
All those years I craved ice cream, and would reach to the carton in the freezer, only to find another frozen curry, or opened the biscuit tin for a cookie, and instead, pulled out a sewing kit… typical Indian mum trick.
Wouldn’t buy decent Tupperware, instead using all the old food containers and fooling us.
Finally, Mum, you got your just desserts!
🥕🥕🥕
Choices by JulesPaige
(haibun pair each 99 words)
Part 1
How can we remain neutral to injustice? Some countries believed they could just so during some very horrendous warring.
But mostly they stayed neutral to keep their own productions and exports going to feed their own. Too many are taught to think individualistically. Where is peace for the greater good, the majority, who often do not have a clear cut voice?
there is a great veil
that blinds the eyes of justice
whose eyes are open?
who can holiday when cries
cast out of cold dark shadows
Today, our worst enemy is atomic in size, attacking the global community.
Part 2
I am not a scientist in a lab able to determine how to fight the unseen enemy. While I am an individual, I can be part of the greater good. I can contribute in the best ways that I can, without compromising my own health. It is a war of emotions that everyone must face. Just what can I do to encourage justice for all?
there is a great veil
that blinds the eyes of justice
whose eyes are open?
we must work together to
strengthen positive life force
A case of water was donated to first responders today.
🥕🥕🥕
The Wrong Lesson by Dave Madden
“Attack first, answer questions later.”
Sensei Rodrigo’s message was unorthodox, to say the least. Whatever his intention, the students’ aggression, both at home and school, slowly turned toward the red.
When Salvador got into a fight at school and repeated Sensei’s teachings, his parents decided to confront Mr. Rodrigo.
Sal’s Mom stormed through the dojo’s doors, “These kids worship you. Why would you encourage fighting?”
Sensei Rodrigo’s bark was worse than his bite because as he aggressively approached her, Sal’s dad responded with a hook across his chin.
While walking out, Sal suggested, “You should start a gym, Dad!”
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The Thoughts of Wittgenstein by Paula Puolakka
All lives matter. This had been Golda’s guideline, and she had tried to make people conscious of environmental issues: clean water and oxygen were essential to everyone. Now, however, all the events had been postponed because of the riots.
“I’m glad I’m living in the world’s richest country. I’m glad I’m not the fair-skinned slave of the Egyptians,” she thought. For a Jew, the concept of justice was a joke.
To keep herself safe from both the protesters and the Covid-19 virus, Golda decided that it was time for a double-lockdown. She buried herself in the thoughts of Wittgenstein.
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Justice by Simon
You are the talk on social media, this is so cruel, beheading, all these men? This is not a big crime, it happens everyday, why did you make such a big change in the law?
Which is not a big crime? rape, sexual assault, insult to modesty, kidnapping, abduction, cruelty by intimate partner or relatives, trafficking, persecution for dowry, dowry deaths, indecency, anything that hurt a women, will be beheaded! And I’m here to serve justice for all, because some of us don’t respect each other as a human. You must forget kindness to restore one being a human.
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Justice for All by FloridaBorne
Grandpa Buckley had never tired of telling the story. “My Irish great, great, great grandmother was a slave in the south. My great, great grandmother was paired with the new black slaves. Her children escaped and Indians took them in.”
“I know,” I’d said, rolling my eyes. “Buckley means servant. The name was handed down by my great grandmother who was sold to a French fur trapper. She escaped. Their five sons became Buckley’s.”
I thought of him when I opened the results of my DNA test, and gasped: 2% Nigerian, 5% Cameroon, 4% Native American.
DNA doesn’t lie.
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Pandemic of Fear by D. Avery
The older woman slammed the loaded clip into her semiautomatic rifle. “This is for if they come by.” She tucked the handgun into her waistband. “This is if they come close.”
“Aunt Fannie!”
“What? I told you when you came here from college I was ready for anything this pandemic had to offer.” She chambered a round. “I don’t claim to be colorblind, but this rifle truly is. It delivers justice for all.”
“Auntie! You don’t have to be afraid of them.”
“Don’t I? We all do.”
“Black men aren’t inherently dangerous!”
“No shit. It’s white men I fear.”
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Destiny Dawning by D. Avery
“What’s the matter, Mommy? It’s still dark.”
“Move over?”
Marlie lifted the covers and made room. “Did you have a nightmare?”
“Actually, Marlie, I did.”
“Don’t be afraid. Teddy? Or Destiny?”
Liz took the Destiny Doll, but what she really wanted— needed— was this, to just lie close with her little girl.
“Mommy, tomorrow can you make a cape for Destiny? And one for me and one for Sofie?”
“Sure. What color?”
“Every color!”
“Like a rainbow?”
“Rainbow colors, brown colors, black colors, tan colors— every color. We’re caped crusaders. Justice! For all!”
“Marlie, I’m feeling less afraid now.”
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Protest and Pandemic by Geoff Le Pard
‘Are you wearing two masks, Morgan?’
‘I’m worried.’
‘You’re indoors, watching from a window.’
‘There’s no social distancing.’
‘You don’t think they should protest?’
‘No, of course not. It’s just… with this virus… They could get ill, spread it…’
‘What would you do, Morgan?’
‘I’d keep my distance…’
‘There must be 20,000 people. Sometimes, getting involved means taking risks…’
‘But, Logan…’
‘What, then? Reschedule it? Book a slot for September? You have to grab the moment. Justice delayed is justice denied.’
‘I know… that’s why I’ve got two masks.’
‘?’
‘One for you. Come on, time we got involved….’
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Fabric of the Nation by D. Avery
“Kid, what’re ya doin’ ta my fav’rite rodeo shirt?”
“Here, ya kin have yer shirt back, I jist wanted the fringe off it fer a flag.”
“A fringed flag?”
“Yep, represents fringe folk. An’ I gathered ev’ry kinda color an’ cloth imaginable. Gonna make a flag fer Buckaroo Nation.”
“Aw, Kid, let’s not be flyin’ flags here, not even thet inclusive one. Let’s take all thet cloth ya gathered an’ make quilts instead.”
“Quilts!”
“We kin give ‘em ta displaced folks, ta them thet’s on the streets an’ them who’ve taken ta the streets.”
“That idea warms my heart.”
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Contradictions
Contradictions can provide the kind of contrasts that push us to consider the connections between opposing ideas. Creativity often flares brightest in divergent pairings. Hard rocks and marshmallows, caskets and baby blankets, love and destruction.
Writers got to play and formulate their own contradictions for their stories, creating surprising results.
The following is based on the May 28, 2020, prompt: In 99 words (no more, no less), write a story using two words that contradict.
PART I (10-minute read)
Moon Dust and Boat Wood by Charli Mills
Two young star-gazers giggle, floating on boat wood lashed into a stationary raft. Papa salvaged the lumber from a shipwreck on the beach, tethered it to the edge of the pond. On his one night off, he’d settle with them, tracing stars in the sky. A full lunar light beams overhead, dimming the Milky Way and illuminating the rock house that towers above the miners’ homes and woods. The girls wait for Papa to emerge from the trail to the mines, repeating constellations he taught them. They open their mouths to moon dust floating downward. It tastes like copper.
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A Stiff Breeze by T. Marie Bertineau
She woke to bright sun, an impish nip in the air, treetops bursting lush and lime. It was like any modest spring day—except for the wind. Oh, the wind! Flags whipped, chimes clanged. Hanging baskets clutching tender blossom caps leaned into the stiff breeze. The wind had come on hard that morning. Unrelenting, bellowing like a bitter newsboy. It blew in gusts of mayhem, carried a current of grisly headlines: untimely death, social injustice, violence in the streets, manipulative factions mucking up the cause. It blew in everything—everything but what was needed most in that moment: peace.
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Opposites Attract? by Sascha Darlington
“Doomed!” Old Lady Hennessy declared.
“Doomed!” agreed the other quilting club ladies.
Russell was the town bad boy. I was the town good girl.
He started a rock band. A rock band in Little Falls? Scandalous. We’re bluegrass true!
I was destined to be the librarian. Finger upon my lips: shush!
But you can’t control who you fall in love with. Maybe it’s pheromones. Maybe it’s his sky eyes. Maybe it’s the song he sang round midnight while meteorites zipped across the sky.
Russel and me? We’re opposites. Do opposites attract?
I’ll let you know. After one more kiss.
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Contradictions by FloridaBorne
He loved listening to the solitude; birds singing, the way a breeze felt as it whispered through pine needles.
Thirty years of peace, broken to pieces in seconds by one new neighbor.
A mile down the road, music for the tone deaf, often referred to as Rap, blasted into the night, stopping at 22:00 hours.
He’d asked the family to please respect their neighbors. Their response? “Stupid redneck! Get off my property.”
“As you wish,” former Master Sergeant Murphy had replied.
Under a full moon, he wandered through the woods carrying a sniper’s rifle. Tonight, the misery would end.
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Contradictions by Liz McGinty
His body language speaks frustration. He kicks his leg incessantly against the table leg as his fingers twitch a rhythm on a cigarette paper packet.
I am frustrated, with the sound of my voice as I ask the endless questions in a monotone. Invasive, unending details to complete his claim.
His answers become aggressive, and my heartbeat quickens. The booth fills with hostility. He curses me. My shoulders ache with the weight of compliance. I glance at the zero-tolerance poster, he smiles perceptively.
An appreciation passes between us. We begin again.
We shake hands.
He leaves.
I cry.
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Love and Destruction by Joanne Fisher
It began with astronomers noticing a group of objects heading towards our planet, and then a message came: “Humans, we come in peace. We love you. We care for you so much.”
The entire world was amazed. We were not alone, and now they were coming. Their fleet of sleek silvers spaceships approached.
The next day all major cities were incinerated in nuclear explosions. The aliens said: “We come in peace. We love you.”
The remnants of humanity were put into camps and slowly our numbers dwindled away. “We come in peace. We love you,” the aliens told us.
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Water and Stone by Saifun Hassam
Torrential rain poured through myriads of tiny cracks of the ancient caverns. The deathly silence of ancient stone tombs fled the living rising waters. Small pebbles by the thousands crashed into writhing and roaring waters. Caves melted into rivers of mud and silt under a sky chaotic with lightning and deafening thunderclaps.
The storm weakened, the raging waters slithered to a calm against rocks and boulders in ravines. Shards of tombs and bones lay buried under mounds of drying mud. In another time, flash floods would roil through dry gorges and ravines. Water would again unearth those ancient stones.
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Storm’s Eye by Cara Stefano
Floating, blissful, beneath the waves
All is calm and clear and blue.
Bright fish dart and school around me
The scintillating silence wraps me in a soft cocoon of beauty.
Sea anemones and water grasses wave hello as I glide by
Flippers slowly propel me through these magic gardens.
A shadow passes over head, and then another, many more
I am no longer alone in the eye of the storm.
Thrashing fins and flippers; flashing spear point teeth
Binding, cutting nets of plastic poison engulf my body.
Peace and Violence side by side – always
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Contradictions by Rachel McBride
She remembered the taste of strawberry slushy, and still ordered them to this day. Some had dripped on her tank top, but she didn’t move to clean it off-entranced by the fireworks going off over the pier. BOOM, BOOM, BOOM resounded in her chest, beating her pounding heart like a charioteer spurring the horses to run faster. BOOM-like her heart when she wiped the blood off her cheek. BOOM-like the last slam of the storm door. BOOM-like her phone hurtling out the window and bouncing apart on the pavement. She chewed through the straw, feeling fireworks in her blood.
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Caskets Verses Baby Blanket by Susan Sleggs
Tessa caught the look on Michael’s face when he opened the package. She commented, “My son thought you would like a U.S. flag flying out front. Was he wrong?”
“I’m sorry. The flag reminds me of the number of draped caskets I’ve escorted and the families who paid the price.” Tears formed. He let her see them. “Now that soft baby blanket you are knitting gives me hope and helps me focus on the future.”
“I’ll explain to Brent and we’ll pass the flag to my parents. Theirs is quite faded.”
“Thank you, for understanding and backing me up.”
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Minimized Identity by Reena Saxena
silver moonlight hits hard rocks
drenched in apprehension
blasphemy will follow
can’t shed lingering aromas though…
drenched in apprehension
pain finds its place after joy
can’t shed lingering aromas though…
those moments feel like eternity
pain finds its place after joy
women are born to be non-existent
those moments feel like eternity
they give me an identity
women are born to be non-existent
their existence is minimized
but I have discovered my identity
I intend to stay with it…
their identity is minimized
silver moonlight hits hard rocks
but I intend to stay with it
let the blasphemy follow…
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Snowy Summer’s Day by Susan Zutautas
It was June, Meg and Ian had just moved into their first home. Ian was outside exploring when the wind picked up. “Meg come outside; you have to see this.”
Meg was in the kitchen busily unpacking boxes and welcomed the break.
Walking out into the yard Meg saw exactly why Ian had called her out. On the ground laid hundreds of tiny white flowers carpeting the pathway to the side yard. Just as Meg was about to say something hundreds more floated down from above.
“Oh, Ian how beautiful, it looks like we have a few Dogwood trees.”
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Spots by D. Avery
Marlie held up a pebble-eyed, twig-lipped marshmallow. “He’s got hard-rock eyes set in a puffy white face.”
“Who? Mr. Marshmallow?”
“Tommy’s father.” Marlie thrust the skewered marshmallow into the flames. “He was at the fence with Tommy. He said Daisy was so ugly she was almost cute. Daisy wouldn’t go to them. Tommy called her stupid. His dad said you can’t teach an old dog new tricks.”
“And leopards can’t change their spots.”
“Liz…”
Marlie’s parents watched with her as the pebble-eyed marshmallow face browned, then blistered black, finally oozed onto the coals, flaring and spluttering before it disappeared.
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Lavender and Sewage by Anne Goodwin
Time backflips and there is her mother slipping off her wedding band to finger the soil. The lavender’s perfume mingles with the sweet smell of manure recently deposited outside The Willows by the milkman’s Bay. “Nurture it, Matilda,” says her mother, “and it will delight you when you are old and grey.”
Now it straggles, a tangle of desiccated flowers and near-naked twigs. Neglected. Rage bubbles in her belly as the earth erupts around the shrub. Matty pinches her nose against the pong as shit froths over her shoes. A signal from her mother: time is ripe for revenge.
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Bonehead by Simon Prathap D
I was watching the TV last night
I heard the symptoms of a thunderstorm. I checked the sky, it was clear, then I came inside and saw TV The d2h was saying a message ” services has been temporarily blocked due to poor weather.” I called my wife and told her it’s contradictory how I heard thunderstorm but no clouds and TV says poor weather but the sky is clear, what’s happening?
She hit my head and said
1st floor New tenants are moving things, and recharge TV, read the warning message in full.
Bone head! She said 🙄
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Upstairs or Downstairs by Norah Colvin
Granny scratched her head. “I don’t know if I’m Arthur or Martha.”
“Whad’ya mean, Granny? I’m Arthur,” Arthur laughed.
“It’s just an old saying. Means I don’t know if I’m coming or going.”
“But you’re not coming or going. You’re staying here. With us.”
“I know,” laughed Granny. “I’m just a bit confused is all.”
“What’re you confused about?”
“I just came all the way down here for something, and I can’t remember what.”
“But this is upstairs, Granny. Not downstairs.”
“Silly me. There’s not much in my upstairs anymore.”
Now it was Arthur’s turn to scratch his head.
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PART II (10-minute read)
Contradictions by Anita Dawes
Yesterday I found some words lying around
Pages from a book.
I followed them around the house
They reminded me of scattered rose petals
The pages were not from a book
One spoke of love, while the other
Spoke of betrayal
Echoes of Romeo and Juliet
Yet this is not from Shakespeare
These pages are handwritten
As I gathered each one
I felt the weight of heartbreak.
The words shone like neon
Would there be light when I reached the end,
A reunion?
These pages belong to my mother’s old diary
I hope I can find the last page…
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Square Head in a Round Roll by Bill Engleson
Here, in the darkness, in the sleepiness, night sweats cascade.
The blade, glistening in the mid-October sun, slams down.
SWOOSH!
“Heads will roll! Lemonade; Square that circle; Make the Grade!”
“Hey. Sweetie!”
The sentinel roughly shoves me up the steps.
I can’t be here. I must dance.
I am a dancing fool.
“Handyman left! Sashay slow; Slip your shod; Mousey nose!”
“Darling! Wakey wakey!”
Cake?
What’s wrong with eating cake?
Everyone likes cake.
“Bend the curve! Step on toes; Circle the square; Go cat go!”
“That’s it. Enough’s enough, lover. I’ve had it with your Covid-19 Marie Antoinette nutmares.”
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Tories and Compassion by Anne Goodwin
Tradition deemed only white boys could touch the tuck-shop cash-box; the maharaja would be proud Rishi held the key. He dreamt of stuffing it with gold and silver, but plague confined juniors to the dorm. Rishi was willing to deliver but, with fagging outlawed, they lacked the coin to pay.
“Handouts?” said Boris. “Rewarding them to stay in bed?”
“We’ve stock to shift,” said Rishi. “See it as a loan.”
Boris rubbed his hands. “Which they’ll repay with interest?”
“Eventually.” Yet Rishi’s loyalties were split: between the brown boys who were dying and the club he yearned to join.
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A Crock Tale by JulesPaige
Lacey only heard bits and pieces of the guys telling tales at the bar. She was in a booth, eating dinner after a long day of working out of town. A guy ended his story with; “…And the sign said bait for catchin’ yer Jumbo Shrimp!”
The men ‘round him guffawed and laughed. The smarty pants guy who told the story grinned like a crocodile that swallowed a whole double Devil’s Food chocolate cake with icing too boot.
That’s where the story took her, seeing the mouse Dr. De Soto tending to the crocodile needing his rotten tooth pulled!
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Sleepy Square-Dance by Ritu Bhathal
The upbeat music created a jaunty atmosphere in the air. All around Jack, there were revellers dressed up in what they considered to be true ‘Square Dancing’ attire, i.e. a check shirt, some with fringes, denim, and obligatory cowboy boots.
It was all rather surreal. He was sitting in a church hall in the UK, not America!
Trying to stifle a yawn, he caught eyes with Jill. Oh great, now she’s coming over.
“Come on, sleepy head, I know you’re tired, but a bit of aa dance will wake you up!” She grabbed my arm, dragging me up.
Help!
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Open Secret by Colleen M. Chesebro
“Shhhhh… don’t tell anyone what I’ve told you.”
Marnie shook her head. “You’re missing the point, Susan. Jim’s been cheating on Janet for months. This is an open secret, and the entire town knows what’s going on.”
“What? Mrs. Parker only told me the details today when I ran into her at the market.”
“That’s because you’re new in town. She probably told you not to tell anyone because it makes her feel important.”
Susan looked crestfallen as she waved goodbye to her neighbor.
Marnie grinned. Besides, she knew the truth. She and Jim had been lovers for years.
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Cadillacs and Crocodiles by H.R.R. Gorman
The little lady showed up at the pump riding a hot-red Cadillac convertible with ostrich leather seats. She put out the cigarette in her ash tray and told me with pouty, vermilion lips, “Fill ‘er up.” She got out and, with her crocodile-skin purse, went into the store.
While she perused the candy shelf and soda fountain, I pumped in the liquid at 10 cents a gallon lamented my paltry pay. Rich people, getting richer off the backs of us poor. I’d like to kick people like her down a couple pegs.
And she’d left her keys in the ignition.
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She’s Off for Good by Donna Matthews
Cruising down the wide-open road, music on max volume, she crossed the unseen, invisible, and arbitrary line known as the grid. Some believe this place as a mythical or naive place to be. But not her. For years, she was a weekend warrior – driving here or there, sometimes even hopping on an airplane. But it was always just a visit—one foot on and one foot off. Invariably, when she returned, she plugged back in, downloading all she missed and her weekend away fading like a dream. But not this time – this time she’s off for good.
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A Small Crowd by John Lane
As Mrs. Sylvia Potts parked her 2006 Mercury Mountaineer in the lot near Sam’s Grocery, she noticed several people in front of the store. She walked over to see what was going on. It was people that she recognized from her neighborhood: Mr. and Mrs. Jones, Ms. Clearance, Mrs. Done and Mr. Forester. Mrs. Potts asked, “What’s this?” Mrs. Jones spoke for the whole group. “We’re tired of not being heard! This is against our civil rights!” Mrs. Potts saw the signs: WE WANT MORE THAN ONE PACK OF TOILET PAPER. Mrs. Potts rolled her eyes, then walked inside.
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My Aunt Babette by Eliza Mimski
My father’s sister Babette would let out these frenzied bubbles of a laugh that set my nerves on edge. A wicked, menacing laugh that mimicked the hysterical sounds of a pack of hyenas. With each laugh, her stomach would ride up and down in her seemingly blood-colored dresses.
Her speaking voice was different. She became this other person.
“Hi,” I’d say when visiting her, not knowing if I’d get the laugh or the voice.
“Here’s some candy, baby,” she’d say, each mellifluous syllable bouncing on its own little trampoline of air. At these times, her dresses turned pinkish.
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Graduation Party by Ruchira Khanna
“Come on, Meg, at this rate, you’ll be a postgraduate, and we’ll miss our graduation party.” urged Felicia, who was prancing outside her room like a horse.
“Jeez! You are so impatient!” she shouted back at her twin sister and came out with a sulk.
Felicia froze like a statue upon seeing her.
“You don’t need to stare at me like that.” Meg exclaimed as she placed the stray locks around her forehead behind her ear, “What can I do? The tutorial to dutch braid your hair was taking forever that I had to entwine them in random order.”
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Oil and Sea by Saifun Hassam
A sea breeze sprang up in the late evening. The tide rushed in, surf high, pounding and bulldozing through thick brown undercurrents, crashing on stinking tarry sands. The sea breeze was no match for that deadly vast oil spill. The salty air was saturated with oily drops.
Dawn brought no relief from ugliness. Fish lay dead, silver scales painted a deep dirty yellow ocher. Ducks struggled to shore. Alive, hopeless, crying for help. The oily sheen on feathers glistened deceptively with rainbows in the sunlight.
Broken but determined, we vowed to cleanse the sea, to somehow seek its forgiveness.
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Conflictive Contra-dictions (Part I) by D. Avery
It was a dark an’ stormy night. A. Rancher sought shelter in the old mine shaft only ta find Buggs M. Lotts already holed up there. They got along like oil an’ water.
“Kinda cliché ain’t it, Kid?”
“S’posed ta be, Pal. I wanna show how these two don’t git along, ‘cept I’m gonna switch out oil an’ water fer… bacon, yeah! An’… brussel sprouts! No, that’s purty good. Bacon an’… maple ice cream! Wait, that sounds tasty.”
“Kid, ever’thin’ goes good with bacon. Ya’ll have ta git rid a it.”
A. Rancher was glad ta see Asa O’Buddy…
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Conflictive Contra-dictions (Part II) by D. Avery
“’Ello, Keed. Dees ees a tough prompt for you, non? Perhaps I can help.”
“LeGume!”
“Eet ees I, Pal.”
“LeGume, whut makes you think ya know any more’n Kid here ‘bout writin’? It’s a tough prompt all right, but jist stay outta the way. Kid’ll figger it out. Heck, LeGume, you don’t know shit from shine-ola.”
“Au contaire, Pal! Dees I know ver’ well. An’ Keed… we all know Keed knows sheet. Keed can shovel da sheet till da cows come home. Dat ees raw writing, non? But revizeeng! Dat ees polishing.”
“Puttin’ the shine on?”
“Write on, Pal.”
🥕🥕🥕
Conflictive Contra-dictions (Part III) by D. Avery
Dark green waves of thundercloud roiled over the mountain. A. Kidd searched for the cave entrance, seeking refuge from the fierce storm. Even as violent flashes of lightning tore at the darkening sky Kidd hesitated. Was someone already in the makeshift shelter? The sound of laughter echoed from within the hard-rock walls, seeped out into the rain swept night; or was it the keening sound of someone crying? Kidd stepped into the dark, kept a small flame burning and looked within. There was no one else.
When morning finally dawned the dew on the grass sparkled like green champagne.
🥕🥕🥕
Response to Danger
Brianna Mills is 30 years old, and no stranger to danger. Yet she has quick wits about her, fast reflexes, and a calm mind to see her through. All of us at Carrot Ranch wish her a happy birthday on Svalbard, her latest place of residence and Arctic scooter adventures. She gave writers their prompt this week, asking how we respond to danger.
Writers, familiar with creating danger for their characters and plots, responded with gusto. Their stories reflect their keen sense of human behavior.
The following are based on the May 14, 2020, prompt: In 99 words (no more, no less), write a story that answers the question, “What’s the first thing that comes to mind when you are in absolute danger?”
PART I (10-minute read)
First Response by Charli Mills
One car flipped belly-up in the broad ditch of Kansas grass and sunflowers, the other crumpled to half its original size against the guardrail. Jess instructed her 18-year-old niece to pull over, her voice calm, all thoughts pushed away except for a running list: check breathing, smell for gas, stabilize necks. Plural. There would be multiple people in danger of dying this moment. They called this stretch of highway, “Bloody Kansas” and it was the route her niece would drive now that she had graduated and would begin college in two months. Check breathing, smell for gas, stabilize necks.
🥕🥕🥕
Flash Fiction: Stand & Fight by Dave Madden
The official told Terry, “You’re next.”
Terry paced behind the curtain, awaiting his walkout music to burst from the speakers. The butterflies in his stomach darted in every direction at once.
“Get those butterflies to soar in formation,” coached reminded, sensing his anxiety.
He shook out his heavy arms, rolled his head on his shoulders, and took a deep breath before marching toward the cage.
Feeling the canvas beneath his feet was familiar, but every logical fiber in Terry’s being told him to run.
When he heard the door lock behind him, a flip switched, and his nerves surrendered.
🥕🥕🥕
Introspection by Padre of Padre’s Ramblings
It had started out pretty much like every other day had for the last week. Up early, and then a hike through the forest with the guys. But not today. No today, as he rounded the same bend he had taken for six consecutive days, he was greeted by the whiz and buzz of passing rounds. He dropped to the ground along with his companions, as the First Sergeant called out “Whiz – Crack, not a problem. Whiz thud’s the B***h.” David laughed to himself with his only thought being, “And I volunteered for this.”
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Absolute Danger by Susan Sleggs
Tessa said, “At our Home-front Warriors meeting we discussed what flashes through our mind when we meet with danger. Do you remember what you thought?”
Michael looked away. “I’ve never admitted this. I can’t answer, because I blackout. Remember in high school when I wedged my car against a tree after hitting black ice?”
“Yeah.”
“I recall the car starting to skid, and getting out of it, no impact, no details.”
“And in Iraq.”
“We were talking about our mission, and then it was three weeks later. Coming to was terrifying.”
“I’m sorry.”
“I can talk about it now.”
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A Reminiscence from World War II by pendantry
“I want that,” said the German soldier, in badly broken French. His uniform was impeccable, though his command of the local tongue was not.
“What do you want?” responded the Frenchman, standing astride his bicycle.
“Your bicycle.”
The Frenchman shook his head. “It’s mine, you can’t have it!” he protested, and made as though to cycle off.
Calmly, the soldier reached into his pocket and brought out a pistol. He aimed it squarely at the Frenchman, who froze. The fear was evident in his eyes.
There’s a time to fight; and a time to admit that you have lost.
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Skidmarks by Doug Jacquier
My Mum was a stickler for cleanliness. One day she said to me, ‘Goodness, there’s enough dirt in your ears to grow potatoes.’ So she did. I missed a lot that the teacher said because of those King Edwards in my earholes.
She would always ask if I had clean underpants on. She said she’d die of embarrassment if I got run over by a car and the doctors saw that I had skidmarks on my undies. Forget any inconsolable grief. She wanted to be able to hold her head high when she went to pick up my body.
🥕🥕🥕
Photo & Film on NewsLine Tonight by Liz Husebye Hartmann
Jack stood at canyon’s edge, his phone set to selfie. “Ugh! Too much face, not enough canyon.”
He climbed the ledge, noting the low safety railing. Holding the camera at arm’s length, he noticed the screen icon for many figures, versus one. He chose many, and raised his arm again.
The wind gusted his bangs into his mouth. He hadn’t gotten a chance to visit his masked, shielded barber before this road trip. His buddy Tyler’d bailed because of Shelter in Place.
“This picture’ll be worth the risk!”
That was his last thought before he tripped over the railing.
🥕🥕🥕
Swamp Lake by Saifun Hassan
Herons and egrets fished in the dense marshes of Swamp Lake. I maneuvered my kayak closer to the giant spring lotus blooms in the middle of the Lake.
I was entranced. I took photos of the lotus blooms. I forgot the world around me. A multitude of pink and ivory shades; a multitude of angles to shoot from. Frogs on giant lily pads.
Suddenly the sky disappeared. A giant shadow flew over me. I was yanked from my kayak. The Swamp Jubjub! I was terrified.
“My cameraaaa! Noooo!”
With a contemptuous glare the Jubjub dumped me into the water.
🥕🥕🥕
Dark Encounter by Jo Hawk
I stayed too late. Perils line the path home and no guiding lights pierce the darkness to keep dangers at bay.
A rustling bush. I freeze. Frozen. Heightened awareness, my senses alerted to keep me alive.
Muscles tense, heart pounds, breath held, pupils dilate. My mouth fills with cotton balls.
Grasses sway without a breeze, an inky silhouette and steely eyes regard me. Somehow, they seem as surprised as I.
Flight or fight. Fight or Flight.
Sinews prepare for action as we stare, access, evaluate.
Golden orbs wink, I inhale and dip my chin.
Tonight, we go separate ways.
🥕🥕🥕
Dangers of a Motel Room by Geoff Le Pard
‘Logan! Logan! HELP!!’
‘What on earth…? It’s 4.00 am.’
‘I’ve gone blind!’
‘Here. Stand still.’
‘I’m falling!!’
‘Better?’
‘I… oh yes. My eye-mask. I forgot.’
‘Why do you wear that thing?’
‘I stop dreaming…’
‘And have nightmares instead? What was that about falling? You were standing by the coffee table.’
‘I thought I’d wandered onto the balcony and I was bang up against the parapet. I was sure I’d die if I moved.’
‘You did sound terrified. You ok?’
‘Yes, thanks. You know what hit me, when I thought I’d die?’
‘Go on.’
‘I’d miss you most.’
‘?’
🥕🥕🥕
Story Time by Wallie and Friend
“Were you ’fraid, Tilly?” Noel’s sounded as tiny as he was, looking up into Mr. Caddy’s face with the wide open eyes of a six-year-old.
“Wisht, no,” said Mr. Caddy. He challenged his audience with mischievous eyes. “D’ye know why I wasn’t afraid? Well I’ll tell you. I knew, sure I knew, that Hattie would save me.”
The goblin Green Hat, or Hattie, looked at him with unappreciative somber eyes.
“You were scared,” said Josie, bouncing on her heels impatiently. “I saw you!”
“Aye, you saw me,” said Mr. Caddy. “And see how I am now? I was right!”
🥕🥕🥕
Infinite Challenge? by JulesPaige
compounded terror
unable to conceive then
the hearts empty nest
When as a toddler, in the mall the child was lost. Familiar tug on clothing gone – who does one call first? Panic must remain at bay.
An organized search must be started before there is time to even think that someone else could walk off with such a treasure.
Frankly there is limited memory. There was a positive result and that is what mattered most. And soon a child leash once thought cruel, now became a comfort in the crowd.
That empty nest of a grown child, is different…
🥕🥕🥕
Scared to Death by Susan Zutautas
Lounging by the pool Kate looked up towards her window and was panic-stricken. A billow of black smoke was erupting. Then it hit her, she had left candles burning. “Oh my God”, she yelled. A neighbor grabbed Kate from running towards the fire.
“My mother is going to kill me, what am I going to do?” Petrified, Kate started to hyperventilate.
“Try to calm down, Kate,” her neighbor said while taking Kate to her place.
After a few shots of whiskey and a cold shower, Kate was still scared to death and kept saying, “She’s going to kill me!”
🥕🥕🥕
A Treat Turns to Terror for Those Already Spooked by Anne Goodwin
How spiffing! Afternoon tea with the Mayor!
Yet, as a hostess approaches, Matty’s spirits sink. Matilda! Spruced up in Matty’s own polkadot dress!
Matilda’s dreadful lies cannot harm her if she keeps her eyes on the door. Yet it is worse than she realised. Matty had prepared for the Palladium but they have delivered her to the Folies Bergère. The man assisting the Mayor is a pimp.
Before Matilda can shout Fire! Matty races outside. To the safety of the street. A screech of brakes. A thump.
“Call an ambulance!” screams Matilda. “I’m a first aider. A qualified nurse.”
🥕🥕🥕
Cast Out by Michelle Wright
I’ve been following my body around since it woke up from the car accident. Another soul is occupying my body. Who is in my body? The soul in my body is saying things that I would never say to people who I love. I scream for this person to stop. I don’t know if I’m heard. My body gives no indication one way or the other. I have absolutely no control. I don’t know if I ever will. I don’t know if there’s a way to push this other soul from my body so I can become whole again.
🥕🥕🥕
When She Was in Danger by Sarah Brentyn
I wanted to be brave.
Not like heroes in fairy tales.
Not like that.
Just an ordinary courage that snuck in the drafty front window in our kitchen and found me in the midst of calamity.
But I froze. Mind blank.
For all the bravery I thought I possessed, that I claimed I would have, should the moment arise, I failed.
Whether it dissipated when need barked at it or I never had it to begin with, I was frozen in a time when she couldn’t respond and I wear that coldness like a lead vest. My badge of dishonor.
🥕🥕🥕
The Question by John Lane
Arriving at the Kirti monastery in Ngaba, Sichuan, I passed by the charred body of a monk in a dhonka and shemdap. It took all my strength not to vomit on their sacred ground.
One of the elder monks, Palden Choetso, stopped me. “Sir?”
I barely got out the words. “What happened to him?”
Palden shook his head. “One of our youngest, Marpa, practiced self-immolation.”
“Why?”
Palden faced me. “What’s the first thing that comes to mind when you are in absolute danger?”
I just noticed surveillance cameras posted everywhere and a lack of monks around.
Palden whispered, “Sinicization.”
🥕🥕🥕
PART II (10-minute read)
Danger by Y. Prior
Hands on the side of my head
Eyes shut lightly
Body wound tightly
What to do?
What to do?
Grounded feet
Imagined roots
anchoring into the street
What to do?
What to do?
Tailbone down
Back strong
Head lifted high
Waiting
pondering
the next move
He followed me inside –
and has trailed my stride
too close for comfort
the smell of danger
emitted in the night air
with skin heated and heart beating a little faster –
quiet prayers form on my lips
Then
I reached the female security guard.
“Need a walk out tonight?”
“Yes! That would be great.”
🥕🥕🥕
Danger by Hugh W. Roberts
As the sound of cracking floorboards got louder, Sophie remembered what Doug had told her should she ever find herself in danger. Run for your life.
***
As Mike felt the foul-smelling breath of his other-self hit his body, he put his army training into good use. Rolling his body away from the cracking floorboards, he watched, stunned, as the floorboards rose, instead of falling.
***
Two floors above, a strange feeling of being in danger germinated in Doug’s head. He had to get up and run for his life, but something or somebody seemed to be holding down his legs.
🥕🥕🥕
Absolute Danger by FloridaBorne
Walking home, you hear footsteps echoing in the night. You stop to look around at the loneliness.
The footsteps stop. Nothing but air and the eerie glow of streetlights surround you.
One more house to pass.
Head held high, you repeat inside a mind hollow with fear as you approach your front door, “Don’t panic…turn the key.”
Once the lock clicks, you rush in, closing the door behind you…laughing at yourself for being so paranoid.
Then, you turn on the news. “Just in! A body was discovered…”
A block away from your house. The killer hasn’t been found.
🥕🥕🥕
Life Crossing by Ritu Bhathal
I had only just pushed the wheels of the buggy onto the road, after checking to see all was clear, yet the roar of the engine was close. Either I had missed seeing this approaching car, or the driver wasn’t driving at the designated speed limit.
Knowing I wouldn’t be able to reach the other side, I grabbed the buggy handles and jerked it back, as fast as I could.
Heart beating as if it would break out of my ribcage, I checked inside.
Bless him, he was still asleep. But I knew our lives had flashed before me.
🥕🥕🥕
Earthquake by Joanne Fisher
It first began as distant rumbling. I thought it was a train, but as it quickly got louder, I realised it was something else. I quickly jumped under a doorway just as the house began shaking violently. I knew I’d be safer under a table, but the doorway was closest.
It felt as though the house was rolling on a turbulent ocean. In the darkness I could hear plates, cups and glasses smashing onto the floor and shelves falling over. Almost a minute later the shaking subsided. The house was a mess, but I was glad to be alive.
🥕🥕🥕
Flat Tire on the Freeway by Miriam Hurdle
“I had a flat tire.”
“When? Where?”
“Today when I was on the freeway to downtown Los Angeles.”
“It must be awful.”
“My car spun several times until the rear end hit the guardrail.”
“Were you okay?”
“I held the steering wheel but released my foot from the pedal. After the car hit the guardrail, I saw the cars were 1,000 feet away. A police car zigzagged to slow down the traffic. Then he used the speaker to escort me to the next exit. I felt the angel created a shield around me.”
“The angel surely watched over you!”
🥕🥕🥕
The Cold After the Storm by Caroline Kribbs
Annie was shaking so hard her teeth were chattering. It was infuriating, somehow, to see the man so calm. The gunfire was in her ears and her heart was thundering so hard it hurt. It was over, but she still felt how it was to lie in the mud, waiting to die.
“How do you stand it?”
Hamish wanted to be impatient because she reminded him of what he had been, before the outlaw gang that had killed his family and destroyed their farm. Instead, he was only quiet and brief.
“I don’t think,” he said. “I never think.”
🥕🥕🥕
Danger by Irene Waters
Seeing the steep drops close to the edge of the winding road my body tensed and my heart starting to thump as though I’d just run a marathon. The now snake-like dirt road, punctuated with tight hairpin bends that dropped away on either side of us, narrowed even further. My gut constricted. Panic became a restrictive vest around my chest. Clutching the seat belt my knuckles whitened. Uncontrollably I screamed. Jake pulled into a siding.
“What a view.” Grabbing his camera he headed across the road.
“No, don’t leave me,” I screamed, “What will I do if you die?”
🥕🥕🥕
Sunlight by Anita Dawes
In the car on my way home when a Sunlight lorry
was spun around by a careless driver
Now he was on the wrong side of the road
Barrelling straight at me
I stopped my car close to a row of parked cars
And thought, God, I am knocking on heaven’s door!
Someone had called my number.
Waiting for the sound of metal being crushed
Time slowed, inside the car became still
Sound vanished
I could see the whites of his eyes
as he wrestled his lorry into control
He smiled, I thanked God
someone put my number back…
🥕🥕🥕
The End by Kathy70
Nothing too unusual happened this day, we went to a friends house and they were having a small barbeque and a hop in the backyard pool. The guys were doing their regular shots and we ladies had wine. Fun day.
Home for a couple of hours and I can’t even recall the discussion or disagreement. He goes upstairs and comes down with a pistol. I said put it back, but now it’s pointed at me. I stayed calm and would not show fear, he put it away and I left. That’s the beginning of our end, of being together.
🥕🥕🥕
A Shooting Pain by Reena Saxena
A sharp pain shoots through my head on the left side, as my husband animatedly makes a political argument. We do not support the same ideology.
Life is back to normal in a while, but the pain continues. I wonder how much of it is psychosomatic. And what exactly is the trigger that generates discomfort in the body? None of us plan to contest an election or file for divorce.
But a sense of danger is inherent. I know the nation will continue to go downhill, as long as people refuse to acknowledge reality.
I hope better sense prevails.
🥕🥕🥕
Head Games in a Flash by Bill Engleson
“You’re quite old,” I hear myself think.
Then I sigh.
“No denying that,” I hear my other little voice admit.
“By many standards, you’ve had a good run,” I soothingly allow.
“You saying the race is over?” other voice asks.
“No, I’m not saying that. Just trying to be real,” I clarify.
“It’s that ravenous throng of under thirty terrorists getting into your head, isn’t it?”
“I’ve read their manifesto. There’s not a lot of wiggle room.”
“Yeah, they threw nuance out the window with that mob. And that COVID-19 motto…”
“THIRTY OR DUST! You gotta admit. It’s catchy.”
🥕🥕🥕
COVID Fear by M J Mallon
I stood by the platform waiting for my train, my mask tight against my face. A man jeered at me, his lips twisted in a cruel grimace. I moved back.
“I have something for you,” he smiled as he spat. I felt his wet spittle on my exposed skin. I screamed, frantically searching for a tissue to erase death from my face.
Onlookers stared, their hearts bound by fear as their masks sagged. He wiped his mouth, licking his cruel lips. Tears streamed from my eyes. I vowed to fight this virus; killers mustn’t win.
🥕🥕🥕
Absolute Danger by Simon Prathap D
Doctor opens the report🧐, My god I’ve never seen such bad report, he says.🙁
What happened anything wrong?🥺
Your health in absolute danger😔, you must get admitted first
I’m sorry doctor😏
I should say that to you🤨
No doctor😟, I am sorry, you are looking at a wrong report🙄
Thank god, I thought it’s yours.😊Doctor turns the page and searches for the name. It still says your name.🧐
No doctor, it’s not mine😉, I suspected you are not a doctor🧐, so I gave your blood for test, you don’t even know that it’s your blood report😏
😳🤯😵 Doctor faints!
🥕🥕🥕
What’s in a Name? by Chelsea Owens
Mimi’s mum named her something, “fun, cheery; a bit totty.” To say Mimi’s actual personality fell short of that was a wee understatement. Had she been allowed an opinion, Mimi would’ve chosen a sensible moniker like Mildred.
“Mildred? Whoever’d want to be Mildred unless she thought to run a convent?” Mum would’ve said, had she still been around and not jumped before the pilot gave the all-clear at the Seniors’ Skydiving Surprise.
The Surprise was how little liability the company claimed.
What had gone through Mum’s head before passing, Mimi wondered, apart from that church spire? She’d never know.
🥕🥕🥕
All’s Well That Ends Well by D. Avery
“Ever been in danger, Pal?”
“Absolutely. Thet time the bull was seein’ red. Charged me like a Amazon purchase, but I thought ta jist grab thet bull by the horns. I honked fer Jesus, flipped right over thet bull an inta the creek.”
“Lucky landin’.”
“Ya’d think, Kid, but it’d been droughty. I landed in a creek without a puddle, an’ facin’ a rattler. First thing I thought was, tastes like chicken. Secon’, I’d have ta strike first. Lightnin’ reflexes.”
“You ain’t that fast Pal.”
“No. But lightnin’ struck thet snake, had it skinned an’ sizzlin’ fer my dinner.
🥕🥕🥕
“Lucky lightnin’ strike, Pal! Outta danger an’ dinner in hand!”
“Ya’s think so, Kid. But that drought had all the critters edgy an’ hungry. When thet mountain lion yowled at me I wasn’t sure if she wanted ta eat me or my rattler, still sizzlin’ warm from the lightnin’.”
“What’d ya do, Pal?”
“Afore I could think ‘bout thet, the rain finally came, hard and fast an’ thet creek swelled right up an’ my most eminent danger was a flash flood.”
“Imminent.”
“No, it warn’t about ta happen, was happ’nin’ right then, ‘an I was positively gittin’ washed away.”
🥕🥕🥕
“What luck, Pal. Um, is it good or bad luck?”
“It’s all good, Kid. I still had thet snake, still warm an’ sizzling’ from the lightnin’, held it up outta the water. An’ I was gittin’ farther an’ farther away from thet bull an’ thet mountain lion. So I jist went with the flow as they say, waitin’ ta see where I’d fetch up.”
“Sounds like you was goin’ downhill, Pal.”
“Downstream, Kid. The creek started ta flatten out an’ slow down an’ things came familiar. I had arrived. At the Ranch.”
“Lucky, Pal!”
“Ya got thet right, Kid.”
🥕🥕🥕
Nourish
Deep down, what truly nourishes us? It could be in the moment, a passing season, or over a lifetime. It might even be beyond death. During these unsettled times of isolation and overwhelm, we need to nourish at all levels
Writers explored what it is to nourish this week. From lacquered nails to after death, these stories will surprise you.
The following are from the May 7, 2020, prompt: In 99 words (no more, no less), write a story to nourish.
PART I (10-minute read)
Lacquered Lovelies by Annette Rochelle Aben
“Ladies, do either of you want your nails done today?”
It was this familiar Tuesday query from the activities department of the nursing home that rallied all the women who wanted to feel special every time they looked at their hands. Usually, everyone except these two roommates said yes.
There was a box of bright colors from which to choose. This day, most of the ladies chose colors that reminded them of beautiful flowers. And here they were, beautiful flowers planted in wheelchairs and hospital beds. Their bodies may be failing them, but their souls were glowing and alive!
🥕🥕🥕
Good Fences by D. Avery
“Tommy, don’t climb the fence! You still have to stay at your house.”
“Nu-uh. My daddy and me been shopping for our party this afternoon.”
“I had a party with my mom and dad too.”
“No, we’re having a real party, with daddy’s friends. There’ll be tons of good food— kool-aid, cheese puffs.”
“Yuck! That’s not good food! It’s not nourishing.”
“Who says, your mommy?”
“Scientists.”
“Scientists don’t know nothing. You coming over? I’ve missed playing with you.”
“Goodbye Tommy.”
Marlie stumbled past the dirt pile, the tree fort, went inside to use a tissue and wash her hands.
🥕🥕🥕
Standing Up to Mother by Susan Sleggs
Tessa’s mother paced. “I’m fearful Michael will suck the life out of you if you move in together.”
“I thought you approved.”
“Not of you living with him.”
“He nourishes the youth choir, the Vet’s music programs, and he goes to D.C. when asked. You don’t think he’ll enhance my life too?”
“Behind closed doors is where the nightmares and anger dwell. You’ll have no escape.”
“Don’t you remember my ex had nightmares. It isn’t new to me.”
“He was an officer.”
“So that’s what this is about, status, not my well being. Good thing it isn’t your choice.”
🥕🥕🥕
Ruminating on Roosts by JulesPaige
Blue Jays prefer string
colorful yarn not so much
for their nest today
somewhere in the pines they build
this Mother’s day, I just watch
my own nest just has
we too – you made me breakfast
will our chicks call home?
We’ve done what we could – had our share of scrapes. Now we get to sit back just a little. Though we need to remember life is a continuing lesson, parent or not. We all need to nourish each other with care as the days pass. Sharing the light of our love lamps to brighten temporary gloom.
🥕🥕🥕
Days I Remember by Anita Dawes
Days I try to remember when food was plentiful
Father in the fields, Mother filling the house
With the warm aroma of fresh bread
We were loved, fed. Taken care of
Now I am alone, remembering new days
That passed when I filled our home
Like mother, with fresh baked bread
That had my children running for the crust
First into the house to claim the first slice
Butter melting, thick home-made jam
Is there anything better than feeding your family?
A fresh-baked loaf on my neighbour’s doorstep
Could be the start of something new
A touch of warmth…
🥕🥕🥕
Matty in Wonderland by Anne Goodwin
Matty was wary when the March Hare invited her to join them. “I’m not thirsty.” The last thing she drank had shrunk her to the size of a thimble.
“Forget tea,” said a fellow in a top hat. “We’ll give you a nourishing story. Dormouse, begin!”
“Not the one about the treacle well.” Matty had a sense of déjà vu.
“A well of kindness,” said the Hatter. “Without food banks.”
“You think it kind to starve the poor?”
“Where this story is set everything is shared fairly. No-one need beg for food.”
Matty sat. “Tell me! I will emigrate.”
🥕🥕🥕
Come In by Priorhouse
Come in, tired one.
Sit down.
I see you are on your way south –
to the sea.
Your bed for the night is there.
Soup’s simmering on the stove – there.
Please leave soup on when you hit the sack.
“Thanks” replied the visitor.
As we left the room, I asked dad if he’d build into the guest – nourish his soul with faith talk or advice before his body was nourished from soup and sleep.
“No,” replied dad.
Sometimes words are not needed. People are often better nurtured by giving them space.
And love.
“Yes, dad, many ways to nourish.”
🥕🥕🥕
The Amazing Jar by Gordon Le Pard
He looked in amazement at the little fern, growing in the sealed jar. According to Dr Ward it had been growing there for three years.
“But what nourishes it?”
“Sunlight.” He replied, “Water evaporates, and condenses in the jar. Minerals feed the leaves, and return to the soil, all it needs is light.”
“Is it of any use?”
“Use! Glass boxes filled with plants, on a ships deck, will carry them safely around the world. We will move useful plants wherever we want. This could end famines, create industries and beautify gardens, it could change the world.”
It did.
🥕🥕🥕
Mindful Eating by Ruchira Khanna
“No, eatables are allowed on the plane.” Said a voice that was soft yet stern.
He had no choice but to comply.
Going home was a definite priority over defying the rules of the TSA.
He chose to empty all his pockets and walk towards his gate with sluggish steps while gnarling noise was accompanying him. His stomach muscles were squeezing tight as if wringing a cloth.
Traveling in wee hours with no shop open, he chose to board the flight.
Mark decided to eat mindfully from the tiny in-flight bag of pretzel that helped nourish his hunger pangs.
🥕🥕🥕
Nourish by Geoff Le Pard
‘I’m hungry, Logan.’
‘You had dinner less than an hour ago.’
‘Can we stop?’
‘Yes…’
‘Why do I feel a but coming?’
‘I’m not spending another moment in one of those fast food places.’
‘You enjoyed the Mexican…’
‘Was that the tackies?’
‘Tacos.’
‘Are you sure they’re not tackies? Mine was pretty sticky.’
‘And you like a Big Mac.’
‘I do not. I prefer my Scotsmen small and easily tamed.’
‘You’re such a fusspot.’
‘Morgan, I need something nourishing.’
‘Isn’t that what you do to a pot plant?’
‘Pot plant? Have you been smoking? Is that why you’re hungry?
🥕🥕🥕
Comfort Food by Janet Guy
One pound of lean ground turkey, one pound of 80-20 ground sirloin, one packet of McCormick meatloaf seasoning, one egg, one generous handful of Progresso Plain Breadcrumbs, half of a medium diced onion, one squirt of ketchup. It’s important to mix everything into the ground meat by hand, but don’t overdo it. Your grandfather and I added a twist: divide the mixture into twelve muffin cups. Bake at 350F for 30 minutes. Your grandmother always tried to sneak a half a meatloaf muffin without us noticing. She was so silly! I see both of them in you, my child…
🥕🥕🥕
Love the World by Chelsea Owens
Broken friendless lying dying, lifts a hand for
-anything-
Walking talking presses buttons, flashes past within her world.
Why stop living in the mirrors, in the spotlight;
save lying dying friendless one?
—–
.sneaky unseen creeping coughing, enters silent crownèd killer.
—–
Broken homebound lying sighing lifts her hand for
-anything-
Walking talking, in his sunshine, stops outside her locked front gate.
Why not wave at silent windows, in the sunshine;
save lying sighing homebound face?
—–
Then or now, we all are people;
Now or then, we all need love.
-Look around-
and nourish others
Smile, wave, and love the world.
🥕🥕🥕
Nourishment by Reena Saxena
The monk has travelled across the world in search of meaning of life.
Gone are the days when people congregated in an ashram to partake of wisdom… there are umpteen agencies to get him online and share his learnings. The digital marketing campaign lasts 90 days to generate a feeling of emptiness in people, and make them pay to find nourishment. The lockdown is supportive, as people struggle to adopt a new way of life.
Finally, the monk’s serenity appears on screen..
You are exactly where you need to be. I learnt that travel serves no purpose at all.
🥕🥕🥕
Survival by Joanne Fisher
All around her was wasteland. Kali’s mouth felt like sandpaper, there had been no water for several days. The hot dry wind whipped the rags of her clothes. She walked forwards and then collapsed. Everything went black.
Kali awoke. She was lying in a hut. She tried rising, but felt dizzy. A woman came over giving her a bowl. Kali drank the soup deeply. After so long it felt nourishing.
“You were near death when we found you.”
“Where am I?”
“In our village. You can stay as long as you want.”
Maybe she would stay here a while.
🥕🥕🥕
Nourish by Liz Husebye Hartmann
Long, dark days alone
Habit well-practiced for years
My coffee brings cheer…
Grateful that strongly suggested isolation began after the bone-chilling months of in-between, she pulls on sweats and Tee, runs a handful or two of tap water through her hair and over her face. The cat’s been provisioned, his vomit mopped up (what he hasn’t re-eaten). She’s set to go.
And yet, even as an introvert, she misses noisy Happy Hours she was pleased to walk away from, the long hikes with the usual crowd strung like pearls through wooded path and prairie.
The Keurig mimics her sigh.
🥕🥕🥕
Noirished by Bill Engleson
First, she sucked on the stogie. Then she plucked it from her gingered lips, glanced skyward, blew a smoke circle that looked, swear to God, like the Greasy Phil’s onion rings of my lost youth.
“I didn’t think you’d have the…” she said, before I rebounded with, “Yeah, I know.”
“So, what’s next?”
“Quarantine for life.”
“Not me, Shamus. Never.”
“You’re a menace, Katie.”
“What, just because I hugged them?”
“And nasal dripped them.”
“My nose always ran,” she snickered. “You know what they’re calling me?”
I did. “Yeah. COVID Katie.”
“Yeah,” she smiled. “Sounds…important.”
And crazy, I thought.
🥕🥕🥕
Nourish by FloridaBorne
“You take too many vitamins,” hubby scoffed, watching me wash them down with Rooibos tea.
Grunting from the strain of standing upright, he held onto the table for support. As usual, he left his soda can and potato chip wrappers for me to throw away.
“I have yoga at 10:00 today,” I said joyfully. “I’m walking with Lois, and grocery shopping after that. I’ll be home around 4:00.”
“You’re 70! Grow up!”
“A person either grows up or gives up,” I replied. “Don’t chastise me for choosing to nurture my body. Ask yourself why you chose to destroy yours.”
🥕🥕🥕
The Smiling Roses by Doug Jacquier
As Phoebe drove home with her husband, Spike, safely strapped into the passenger seat, she decided it was time for him to hear some home truths.
‘You know, Spike, in all our married years, never once have you praised anything I’ve done or supported me when it mattered. Frankly, I can’t even recall you being anything remotely like happy, except when you were sounding off about the stupidity of everyone around you.’
Silence.
Phoebe arrived home, unstrapped Spike’s urn, removed the lid and spread his ashes under her rose bushes.
‘Last chance to nourish something, Spike.’
The roses smiled.
🥕🥕🥕
Nourishment by Sarah Brentyn
She felt magnolia petals falling on her grave.
Freshly dug, soil still loose, the mound surrounded by mourners, she heard crying. Noisy sniffles, gentle sobs, painful wails.
She shifted focus from those above her, fixing her mind on the tree. Its branches reached for her. This time of year, it offered pale pink flowers.
This time of year, it needed her most.
And every spring these coming years. Her body would nourish the magnolia roots and, in return, her grave would be speckled with velvet petals. Nourishment for her soul.
When the grieving left, would dance in nature’s bouquet.
🥕🥕🥕
Bat Incident by Simon Prathap D
Two vampire bats 🦇 talking to each other
I am so hungry today 🦇
Go ahead, get something to Dad 🦇
I am going to get some nourishing foods for both of us🦇
A few moments later….🦇
🦇 Son, this is called being selfish😠
For real?🙄 what makes you ask that?🤔
Look at you 🦇 , mouth full of blood🧛, You had alone🧛? How you got this much blood yourself, where is the nourishing foods for your Dad🤷♂️?
Dad🦇, You need to calm down first😠, did you see that black rod in the middle of that gap
Yes I do🤔🦇
But I didn`t dad🤕🦇
😂🦇😂
🥕🥕🥕
PART II (10-minute read)
Hematite Eyes by Kerry E.B. Black
Her baby’s eyes discomforted her. Odd, hematite, and unblinking. But his infant fist encircled her finger, and maternal instinct supplanted concern. She nursed the unblinking child until his eyes slid shut and he drifted to sleep.
He remained odd, different from other children, even when they shared activities. She coached, suggested, scheduled hopeful playdates, but he stayed aloof. With quiet, precise attention, he approached games like a soldier following orders. He studied others’ reactions, mimicked, but without emotion. He made no friends.
“Are you lonely?” she worried.
He studied her face, never blinking his hematite eyes. “Should I be?”
🥕🥕🥕
Nourish by Kathy70
I watch as a street-wise elderly woman takes a small bag out and looks around to see if anyone is watching, she slowly opens the bag and begins throwing out bread on the grass. Pigeons become brazen and hop on her hand to get more food.
Smiling she starts talking to the birds. A mom and 2 small children sit on a bench nearby and the children walk slowly up to the woman to pet the birds. She lifts her hand to help a bird to sit on the child’s shoulder. They all seem happy and nourished by each other.
🥕🥕🥕
Sand Stories: Inspired by Shakespeare’s words: “tongues in trees, books in running brooks.” by Saifun Hassam
Diamante loved to sit on the seashore when the tide was out. Away from the bustle of village and temple life. Solitude. Calm. No gusty winds today hurling sand across the rocks. No shapeshifting dunes.
Last winter was a difficult one. A raging sea storm took the lives of three fishermen. One empty lonely boat drifted into a sheltered cove.
Today, children’s laughter and chatter filled the air. With Diamante’s help, they would create sand paintings, draw, and learn more about those intricate shells washed ashore. They would build sandcastles on the shore, stories drawn from their vivid imaginations.
🥕🥕🥕
A Little Something by Allison Maruska
I open the pantry, scouring it for nourishment. Scooting cereal and pasta out of the way, I see it–a box of Girl Scout cookies, unopened! My mouth waters as I tear off the tab and pull out a sleeve, anticipating the flood of minty goodness about to find me.
“Dinner’s in an hour.”
Wincing, I turn.
Mom holds her hand out.
Scowling, I hand it over. Instead of returning the box to the pantry, she opens the sleeve and hands me a cookie. “One won’t ruin your appetite.” Winking, she takes one for herself.
She’s pretty cool, I guess.
🥕🥕🥕
Extra Nutrition by Robbie Cheadle
“This bread is delicious, Mom. Can I have some more.”
“Of course, that’s why I’m baking fresh bread every day.”
“Why don’t you just buy it like you used to?”
“The grocery stores are not selling freshly baked bread. When the lock down restrictions reduce, the bakeries will re-open, but until then, I’m baking.”
“You could buy sliced bread.”
“I can’t stand those thin and insubstantial slices that taste like cardboard. Now that I look like Cousin Itt, with all this hair hanging down my back, I need extra nutrition to maintain it. Fresh bread with lots of butter.”
🥕🥕🥕
Sprinkles of Tenderness by Miriam Hurdle
“I’m amazed Rosie has changed so much since we adopted her six months ago,” said Sam.
“For a while, she went to the corner and face the wall every time I talked to her.” Elaine still puzzled.
“The social worker suspected something happened in her previous foster home.”
“She was afraid of us.”
“I admired your patience. You showed your affection by physical touch, warm smile, and inviting gesture instead of talking.”
“I’m pleased she trusts us.”
“It took us six months to break the ice.”
“She talked and called me Mom two days ago. It melted my heart.”
🥕🥕🥕
Nourishing the Mind by Susan Zutautas
Little one, you must always remember to nourish your mind.
But father how does one feed the mind?
Not feed … nourish.
Please explain as I am confused.
Each day, be sure you take time for yourself to breathe and relax, to reflect, to find peacefulness within, to count your blessings. Sit down, read a book that interests you, learn something new. Keep a journal and write what your heart says to you. Write down what is troubling you, your joys, your dreams, your hopes, and your desires. Get fresh air and enjoy your surroundings. Socialize, always be kind.
🥕🥕🥕
The Singing by Wallie and Friend
She liked to listen to them sing. The myyr always sang when the moon first showed its pale silver light over the Sleepless Sea. The little girl would sit on the pier, swinging her bare feet, and look out over the still black water.
Myyr song was not instinctively beautiful. It was a harmonious calling that made the child wonder. She could not sing with them, having no voice herself, but she liked to imagine she sang as she looked up at the thousands of stars. She felt that by listening, some part of their song must be hers.
🥕🥕🥕
Solo Nourishment by Ritu Bhathal
Mae gently emptied the last of the water from her watering can into the flowerbed.
The roses were doing rather well, all things considered.
All around her, news filtered in of the deaths of people around the world, and even some friends.
It had been tough.
Her usual routine of seeing her grandchildren at the end of each school day, with her feeding them nourishing snacks, and sometimes dinner, if her daughter was running late, was gone.
They couldn’t meet one another.
A video call sufficed, and the odd drive-by wave.
At least she could still nourish her garden.
🥕🥕🥕
The Seedling by John Lane
Matthew’s mother watched the eight-year-old remove the weeds, dig several inches, put the quaking aspen seedling in and place some organic compost around. All in the backyard.
Every day he would run out to check the seedling.
“Mom, it is not growing.”
His mom shook her head. “Matthew, give it a chance.”
At summer’s end, Matthew’s mother was hired, and they flew cross-country.
Matthew forgot about the tree.
Sixty years and one accounting career later, Matthew decided to visit the tree.
In the backyard was an enormous, smooth tree with yellow leaves.
He sighed. “Mom, sorry I doubted you.”
🥕🥕🥕
Grandfather’s Legacy by Jo Hawk
We discovered the tenacious evergreen sprig on our daily walk. Grandfather pitied the seedling clinging to bare stone. A full-grown pine needed access to the earth’s nutrients, and the minuscule reserves in the stone’s clefts and crevices would stunt the tree if it lived at all.
I was only a child, but I vowed to help the sapling. On warm days, we carried water. We sheltered it from storms and patted dirt at its roots.
Today my grandson and I took a walk. I introduced him to the tough tree and smiled when he vowed to protect Grandfather’s legacy.
🥕🥕🥕
The Blood-Trees by Joanne Fisher
The two men wandered into the clearing as it grew dark. To their horror it was littered with bodies.
“It’s like they’re empty vessels that were discarded.” One of them said checking a body. “They were exsanguinated. Vampires?” The other man looked around, the colour drained from his face.
“No, not vampires. Blood-Trees.” He stated.
“Blood-Trees?”
“Trees that get their nourishment from the blood of the living, rather than from out of the soil.”
It was now dark. All around them they heard the creaking of branches. The moon arose showing trees with black twisted shapes now surrounded them.
🥕🥕🥕
Apples by Charli Mills
Who’ll love the apple trees, Hester wondered as the wagon lurched forward. The youngest, she sat among her family’s meager belongings. A wagon-train of evicted miners trundled past shuttered copper mines.
When they married, Hester told Albert about the company houses and the community orchard. The county sold them the whole abandoned neighborhood on cheap terms. Albert flattened the other houses to grow potatoes. “Don’t harm the apple trees,” she said.
She nourished the trees into widowhood until they packed her up in a station wagon for the old-folks home. “The apples,” she whispered as the car drove away.
🥕🥕🥕
Apple Charlie by Michelle Wright
There is a place I love to go
Apple trees, row after row
Named after my grandfather who so many know
Apple Charlie’s
Apple Charlie lived there then
He lives there still
In all his descendants
With their strong wills
There is a place where barn animals eat
Children give them feed
Nutritious treat after treat
Apple Charlie’s
Charlie watches the children and smiles
He smiles as they shine an apple on their shirt
He smiles when they savor donuts dipped in cider
Like the bumblebees
We care for the orchard
Like Apple Charlie
We care for one another
🥕🥕🥕
And Then Alone by Sascha Darlington
I didn’t want to come home for Thanksgiving, navigate the endless sessions of why aren’t you like Nathan or Rachel? Why are you working an administrative job, pretending to be a writer? Why aren’t you going to graduate school? Becoming a lawyer, a doctor? It’s in our genes. Why are you our disgrace?
My grandmother survived Auschwitz. You’d think I could survive Thanksgiving.
I breathe a hundred breaths into the ending of this novel. My grandmother read every word, blessed them, before she passed. Now, I am alone.
My homemade pumpkin pie will nourish. Will my novel will appease?
🥕🥕🥕
Scion the Prize by D. Avery
“Kid, git in here! Dang. Shorty entrusted us with runnin’ our own Saloon, a place fer folks ta relax an’ rub elbows— git away fer a while. But then she done gifted ya with a scion, an off shoot a thet Poet–tree ya discovered outside the bunkhouse at Carrot Ranch.”
“Yep. So?”
“So, ya ain’t been tendin’ the Saloon! Yer always out back with thet offshoot an’ them kid goats an’—”
“An what, Pal? What’s the problem?”
“Ya gotta nurture the saloon, Kid.”
“Yep. An’ I gotta nourish the Poet-tree.”
“Why’s thet impor’nt?”
“’Cause it nourishes me.”
🥕🥕🥕
Long Boards
The world has paused. During this stillness, we perhaps look to the past with nostalgia and wonder how our ancestors made do. Maybe that’s how the long boards came up. They were tall Finnish skis used when the snows came too deep to walk into town. For how long have we used long boards for recreation and purpose?
That’s the idea for writers to explore. They could craft a story about the use of any long boards, true, or imagined. Many thanks to Keweenaw storyteller, Myra Möyrylä, for the use of her story and photo to inspire this collection.
The following are based on the April 30, 2020, prompt: In 99 words (no more, no less), write a story that features long boards.
PART I (10-minute read)
Finnish Elite Troops by Paula Puolakka
Every time the “Swedish Crown” needed to recapture lost land from Russia, and it was winter, the Finnish skiing troops were sent to action. The old Russian war accounts include descriptions of the swift and almost invisible Swedish soldiers who caused fear among the Russians. No, those were not Swedish, but Finnish elite troops. “Sukset” made them move as smoothly as Tolkien’s elves. Their status was equal to the status of the feared 14th-century longbowmen of England. They were not English noblemen but mainly Welsh retainers. The Finnish peasants (mastering the long wooden boards,) too, were promoted during wartimes.
🥕🥕🥕
Diving Board by Susan Zutautas
Joe had butterflies in his stomach long before his alarm clock went off. Today he’d be diving in a state competition. Scouts from well-known universities would be there and Joe was hoping for a scholarship.
Climbing the high dive ladder a wave of total confidence came over him.
The first dive was a backward dive. He sprung on the board once then twice, then it snapped startling him, but he carried through like a pro leaving the snapped board behind. Three scores from the judges were all 9.5. Joe and his team were ecstatic!
Joe was offered a scholarship.
🥕🥕🥕
Board Games by D. Avery
He skated into the park on the longest longboard any of us had ever seen; stood nonchalantly mid-deck, told us his name was TuKu.
He held everyone’s attention as his due, reveling in the anticipatory silence as we clutched our boards, shuffled in our Vans. Like a patient teacher, TuKu waited for Sammi to follow suit, but Sammi just kept rocking in place, tip to tail.
“Catch me, Not-So-Ku,” she said, and was instantly on the rail, landing after a double kickflip. We breathed, grinned. Nothing had changed.
“Come on,” we invited TuKu, and followed Sammi best we could.
🥕🥕🥕
When Life Gives You Lemons by Dave Madden
To say Josh had been inundated with bad luck would be an understatement: his transmission terminated; the boss made him work overtime, without extra pay; and his girlfriend dumped him, saying he loved Jiu-Jitsu more than her.
Josh’s troubles disappeared in the breeze while gliding on his longboard to practice. His mind was absorbed in the moment, and the board’s polyurethane wheels flattened the troublesome bumps along the way.
After several hours of strangling one another, Josh, carrying his board up the steep hill toward home, was more mentally prepared to tackle the lemons life threw at him.
🥕🥕🥕
Safety Measures by Simon Prathap
What are you doing?
Corona safety measures dad
Is that my board?
Yup the same long board you used in the beach last year
What are you trying?
I tie this to myself
So…?🤔
So that I will maintain social distancing, no one can come close to me
Brilliant son!🙄
Thanks, a help please
Okay, what am I supposed to do?😕
Here hold this, now I am going to tie this with a rope
What are you doing?🤔
I am going to tie this rope in this lock and…
This is a corona safety measure?🙄🤔
It’s Lock down dad!
🙄😵
🥕🥕🥕
The Race by John Lane
Hansel drove his Polaris snowmobile through the snow-covered trails until he hit upon Gretel’s truck. Gretel wiped a greasy concoction that smelled like fecal matter in a pine forest onto two wooden slats.
Hansel chuckled. “You can’t get up the mountain with that.”
Gretel shook his head. “Twenty dollars says that these longboards will get to the top first.”
“Easy money.”
Three times, Hansel tried to climb the mountain. And three times, the throttle safety switch cut out.
Gretel waited at the top for Hansel as Hansel finally made it.
Gretel held out his hand. “Easiest twenty ever made.”
🥕🥕🥕
Winter Roundup by Ann Edall-Robson
Full moon night
Twenty below
Spooked by a holler
From downwind
Horses charge
The chase begins
Handcrafted longboards
Replace saddles
Leather bindings
Cinched down tight
Lariats hung snug
Across chests
The stud horse nips
At rumps and withers
Wild horses
Are running hard
Cowboys push
Keeping up
Down the hill
Through spruce and pine
Frozen ground shakes
Branches snap
Destination
The pawed meadow below
Corral wings loom
Into their path
Slowing
Guiding the herd
Swirling, snorting
Freedom flight lost
Gate rails slide home
Ropes snake out
Horses shy
Nostrils flare, blowing
Winter full moon
Skiing cowboys
Wild horse roundup
🥕🥕🥕
Optimal Velocity by Jo Hawk
Miners extracted millions from Gold Mountain, but Peggy didn’t want money. She sought powder and speed. The day dawned bright and clear, as she and the longboarders climbed the 1,700-foot slope to the starting position.
Reaching the top, she strapped on her 12-foot long Norwegian skates. She had rubbed her secret dope into the hand-hewn, kiln-dried, vertical-grain Doug fir skis. The mixture of paraffin, tallow, tar, and hemlock oil guaranteed optimal velocity.
The contestants crouched, waiting. The starter hammered the giant saw blade. Peggy pushed against her pole and shot downhill. Sixteen seconds later, she began her next ascent.
🥕🥕🥕
Longboard Records Are Meant to Be Broken by Chelsea Owens
Helle sped the slope, pushed and doped. Her longboard grooves dug into powder-kissed snowbase. Down down down she sped, chasing a memory’s record.
“Hm,” said Riku, peering down from winter’s cloud. “Those be longboards.”
*WHOOSH* Helle still sailed. The stopwatch blinked 10 seconds.
“Oh,” said Riku, gripping at edge of sky. “She be a fast ‘un.”
Helle squinted against snow spray, wishing for goggles instead of scarves. She squatted, splashing a trail behind her.
“Oh. Oh!” exclaimed Riku. “She be my granddaughter!”
Sliding to a stop, Helle turned to check her time.
“13 seconds!” The clouds proudly quivered. “She beat me!”
🥕🥕🥕
Making Tracks by D. Avery
The old wooden skis had hung on the wall ever since I could remember. I’ll never forget how Granpa’s eyes twinkled like stars on a winter’s night as he proclaimed they just needed fresh klister, already warming in a crucible. Smiling through his snow-white beard, Granpa spread and scraped molten wax onto the bases of the skis, rubbed it smooth with the heels of his wizened hands. He told me he had waited his whole life to make these longboards sing.
I held the door. Then SWISH! Granpa was kicking up fresh powder, carving tracks along the Milky Way.
🥕🥕🥕
Long Boards Too Short by Liz Husebye Hartmann
“I’m sure there’s an old pair of your mom’s long boards…skis…here, with the children’s skis. Like you, she was full grown when she fostered with us. They should work for you, too.”
Hjordis twitched her troll’s tail as she peered past the snow giant’s thigh. “Sorry I didn’t bring mine, Magnhildr. When the Berserkers raided my home, I had to run.”
“I don’t imagine the horse you stole would’ve been happy galloping with a pair of skis on his back. Ah! Here they are. Hold your arm straight up.”
“They’re too short!” Hjordis grinned.
Magnhildr cursed. “That’s…inconvenient.”
🥕🥕🥕
Alley Oops by JulesPaige
(reverse haibun)
long boards down the lane
oiled for a game of ten pins
are alleys open…
We’ve played other versions too. Duck and Candle Pins. Each just slightly different, but still fun. We used to be in a league and still have our lockers at the local alley. I think hubby’s bowling shoes are at least half a century old. I used to get intimidated looking down those long boards. Shifting slightly left or right, hoping for a strike or spare. All the fears gone though – as now we just play for fun. I wonder is the Alley even open?
🥕🥕🥕
Surfer Girl by Sascha Darlington
The boys from the mainland think I’m weird. I have a shortboard, sitting in the sand, while they ride their longboards. They’ve never seen me ride. They think, because I’m a girl, I’m there to stalk them.
“A shortboard,” the tall one laughs. “Is that to match your height?”
Hurricane Anna builds waves. These boys surf when it’s calm, when waves are weaker. Today’s for real surfers.
I tug off my shorts and hoodie, grab Hugo the Shortboard, and run.
There’s nothing better than balancing on a board, feeling seaspray, adrenaline, unless it’s the shock on surfer boys’ faces.
🥕🥕🥕
The Art of Skateboarding by Ruchira Khanna
While sipping my tea at the crack of dawn, an idea sparked in my mind as I stared at my son’s longboard, “I should try this. After all, it’s all about balance.”
I lifted the board and walked towards my cemented yard.
After centering and grounding myself, I placed one foot on the board, and it whooshed off before I could put the other foot on it.
The result was a loud thud with an Ouch of a higher decibel that was quick to wake up my family.
“Nah! this is all about practice, not just a jiffy exercise!”
🥕🥕🥕
The Move by Priorhouse
Movers came and went.
Packaging tape screeched across boxes.
“Yes, I want them.”
“Mom, you have the other box already. One bedroom, remember?”
“Okay. Charity then.”
Rooms emptied.
Piles dissolved.
Later, a mover held up an old skateboard, “Keep or Donate?”
“Keep” we all exclaimed.
Unwrapping the cover, the wooden longboard was bent – clay wheels cracked. In the 1950s, when waves were flat, this longboard let grandad screech across the land.
“Isn’t that how he scarred his arms?”
“Yup, clay wheels were dangerous.”
The house was completely empty now – but finding grandad’s long lost longboard – filled us immensely.
🥕🥕🥕
PART II (10-minute read)
Due to Unprecedented Circumstances, the Boarders Extend Their Stay by Anne Goodwin
Matty will extend the hand of friendship to anyone, but the manners of her current guests leave much to be desired. There are even men among the party, and bass notes do drum on her ears. She should not judge, for they know no better, but the fellow who sat opposite at breakfast slurped his tea.
Alas, she must continue to suffer their company. She cannot withdraw her hospitality with the world in disarray. Fortunately she has parlour games and monologues to entertain them. Matty will select exceptionally long board games to spread cheer throughout her boarders’ extended stay.
🥕🥕🥕
Long Boring by Simon Prathap
Don’t talk to me
But what did I do?
You hesitated to talk with my family and disconnected phone!
No! I did not hesitate, it’s a long boring conversation and they were not talking to me and they were talking to your parents
I know how you use to talk with them
But darling, I did not do it on purpose I thought the conversation will end and it was long, I am sorry darling, it is my mistake. I know it is our family.
You always realize that late?
Please forgive me, Please
Okay, No dinner for you.
🥕🥕🥕
Borberline Dull by Geoff Le Pard
‘Morgan, what is it now? We need to find a motel…’
‘Stop, Logan!’
‘You can’t need another pee…’
‘I was just reading…’
‘Are you feeling faint from all that intellectual effort?’
‘Shut up. The guide book says there’s this museum…’
‘You want to go to a museum? You are to museums what rats are to traps. Not a happy combination.’
‘It’s the American museum of boards. Skate boards. I’ve got to see this. Next left.’
‘A museum devoted to men whose trousers don’t fit?’
‘There’s the longest board in the world.’
‘It’ll be the longest I’ve ever been bored…’
🥕🥕🥕
Long Bored by FloridaBorne
Tilde didn’t care if yawning was uncivilized. This museum was boring!
She wanted to see swords and axes used in battle — images of Vikings defeating Europeans, who were no match for their skill; not spun cloth and pottery.
Long boards stood in a row, skis by any other name. They held no meaning to a girl who loved cuddling in a blanket as her mother spoke about their ancestors.
Her father said they’re name meant “sword,” but the tour guide said that Øster meant someone on the east. What would she tell her next, that there was no Santa?
🥕🥕🥕
Awaiting Fame by R. V. Mitchell
Einar and Destin shifted the long pine plank into position as Thorbold prepared to rivet it into place.
“Don’t let it slide beyond the mark I made,” the master boat-wright snapped.
“Sorry Thorbold,” the pair said almost in unison.
Destin wasn’t really sure he was “sorry,” after all he had been building clinker ships nearly as long as his brother, Thorbold had.
He would show him one day. Sooner rather than later, in fact, that he, Destin Olafson could rival the skills of any boat builder in all of the Norse lands.
Just, today was not quite that day.
🥕🥕🥕
A Long Board by Doug Jacquier
The boss said to the boy ‘Fetch me a long board from the hardware. Ask Gus, the owner, he’ll know what I mean.’
Gus listened to the boy, grunted, and said to wait.
The boy waited, patiently.
Eventually Gus said ‘How long you been waitin’ now?’
The boy replied “Couple of hours.’
‘Are you bored?’
The boy nodded cautiously.
‘Well, then I guess you’re long bored, so you can go back to work now.’
When he got back his boss said ‘Well, where’s the long board I sent you for?’
‘The pigs are flying it in tonight.’
🥕🥕🥕
Building on a Dream by Annette Rochelle Aben
Frankie let out a deep sigh. No matter how hard he tried, the long boards were too heavy for him to carry. His older brothers, Ron, John, and Al could haul those boards around as though they were toothpicks. When would he be big enough to help his father build houses?
Dejected, Frankie sat down behind the lumber pile and began to cry softly.
“Where’s Frankie?’
“Yeah, we need someone to grab these boxes of nails.”
His older brothers were in trouble and they needed his help!
Frankie dried his tears, grabbed the nails, and ran after the crew.
🥕🥕🥕
Playing Pirates by Wallie and Friend
Two long boards made a very comfortable walk, and Tom appreciated the space to turn around, even though the boards were bendier than he liked. This was the moment he made his grand speech to the evil pirates before plunging into the watery depths of the sea.
Tom was about to speak when the boards suddenly creaked. He lost his balance and instead of drowning, sat down hard on the carpet.
The outrage from the pirates in their coffee table pirate ship made the boy rub his bruised elbow and glare.
“I thought you said that plank was safe!”
🥕🥕🥕
Precautions Not Needed by Charli Mills
Sam King parked the Willys Jeep in first gear. “Get the long boards,” he told his daughter.
Gripping the roll bar, Danni swung out the open side. Near the gate, the Lazy T Ranch kept long boards for crossing the boggiest parts of the high-meadow springs. Using her leather gloves, Danni moved one board at a time, setting each through the open space in the backseat. They stuck up at an angle. “Dad, you want me to tie a bandana on the end?”
Sam laughed. “We’re not likely to get rear-ended, Kiddo. The bulls are all down at headquarters.”
🥕🥕🥕
First Kiss by Susan Sleggs
Tessa stomped snow off her boots before going into her parents’ house. “Is our toboggan still around? The choir kids want to go sledding.”
Her father answered. “I’ll get it out if you promise not to allow co-ed rides.”
“Why would you say that?”
“I seem to remember my teenage daughter coming home all flushed because she had been kissed while in a jumbled pile after a toboggan mishap.”
Tessa’s eyes widened and she laughed aloud. “I haven’t thought about that in years. Wait till I tell Michael you remember that.”
“Your feet didn’t touch ground for a month.”
🥕🥕🥕
The Board Ritu Bhathal
Jonah let himself into his house and popped his keys on the sideboard when a strangled grunt of a noise startled him. It came from the living room.
He dropped the bags and rushed in to find his mother laying on her stomach, or rather, hovering, on her arms and feet.
“Mum! What’s the matter?” He went to help her up.
“Go… away… Jonah… I… am… trying… to… do… a… two… minute… long… board…” She struggled for breath, before the alarm beeped on her phone.
He laughed as she collapsed onto the floor. “Board? Oh, you mean a plank?”
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Crack by Hugh W. Roberts
Rolling his heavy body towards the spot where Clarice had disappeared, Doug rubbed his hand over the long, bare floorboards. A crackling sound of static made the hairs on the back of his hand tingle.
***
Two floors below, Mike looked down at himself and took a deep breath. Pushing out the air hard, he aimed it towards the long boards just below where his other-self lay.
He watched as the boards started cracking.
***
Terrified by what the woman had yelled at her, Sophie’s shielded her face as the long floorboards underneath the woman began to make a cracking sound.
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Ladybug by Saifun Hassam
At each end of the patio there were “steps” each made of two long cedar boards, supported by wood posts, cinder blocks, and rocks. Spider plants, morning glories, clematis, jasmine, and yellow climbing roses spilled over from the patio onto the steps.
Susan loved the mosaic of colorful petals and leaves drifting onto the boards, the changing patterns of light and shade. She transformed the mosaics into artwork.
Ladybugs clambered over roses, coral bells, petunias, hunting for aphids. Soapy water also helped to control aphids.
A strange season this was, also using soapy water to keep COVID-19 at bay!
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Bored by Bill Engleson
She slowly peels the potato, lightly catching the skin. I pull her apron string.
“Not again!”
This time, she’s not smiling.
“I’m bored.”
“Go outside. Play.”
“Too hot.”
“Play in the shade.”
Outside, a buzz saw whines.
I peer through the fence.
Mister Jack is cutting 2 X 4’s.
I crawl through, watch, wait for silence.
He looks up, winks.
“Hot day, eh!”
My feet shuffle in the sawdust.
“Wanna help?”
I beam.
“Good. In the shop, then.”
I follow him in.
The door closes.
In the dark I hold my breath.
He hisses, “Let’s play our game, sweetie.”
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Away From It All by Joanne Fisher
Stacey lay on her long board as she swam out from the shore. When she was far enough out, she sat on her board and waited for a decent wave to come.
Other surfers were mystified why she used a long board, the truth was she enjoyed the stability it offered while she sat and waited. Out here she was alone, she could breathe and think and ponder, and wonder at the vastness of the ocean that lay around her. Then a wave would finally come and she would surf back to the shore, and start all over again.
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Establishments by D. Avery
“They’s openin’ up a ennertainment an libation establishmint over ta the Slim Chance Ranch.”
“Huh. We run sech a place.”
“Callin’ his place the Longboard Lounge. Claims ta have the biggist a ever’thin’.”
“Aw, Pal, that’s jist big talk. Bigger ain’t better. Don’t ya go worryin’ none ‘bout the Saddle Up Saloon.”
“Bigger pours, bigger portions…”
“We’re big on fun, Pal.”
“He’s offerin’ discounted prices.”
“An’ we ain’t never ast no one ta pay, Pal.”
“All ya kin write, he says.”
“An’ we say 99 words. Refreshin’ an’ satisfyin’.”
“Reckon thet’s the long an’ the short of it.”
“Yep.”
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Carrot Ranch Literary Community 