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Little Sally Cooks

Early one morning, a girl is in the kitchen…

“Damn toaster!”

Grandma enters…

“Sally, what language, that’s not lady like.”

“Well, I’m not a lady yet.”

“With talk like that you never will be. Why are you up so early and what’s the problem, honey?”

“I was hungry. I put my raisin bread in and I can’t get it out. It’s stuck and I want it.”

“I thought I smelled something. Did you lift the lever up-and-down?”

“Why would I do that?”

“That’s how you get it to pop up.”

“Thanks Gram.”

Little Sally flicks the lever…

“It’s burnt.”

Tears…

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That’s what I got from the photo prompt, courtesy of  Ronda Del Boccio. Weird, huh? Write a story for Friday Fictioneers or read other stories, probably more about balloons, by clicking the frog.

Shields Down

I think this is an excellent story, for many reasons. I wanted to share it.

From the Valley of the Trolls

cShe’d gotten in near midnight, after the evening shift at the group home. Her own home was a shambles: beer cans and wine bottles, scummy bong water, butts strewn all over the floor, some of them human. They weren’t supposed to be here.

Rodney emerged from the bedroom, a very drunk, half-clothed Britanny hanging off his shoulder, sharing his satiated grin.

“Sheralynn,” Rodney drew up his familiar shield of nonchalance. “I thought you were working a double shift.”

“They sent me home. Likely COVID exposure,” she wiped her brow, unsure if it was fever, or rage. “Everybody out. Now.”

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Fruit Stack

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“Sally! I’m going to paddle your bare bottom if you don’t play fair.”
Little Sally rolled her eyes, which put Mother into even more of a tizzy.
“Don’t you put on an air with me, Sally, give Bobby back that pear right now.”
Bobby and Little Sally had been playing Fruit Stack when Mother saw her sneak one of Bobby’s game pieces.
Little Sally muttered something under her breath like “Such a flair for the dramatic, don’t be so square.”
Bobby heard her and his eyes bugged out big time.
Mother heard her too. “Fruit Stack is over, young lady!!!”

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Mindlovemisery’s Menagerie ~ Saturday Mix – Rhyme Time

Here was the challenge posed by weejars

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I am not a poet  rhymer, but her words caught my attention, so I hope that Sarah does not mind if I used her words to write a story instead.

Wherefore Art Thou Windmill?… CCC#45

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I went to Amsterdam with my sister Marja in search of a windmill but didn’t see any.

Wait!

I take that back. I did see a nice one at the Rijksmuseum.

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The Windmill at Wijk bij Duurstede, Jacob Isaacksz van Ruisdael, c. 1668 – c. 1670

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Crimson’s Creative Challenge #45

Crispina Kemp has a fun challenge for writers each week. Her instructions are fairly simple: Every Wednesday I post a photo (this week it’s that one above.)
You respond with something CREATIVE

  • Your creative offering is indeed yours
  • Your writing is kept to 150 words or less

 

Friday Fictioneers: THE TRESPASSERS

In case you think this story is familiar, it is, as is the photo prompt. A blast from the past. Thanks again, Randy and Rochelle. Here is a link to the other stories prompted by this photo, some new and some old, like mine… Friday Fictioneers

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THE TRESPASSERS… A Drabble for FriFic

“This place looks creepy, do you think it’s safe?”
“Of course, no one’s here but us.  I think there’s an opening around the side somewhere.”
“Perry, it’s dark in here.”
“Don’t be such a baby, Rene, you still want to do it don’t you?”
“Yeah, I guess, but it’s gross in here.”
“Look there’s a mattress!”
“Yeah, that’s real romantic, along with the needles and used rubbers.”
“It’s not so bad.  Wait!  Did you hear that?”
“It snarled, like a dog. I’m scared!”
“No, more like a wolf. It’s getting close!”
“Oh Nooooo it’s… THE HOUND OF THE BASKERVILLES!!! 
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Now, you are probably wondering about the ending of that story.  It is a followup to the story I wrote last week… INVITATION TO A RIDE… after I had received this in the mail…
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I promised a full report… I boarded the MV…

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The Frog Kick

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A telephone rings on Chicago’s Northside…

“Hi, Cheryl, you used to teach swimming, I’ve a question.”
“I’m all ears, Ethel. Why do you ask?”
“You know how Betty got me started being a fiction writer, my blog? Whadda call the animal strokes?”
“Oh yes, your blog. I haven’t seen much writing there lately, thought you gave that up.”
“Writer’s block. Betty sent me the latest photo prompt by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields, there’s a picture of this woman swimming also. Story!”
“Dog paddle.”
“Not that one.”
“Butterfly stroke?”
“No, isn’t there a frog one?”
“The breast stroke is also called the frog kick, Ethel.”
“Great! Perfect title too.”

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FridayFictioneers

Betty tells me that Ethel is busy writing her first Friday Fictioneers story, but she’s having trouble sticking to the 100 word limit. If you want to write a story, everything you need to know is in the photo below, I think that may have been the one Ethel saw. The official prompt photo is at the top of this page, please use that one for your story. 

Rochelle

Click here for the other stories…

 

 

 

Hammer Meets Nail

I rarely reblog stories… I love this one and wanted to share it with my friends who like good stories.

The Abject Muse

So, a hammer walks into The Nutz & Boltz Tavern after a tough day on the job site.

The bartender leans over the bar. “What’ll it be, Hambo?”

“Gimme a Rusty Nail, Mack,” he replied. “And keep ’em comin’!”

“Rough day, huh? You look beat.” Mack observed as he built Ham’s drink.

Ham tried to shrug his steel shoulders. “Naaah. I’ll be alright after I pound a few of these down.”

Mack nodded. “That’s what you do best, buddy!”

The bartender’s sharp wit was never wasted on Hambo, and the two shared a hardy laugh.

Pretty soon, a nail saunters in to the same tavern. Seeing Hambo in her regular barstool, she opts for a seat at the other end of the bar. The little nail didn’t want any trouble.

“Be right back, Hambo.”

Mack swaggered toward his new patron.  “Well, hello, Naylene…”

“Uh, h-h-hi, Mack.” Naylene stammered.  His penetrating gaze and sleek, cunning…

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The Office Supply Section

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The pen wasn’t worth anything, but Maddie pocketed it anyway.
Jerry saw her do it and didn’t do anything. Maybe if it was one of the Cross ones, but this was a Bic.
As store manager, Jerry figured he had the right to look the other way, and this kid looked like she could use a little ‘looking the other way’.
He followed her, slyly he thought, thru the office supply section and watched her pocket a notebook.
She turned and looked at him, eyes of sadness, not fear, and it looked like she was about to cry.
“Hey, it’s all right. You aren’t in trouble, I’m the boss and I won’t tell myself what you are doing.” Hoping for a laugh.
She looked from right to left. “Hey don’t run. Let’s go get some ice cream and talk about this.” Kids like ice cream, Jerry does, and his store has good ice cream.
Maddie agreed, and with a cone in one hand and her bic pen in the other she poured out her heart to him. The school has no money to give out pencils and paper and she has an English assignment due, her mother has no money, she is only nine and has no job, neither does her mother.
Jerry listened to her, asked the name of her teacher, and took her back to the office supply section, stopping to get a cart first.

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Your line for this week is:  The pen wasn’t worth anything, but Maddie pocketed it anyway. That was the prompt for First Line Fridays at Mindlovemisery’s Menagerie. Dylan Hughes is in charge, head on over and check out the stories, maybe add one of your own.

This was interesting to write, because when I saw the line I had to use, I immediately thought of something I saw on the news the other night and the story formed instantly. That’s my kind of flash fiction. I usually write 100 words, but this one went elsewhere, and I didn’t need Ethel & Cheryl’s help this time. 

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I got this message from my sister Mariya after she read this story. I thought I would share it… Good story! It is so true, even in my time of public school teaching 20 years ago. I cried reading it. I cannot tell you how many supplies I purchased, including books to keep, for kids whose parents just couldn’t because they were so broke, or because the parents had other problems and the children were neglected. Many teachers do this, even on their low-paying salaries compared to the amount of responsibility and workload involved in the job.

Overly Stimulated

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“Hey, Ethel, I’m stopping by Starbucks on my way over. Want coffee?”
“I only drink tea, Cheryl.”
“Oh really, since when? You had a latte at lunch yesterday.”
“Since last night. I read coffee is bad for you. It’s a stimulate, you know.”
“Everyone knows that. In moderation it’s fine, you just don’t know how to moderate. And, you are hyper enough without any added stimulation, Ethel.”
“Well, thank you for that, Cheryl.”
“Well, I’m stopping, they have a new Cinnamon Cloud Macchiato on the menu I want to try.”
“Cinnamon? Macchiatos have caramel. Okay, pick me one up, please.”

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 “Tale Weaver #220 Coffee or Tea”

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100 Words of Flash Fiction for Mindlovemisery’s Menagerie for Tale Weaver

Iced Caramel Cloud Macchiato and Iced Cinnamon Cloud Macchiato

YUM!

THE STONES

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“The Rolling Stones!”
“What?”
“The Rolling Stones, that’s what I thought of when I looked at the photo.”
“That’s crazy, Ethel. Why the Stones, I don’t see Mick?”
“No not them, well I don’t think so. I just thought of rolling, then stones, then The
Rolling Stones. Well, maybe them then.”
“You never cease to amaze me. It’s a pretty interesting thing to see though.”
“What did you see? And don’t say some kind of sewing machine.”
“Spiders.”
“See, I knew it! Why?”
“I thought of spiders spinning webs.”
“That’s weird, Cheryl.”
“Not as weird as The Rolling Stones, Ethel.”

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Writing 100 Words for the FridayFictioneers, and my daughter Ashley, who loves The Stones. A fascinating photo prompt, I would love to see in person, go visit Sandra Crook and she will tell you what it is. Thanks Rochelle for the inspiration this morning. For other stories inspired by this photo go here…

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