“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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Here was the challenge posed by weejars
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.
Little Sally was standing on a high stool with a pair of long kitchen tongs trying to get down one of the frying pans that Father had suspended from the ceiling on a hook over a fishing line.
Crash bang boing… skillet bouncing across the tile floor Little Sally quickly jumping down and scurrying after it hoping no one had heard the calamitous noise Grandmother said something like ‘waking the dead’ once and it had stuck in Little Sally’s mind and that’s all she could think of as Mother was napping in the adjoining room.
“Sally! What are you doing?!?!”
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Bet shambled along, one flip flop ahead of the other till she reached the door, number seventeen. Another low point, again. She couldn’t seem to catch, or give herself, a break. The dim interior, after shutting the door, fit her mood, light peering in thru the crack in the blackouts, that was it, filtered gloom. He had left her in an awful state, his sudden departure, her only joy now was popping the tab on the can in the bag from the mini-mart. Tomorrow, Bet would dress and try to get her life back. But that’s tomorrow, this is today.
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This week’s prompts are:
- a cheap motel
- John’s long gone
Go ahead and dive in, set your imagination free!
Ready, Set, Go – you have 25 minutes, but if that is not possible, take as long as you need and, have fun!
I love how unofficial this Guild is, a product of my old friend TRK, who can never pass a prompt without writing. I wrote 100 to this one today, and in less than 25 minutes, which was suggested.
I look around for the keys, patting my pockets and scanning the ground, but they’re gone; that jerk stole my keys.
“Well, what do you think, Cheryl?”
“What do you mean ‘what do I think’?”
“Of my story! It’s a crime drama.”
“What story? Ethel, that’s one line. One line does not a story make!”
“Who said that?”
“I said that! For God’s sake you are exasperating. Let me know when you have actually written a story and I will be happy to read it.”
“So, who lost their keys?”
“He’s a building security guard.”
“Ha! Some security guard!”
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Always fun to write a story for YeahWrite’s Weekly Writing Challenge. As always, I write 100 word flash fiction for this pair. Here is the prompt for Week #438:
This week’s occupation prompt, from YeahWrite #436 winner, Jen, is : a building security guard.
This week’s first sentence prompt, from YeahWrite editors, is: I look around for the keys, patting my pockets and scanning the ground, but they’re gone; that jerk stole my keys.
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Hey, I just wrote a follow-up to this story, check it out and let me know what you think… The Safebreaker’s Daughter
The separation had been easy for Little Sally, as she watched the two halves of the worm wiggle under her surveillance.
“Wash your hands! I don’t want that feral grunge giving you the chills”, called out Mother. “I mean it, Sally!”
She always though Mother was full of hogwash when it came to science experiments; gurgling with glee watching the wiggling, Little Sally was blissfully unaware of upcoming consequences as she stuck a wedge of Stilton cheese into her mouth. For Mother was heading towards her to enforce the hand washing policy with the business end of a wooden spoon.
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Mindlovemisery’s Menagerie… This week Yves has challenged us to write a story using these words:
(image of earthworm by BIOLOGY JUNCTION)
I never did know why he wanted to be on Survivor. He said it was to ‘find himself’. I always thought that was bullshit, myself. I’d go for the adventure, to search for idols, see the chicks in their bikinis. Actually underwear, that’s what they make them wear. I would’ve been self-conscious doing that, just my luck they would choose something dorky for me to wear. Remember Phillip’s pink briefs? The weather wouldn’t bother me, just the rice. Jeff snuffed his torch first.
I wonder if he ever found himself, and where the hell is he, he never came home?
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Survivor is my favorite television show. Susan Eames told me she used to live in Fiji and took this photo there. That’s where Survivor is filmed, how about that?
To read the other stories by FF Writers prompted by the guy in the tree, here’s the frog link. And what the hell! It’s barely noon on Wednesday and 39 writers have already posted stories. It’s FRIDAY Fictioneers, people!
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!”
“Not that one.”
“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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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.
“Hi, Cheryl, instead of mass this week I want to go to a Jewish church, because of what happened in California.”
“I think they are called synagogues, Ethel, or temples.”
“No, temples are the Mormons, you like their singing.”
“Love the choir, Ethel, but I’m pretty sure the Jews go to temple too.”
“I guess I can look in the phone book for a Jewish church.”
“Oh for God’s sake. They are called Synagogues or Temples!!! Google it.”
“I’m going to ask Rochelle, she’s super Jewish and writes books.”
“I think it would be nice to go, let me know.”
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When I first saw the FridayFictioneers prompt photo by Roger Bultot I thought of having the girls go to church, then I saw the Star in the window. You may know Ethel’s friend Rochelle, she’s written some books.
“Hi, Cheryl. Guess what, I’ve changed my lucky number.”
“No more 36? Ethel, why do you call so early?”
“I waited till nine.”
“On Sunday that’s early. What’s the new number?”
“Oh, Michael Jordan.”
‘No, silly, you know I don’t like basketball.”
“The Lord is my Shepherd? And, don’t tell me you aren’t religious anymore.”
“I’m still Catholic and that’s my favorite verse, but not it.”
“Well, I’m done guessing, so tell me or get off the phone.”
“You know my interest in Cytogenetics, 23 is the number of chromosomes in a human sex cell.”
“I’m making coffee now.”
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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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100 Words of Flash Fiction for Mindlovemisery’s Menagerie for Tale Weaver