Grandma was watching a documentary, the loud drumming filling the air has caught Little Sally’s attention.
“Come in girl, sit up here with me Sally, you might like this.”
Little Sally watches the men twirling fire and women moving back and forth waving their hands.
“That’s what I’ve always wanted to be.”
“What’s that, honey?”
“A dancer. I’ve always wanted to be a dancer.”
“Since I saw these outfits. I want one, why’re they grassy?
“Because once people made their clothes out of what they could find. This honors tradition.”
“I’ll bet you can find it on Amazon.”
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Special Photographer this week, Rochelle probably didn’t have to steal this image… Photo Prompt © Jan Wayne Fields. Rochelle’s Frog of the Week holds more stories, give it a click…
I have invited an author friend of mine to join Friday Fictioneers. She started a writing blog because she wanted to try some flash fiction. What better place to start I told her. Look for GRIFFINSKEYFICTION… here is Polly’s first story… Aloha from Waikiki
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Oh look! Little Sally has found her grass skirt… only $7.95 free shipping for Prime. And you know what? This little hula skirt model is just how I picture Little Sally.
Bobby wasn’t happy. Little Sally pretended nothing was wrong.
Maybe it will go away, maybe Mother won’t hear him, maybe Mother won’t care.
“What is it, Bobby. Let me wipe those tears away, little man.”
Guess she heard.
Little Sally headed around the side of the tool shed.
“Sally!!! Come back here right now young lady.”
I’m in trouble.
“Bobby said you took his new toy, where is it?”
“Gramma gave it to me for my birthday.”
“It flew into the swimming pool.”
“Oh for God’s sake, Sally, it’s paper. How did it get there?”
“Sally flew it!”
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Photo by Francisco Echevarria on Pexels.com
Mother’s putting a pie into the oven. Little Sally enters…
“Mother, what big eyes you have.”
“I think it’s grandmother what big eyes you have, Sally.”
“I’m not red riding hood, silly. I mean you, you had big eyes.”
“What are you talking about? And don’t call me silly.”
Little Sally holds out a photograph. Mother stares at the photograph.
“Mommy, why are you crying?”
“Where did you find this, Sally?”
“Sticking out of a poem book grandma has. What kinda picture is that?”
“It’s called a polaroid. First time I met your father, I’m looking at him.”
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The Sunday Muse is weekly photo prompt site for writers, poets, and blogging enthusiasts. Our goal is to keep you inspired and keep you writing.
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I was reading Björn Rudberg’s blog and saw his story, Hardwood Floor, an excellent piece of science fiction. I had not seen The Sunday Muse prompts before and this photo mesmerized me, I had to write a story. Not sure what to do, is it right for Little Sally or maybe Ethel & Cheryl? I thought of Ethel buying a print of one of Margaret Keane’s children and Cheryl being a bitch about it, dismissed that, and from big eyes I had a story. Let me know what you think if you have followed LS. Is there more than meets the eye in this story?
“Sally, when you are done I want you to put those crayolas back in the box and onto the shelf. I won’t pick up after you today, young lady,” said Mother.
“Put those crayolas away, young lady. Okay snooty,” whispered Little Sally.
“What did you say?”
“I said I will be happy to put the crayons away. They’re called crayons.”
“That’s not what it sounded like to me, did you call me snooty?”
“They were croylas in our day, little miss,” from Grandmother.
“Whatever, it’ll be my duty to put the crayolas away then.”
“You are on such thin ice.”
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Fandango’s One-Word Challenge Today’s word is “snooty.”
🎶“Just a hunk, a hunk of burning love
Just a hunk, a hunk of burning love
Just a hunk, a hunk of burning love” 🎶
“Sally, stop it!”
🎶“Just a… “🎶
“Stop it now!!! Do you even know what you’re singing? Mother are you playing records for Sally again?”
“Sure I know, it’s the king.”
“Elvis, yes. But do you know what a hunk of burning love is?”
“No but I like to sing it, and grandma said that’s what he was.”
“Well he sure was that. Please, try to learn some more verses.”
Little Sally went looking for Grandma.
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Kristiana Reed is a writer and English Teacher and likes to prompt writers. Burning is her March Writing Prompt #1. I thought of Little Sally when I saw it, and her she is in 100 words of flash fiction.
The first record I ever bought was a 45 rpm of Hound Dog. I had just been given a record player, and went to Tower Records, before it became Tower Records, and got it. I had been listening to it on the radio and like everyone else, well maybe not Ed Sullivan, loved Elvis Presley. My father told me to turn it down and go get some more records, I was 13.
“Hi, Cheryl, it’s me Ethel.”
“Okay, what do you want?”
“Cheryl, why do you always think I want something?”
“Because you always do, Ethel. I can tell by the perky way you say ‘Hi, Cheryl’. So, cut to the chase, what is it?”
“Well be that way, but since you ask, you have a snow shovel don’t you?”
“I do, and so do you. You got one when you worked at Wal-Mart, remember?”
“I can’t find it, I think I let someone borrow it.”
“That’s why I have mine, I don’t lend. Why?”
“My walk, could you shovel it.”
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Some 100 Word Flash Fiction based on the photo of Dale Rogerson’s front yard she sent Rochelle for this week’s story prompt. Do drop by Friday Fictioneers if you want to write a story, and click on the frog to read all the stories, some may feature snow:
Little Sally drug the kitchen chair across the linoleum, spoon in hand. She was positive she had seen a Ben & Jerry’s container when Grandmother had been putting away the groceries. She had been to market, that’s what she called it, market. Mother and everyone else she knew said going to the grocery store.
Little Sally did not like Mother’s new refrigerator. At all. She desperately wanted the old one back. She did like playing with the water thing on the door, and popping out ice cubes. But this freezer was on the top. What was up with that?
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Little Sally has stepped into it now. As those two words escaped her lips she froze. Afraid to look at Mother, she pretended to be busy fixing her doll’s hair, knowing full well the boom was coming. That’s what Grandma called it, ‘Lowering the Boom’. Little Sally didn’t know what the boom was, but it wasn’t good. She had had quite a few time-outs after hearing that.
Mother said, “I think I will fix parsnips tonight.” Little Sally hated parsnips.
In a small voice she said, “I’m sorry Mother.”
Mother just looked at her. Worse than a spanking.
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Mindlovemisery’s Menagerie… Sunday Writing Prompt: “Shut Up”
“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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