THE INDISCRETION… for Grammar Ghoul Press
The Father stared, “Harlot!” Bloom of cheeks gave them away.
Young Man shrank from his reach and the ferocious bloom raised in anger.
The Mother cried.
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I’ve been wanting to write a story for Suzanne for some time… here it is. Tony asks for exactly 26 words, a story or poem using any form of the word “bloom.” Reminds me a bit of the glorious days of Trifecta, except we get seven words less. Thanks to curator Tony Lovell for the prompt. Shapeshifting 13 #46
- : a mass of wrought iron from the forge or puddling furnace
- a bar of iron or steel hammered or rolled from an ingot
- a : flower
b : the flowering state <the roses in bloom>
c : a period of flowering
- : a state or time of beauty, freshness, and vigor
: to produce flowers
: to change, grow, or develop fully
The illustration of the Young Lovers is a painting by British Artist Pete Marsh
SPRING PLANTING… a drabble for FriFic
The phone rings in a brownstone in Chicago…
“Hi, Ethel, what’s up!”
“Spring!!! That’s what, Cheryl.”
“It’s 36 degrees out, what makes you think it’s Spring?”
“The landlady is planting flowers and she always does that on the first day of Spring. But I don’t like her new planter.”
“What’s wrong with it?”
“It’s a porcelain throne, Cheryl!!!”
“What the hell are you talking about, Ethel? What’s a porcelain throne?”
“As if you’ve never hugged the Porcelain Throne, goody-two-shoes. It’s a commode. A loo.”
“For Christ’s sake, Ethel, speak English!”
“It’s a toilet, dammit! In front of my house!!!”
Ethel and Cheryl have returned to Friday Fictioneers! Rochelle threatened to steal this photo from TedBook’s DAILY PICS, and it looks like she did! To read more stories based on this photo or write one of your own, click on the frog.
Huffing and puffing, Cheryl never thought she’d be doing this. Hated the outdoors, liked looking at it, just not being in it. It had all started with a phone call.
“Hello, Ethel. Before you ask again, remember Caller ID. What’s up?”
“Birds! Let’s go Birding!!!”
“What in the hell are you talking about, Ethel? What’s ‘Birding’?”
“It’s where you look at birds. They’re really pretty, and you learn a lot.”
“Really? Just what are we going to learn? And how are you such an expert”
” I got a book at a yard sale, it’s all the rage now. You go out in the woods and look at birds. I’m going Saturday; please say you’ll come.”
So Cheryl, against her better judgment, agreed to go.
“Dammit, Ethel! Slow down! I don’t like this mud. I see one more barbwire fence, I’m quitting. Are you sure you know where we are?”
“Don’t be such a baby, of course, I know.”
“Well, all we’ve seen are brown birds, I haven’t learned a damn thing, and where’s the pretty ones in your book. I need a coffee.”
“I don’t know; I thought we’d see them. I think the road’s over there, I’m ready for coffee.”
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I don’t think I’ve done a Sunday Photo Fiction before. My friend at Momus does and his will be SciFi, probably a star cruiser crashed in that field. When I saw this photo prompt, a story started writing. Go read Eric’s and the other SPF Stories also.
Best Friends… a story by Ula Grace
I was five years old when they moved in across the street. They had a little girl the same age as me, and I wanted to meet her so bad, but I was too shy. One day as I was playing in the street on my trike, I was riding it up and down the road in front of our houses, I fell over. I started crying and then there she was, kneeling next to me asking if I was ok. She leaned down and kissed my knee, “There. All better.” She said, smiling.
I looked up at her and smiled back, “Yeah, all better.”
From then on we were inseparable, we did everything together, I waited with her in hospital while her baby brother was being born. I held her hand on the first day of high school, as we walked through the doors, I helped her get ready for her first date, she was so excited. I was there when she came home that night; I was the one who comforted her when it all came crashing down. I was the first one who she told her biggest secret. I was the one who picked her up off the floor of the cafeteria, the one who dried her eyes and cleaned the cuts and bruises. I was the one who kissed all the wounds.
The one who kissed her lips and whispered, “All better.”
And I’m the one who has a diamond ring in my purse, the one who is desperately hoping that she will say yes.
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A short story by frequent contributor Ula Grace. Miss Grace is familiar to regulars as TedBook’s foreign correspondent and is the author of ‘The Cuban Diary’ found here. She attends Spring Street International School and is currently in the ninth grade.
The illustration of the little girl on the tricycle is by Tom Hessel
UGLY FRUIT? NO, GUAVA!
“No way am I trying that!”
“Come on Cheryl, its delicious. Don’t be such a baby.”
“I’m not a baby, Ethel, I just don’t like the looks of it.”
“But Guava’s rich in vitamin C and helps cure bad breath.”
“So, now you’re saying I have bad breath? That’s rich coming from you, Ethel.”
“No! I mean it’s good for you.”
“Never, it’s an ugly fruit.”
(My apologies to my friend Suzanne for not writing something Ghoulistic in my first post at the GGP)
The Prompt for Chimera 66 Micro-Fiction Challenge #4 is:
An edible pale orange tropical fruit with pink, juicy flesh and a strong, sweet aroma.
- • Challenge submissions must be fiction or poetry.
- • Submissions must be exactly 66 words.
- • Submissions must use the prompt as specified.
- • Submissions are written for this challenge, and do not pre-date the kickoff post.
- • One submission per spectre.
- • Please put lengthy explanations at the end of your post, not at the beginning.
- • Don’t forget to add the code for the challenge badge to your post.
- • And don’t forget to have fun!
- Here is where to find out about THE GRAMMAR GHOUL PRESS and read other stories… They are scary, not like mine.
THE BOOK OF THE MONTH CLUB
“‘Diamond Jack had his hideout next to the Rattle Snake River’. Ethel, I’m not reading this trash?”
“It’s historical fiction, Cheryl. Set in the Old West.”
“Historical fiction, my ass! Look at the tv antenna on top of the house on the cover. How old is this West? Are they riding horses and robbing stagecoaches?”
“I haven’t gotten that far yet, they’re just hiding out.”
“Well, that’s what hideouts are for. When you signed us up for a book club, I thought we would be reading best sellers, not dime novels that cost $15. And you know I don’t like Westerns.”
“That’s not so, you like Clint Eastwood.”
“I love Clint Eastwood, but not because he was in Westerns.”
“Well you have to be in the book club. Just pretend he’s Diamond Jack and read the damn book! There’s sex too, and don’t tell me you don’t like sex. You read Lady Chatterley’s Lover.”
“That was historical, Ethel, no television antennas!”
Trying to make time to write some stories again and thought I’d try this group my friend E. A. Wicklund of Momus News writes with.
Here are the instructions… “Are you ready for Mondays Finish the Story challenge? This is a flash fiction challenge where we provide you with a new photo each week, and the first sentence of a story.Your challenge is to finish the story using 100-150 words, not including the sentence provided. Don’t forget to use the opening sentence…“Diamond Jack had his hideout next to the Rattle Snake River”. Get creative and have fun finishing the story!”
Look here for other stories for this week’s… MONDAYS FINISH THE STORY
Photo by Barbara Beacham
MUCKING OUT …A Drabble for FriFic
At a brownstone in Wicker Park, the new apartment manager goes to work…
“Where do we start?”
“What do you mean?”
“What do you mean, ‘What do I mean’, Ethel? You asked for help, this place is a disaster! Who the hell was this Doug guy, look at this junk!”
“He was a sweet guy, very poetic, and he loved the sea. Did I tell you he was a submarine commander once?”
“Didn’t look the sailor type to me, Ethel, more of a mountain climber, and definitely not a poet.”
“That’s why he moved to Hawaii, to live on a mountain. Pick something out, Cheryl.”
“He took all the good stuff, Ethel!!!”
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A CAUTIONARY TALE
Cook County General… Chicago, Illinois… Room 317… 11:30p.m.
Everything hurt. Cheryl looked at her friend and that’s what she saw. And that is what she would probably say when she awoke.
It had all started with that damn PennySaver ad. “Why waste money on a repairman when You can fix it?” “Let us show you the easy way to Do-It-Yourself!” She had told Ethel there was no easy way, and that a few online classes wouldn’t make her an expert on fixing things. But Ethel had replaced the cord on her window shade and fixed her blender, though she was out of her protein shake phase, so she had to give her credit for that.
Earlier that day, Cheryl had just fixed lunch and was going to watch the Big Brother episode she had recorded when the phone rang.
“Is this Miss Cheryl?”
“Hi Dominic, why are you calling me?”
“It’s Miss Ethel. She is going to hospital and you should know.”
Cheryl shifted in her chair and continued filling out the crossword in the Trib. ‘What the hell was Ethel thinking? Well this should teach that do-gooder a lesson. Let the landlord fix the damn dryer.’ Cheryl immediately felt sorry for that thought. ‘But really, any damn fool knows you unplug something before working on it. It says so on the back of the machine. Maybe they didn’t teach that in their fix-it class.’
The nurse had looked grave when Cheryl got to the hospital. Nurse Betty explained that her friend had received a serious electrical shock, but was expected to live. She was sedated and would sleep for sometime, they would call when she was awake. The doctor hoped there would be no lasting effects, but you never know. Cheryl thanked her, and said she would wait with Ethel, if that was okay. ‘It would serve her right if she got one of those white streaks in her hair like Angela Lansbury had in that movie.’
Cheryl was wishing there was another bed in the room when Ethel moaned, stirred and her eyes popped open.
“Where am I? What are you doing here?”
“I’m doing my crossword while I wait for you to wake up. Your dryer repair job didn’t go so well. Do you remember what happened? How do you feel?”
“Ooh, everything hurts.”
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The Speakeasy is back from summer vacation!
- Submissions must be 750 words or fewer.
- Submissions must be fiction or poetry.
- The following sentence must be the FIRST line in your submission: “Everything hurt.”
- You must also include a reference to the media prompt.