Margie!!! As I type that name I want to scream! No words can describe the level of terror this woman woman inflicted on us 3 kids.
Dad still had a heroin monkey on his back, not much food in the house, lots of parties, and cold pizza for breakfast. On our coffee table stood a jackass cigarette dispenser. When it’s tail was lifted, a “smoke”would slide out of its butt.
The dirt streets and the alleyways were lined with metal trash cans where my older brother would find himself looking for food on his way to school in the morning.
Word Count =100
This is taken from a story named “Margie” The entire story can be found Here.
Written for our gracious host Rochelle Wisoffs “Friday Fictioneers” a 100 word photo prompt challenge. To see other stories based on the photo prompt, click Here
Summer days fishing for rainbow trout, wading through a snow melt creek of British Columbia with my older brother Danny,….those days could never be long enough.
Our hearts would flutter as we hiked into the trees toward the creek. As the sun warmed the trees you could smell the sweetness of pine sap and hear the dry grass and twigs snap under your feet. At times snow stubbornly hung on in the shade.
As we stepped into the water for the first crossing of a pool, I could feel the icy water flood through the eyelets of Converse Allstars, it took my breath away. I could feel life’s challenges melt away in the purity of that pristine snow melt creek water that was Mill Creek.
Working our way through the pools of crystal clear water, we would dip our lines in, the shadows in the rocks would come alive . The small trout would flash in the sun as you felt that exhilarating tug of your first bite.
This is a portion of one of my favorite stories called “A Creek Runs through It”. Submitted to Flash Fiction for aspiring writers. The entire story can be found by clicking here. Peace to you.
I don’t often Reblog but look to Carol A. Hand as somewhat of a blogosphere elder. Here is a piece that talked to as well as challenged my inner being to let light into the box that the world tends to push us into. Thanks Carol and Cynthia Renee Donner. Peace
What if we wondered what was hijacking our emotions,
and holding us in tightly wrapped boxes of fear, shame, anger and distrust
sealed by corporate satisfaction and greed;
as we’re fed from the roots of oppression.
Where it’s too dark to see truth,
amidst the noise of lies and deception
that relentlessly deprive and control thoughts,
what if we just started wondering?
Nails clicking waiting. Joelle’s heavily lipsticked full crimson lips stuck together, slowly separating as her jaw dropped. Her warm breath gently billowed into the cool sea air. Finally he had arrived. The loud exhaust of the dilapidated truck deflected and echoed against the stone arch. Turning off the ignition, the engine sputtered on, ending with a small backfire. Not being of similar pedigree, it was obnoxious incidents and sounds like this,in her world would be deemed uncouth but made him all the more interesting.
He sat in the driver’s seat looking at Joelle with a crooked grin. His thin lips quickly pulled back to a display a toothy smile. He reached with his right hand to the outside handle, unlatched his door and stepped out. She had been waiting two long years for his return. Now he was only feet away and it was if she were standing in clay unable to move. He moved towards her, seeing her shiver, removed his woollen dress uniform coat and wrapped it around her shoulders. With his right hand he lowered the tailgate. They sat down looking off into the ocean as they had so years before. He held her close saying, “I told you I’d be back”. She didn’t say a word but took a long deep breath as if to breathe him in. As the wind picked up, his pinned up left sleeve flapped in the breeze reminding him of what he had left on the battlefield. “I told you I’d be back”, he whispered.
[Paris, 1880] As if in a trance, he starred at the silhouette of his adult tricycle, eating his dinner of roast lamb , mint sauce and boiled potatoes with farina pudding for dessert. Alphonse Pénaud pushed back from the table, retiring to his study. In a small blue coffin, he gently placed his life’s work. He knew he could fly, his disgruntled investors thought otherwise. He kicked the stool, the noose tightened.
[Dayton1882]Welcomed home Milton Wright returns from his trip abroad. A small blue coffin under his arm. Father! What is it? Settle down Orrville!, Wait for your brother.
Written for our wonderful host Rochelle Wiscoff’s Friday Fictioneers thank you Rochelle. 100 words based on the photo prompt at the top of the page.
This story is a tribute to Alphonse Pénaud, who, according to history, made great advances in aeronautical design. It is said that the Wright brothers were inspired by a rubber band driven helicopter designed by Pénaud. Given to them by their father. Tragically, he died by his own hand suffering from depression. Some reports cite that his drawings were placed in a blue coffin before suicide. Peace and thank you Mr. Pénaud.
Thinking back…Raspberry fields of the Pacific Northwest
“Bleech!!” (Almost throwing up)
What? Stink bug? Hah!
“Gag!” I replied, spitting out the bitterly tainted raspberry.
Almost time to go. Walking on the backs of the ocean of stink bugs sounded like the cracking of peanut shells on the the floor of a Georgia roadhouse bar. A coriander/sulphur-like scent saturating the air. Who would have thought Aliens from another planet would derive their energy merely by the odor of these bugs. Our Handkerchieved faces are smeared with VapoRub to mask the smell.
Not sure our destination other than departure is 1800hrs
Thank you to our host Rochelle Wisoff-Field’s of Friday Fictioneers 100 word challenge based on the photo at the top of the page, by Fatima Fakier Deria.