Straw-man by Raymond Roy #FFfaw #fiction

He is a Liar!! A liar, a fornicator and I can’t stand it any longer! Mitzie had conviction in her voice as she addressed the Church board. Squeezing out a few tears completed the effect. The accused, Pastor Rigby, stunned, waiting for the church board to react. Rigby had perhaps squeezed a little out of his Church personal expenses, but what in the hell was she talking about?

Earlier that day, as the Church-administrator, Mitzie was denied vacation time by Rigby. By God he was going to pay. It started with texts to the church district office. Next lunch with the assistant pastor.

“Look Jeffery, you want that top spot don’t you? ” Jeffrey was puzzled until he saw the devious look in Mitzie’s eye. Give us a kiss Jeff, and leave the rest to me.

There was no wrong doing by Rigby but like any good strawman fallacy, her lies lit the straw-man on fire, Rigby couldn’t put it out.

Margarita glasses, “clink”in Cabo. Cheers Señor! Or should I say Senior Pastor Jeff!

Word Count-175

As a former Church Board member, Nothing could be truer than the idea of “truth being stranger than fiction”. Just as the Strawman mentioned in this story, the repeating of rumors,(even in denial of the rumors) only cultivate them toward being believed.

Written for Flash fiction for Aspiring Writers thanks to our gracious host Priceless Joy and thanks to Ellespeth for the photo prompt. To read other stories based on the photo prompt click here

Peace.

“Vision-quest” By Raymond Roy. #poetry #flashfiction

So distant, is a stand of trees, a secret place, my mind at ease.

Forest’s edge, winter apples grow, increase my pace, zephyrs show impending snow.

Curled up ferns, visual pleasure, pine needle carpet, walk of leisure.

I’m not alone, chipmunk squawks, takeoff my shoes and itchy socks.

Frosty air, hot springs steam, ease in my feet and begin to dream.

Native boy on vision-quest, by the pool to have a rest.

Sacred forest clean and pure, my quest is it’s protection , I must secure.

Leaving my refuge keenly aware, it’s not only I but, trees need care.

Word Count-99

Written for 99-Word Flash Fiction hosted by Charli at the Carrot Ranch Thanks Charli!

Peace .

Counting “sheep” by Raymond Roy #poetry #Fffaw #lambsofTartary

Grandfather, “where does cotton come from?”

My son,

In the land of the Mongols half way ’round the world, grows a plant, of fluffy pearls.

Balancing on bellybuttons, tiny lambs are propped, growing as a shrub-like plant, where-ever sheep scat is dropped.

Image credit: Wiki

Enter the fields on a breezy day, Lamb of Tartar plants, tend to sway.

Zephyr forces bend lambs boll stalk petite, toward nearby grass, for them to eat.

After rains have gone and grass is dead, the elfin lambs die, leaving cotton for thread.

On the mighty Steppe, lamb plants grow, providing cotton, to weave and sew.

Word Count- 99

Written for Flash fiction for Aspiring Writers graciously hosted by Priceless Joy. To read additional stories based on the photo prompt click Here.

A little history behind the content, in the 14th century there was believed to be a plant called the vegetable lamb of Tartary(Mongolia). The plant consisted of tiny lambs held in the air at the umbilical which was the plants stalk. When the stalks bent down toward nearby grass, it permitted the lambs to eat. Once the grasses dried up, the plant and tiny lambs died, leaving a cotton boll.

Peace.

Copyright Raymond Roy 2018

Taking the “Senses” by Raymond Roy #fiction

Taking Census, approaching the building

Glare of the sun reflecting off the abandoned hotel, pierced my eyes .. stench of a body filled my nostrils, sharp gravel on bare feet kept me shifting from one foot to the other.

Looking through open window

Blanket of blowflies over the corpse imprinted on my brain. A crack of a twig, The hardness of a gun on the back of my head. Dropping down turning and then with an upward thrust of the heel of my hand, forcing my assailant’s septum into his brain.

Walking away from the building.

Writing: Nobody home.

Word Count- 100

Written for Friday Fictioneers Thanks for hosting Rochelle and thanks to Yarnspinner for the photo prompt.

Peace.

R.S.V.P.

Email invitations chimed.

RSVP: Annual Performance Based Recognition!

Wrigley, James, and Christie smugly thought, ”It’s about time”!

Anticipating accolades about to be bestowed, the pompous trio, arrived that evening, but, being peers, surprised, to see each there.

Assigned seating was under a funnel-shaped fixture suspended from the ceiling.

“Places please,” the CEO announced.

With an excruciating shrill, the vainglorious trio grabbed their ears as waves of pain reverberated their cerebellums.

Pulses stopped. Puzzled, the self-righteous threesome demanded answers. “What kind of award dinner…? What gave you that idea? , the CEO laughed, recognition BECOMING of your performance my dears.. Buuhuuaaaahhhhh!!!

Word Count-100

Written for Friday Fictioneers challenge hosted by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields . Thanks Rochelle! Thanks to Dale Rogerson for the photo prompt. To read more stories based on the photo prompt click here.

Peace.