Escape

Posted: June 12, 2024 in Friday Fictioneers
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Our desire? Escape from over here to over there. Here? A place filled with so many angry words pulling our shoulders down with their ugly weight, we almost – almost – fell into the trap of hatred. There? A place filled with light and laughter. Swirls of color. Music. Our family walked miles to find the promised land filled with people raising slender arms toward the sky, praising the powers that be. But, upon reaching the ribbon of stone, we realized we could only observe their joy. Outsiders weren’t welcome. They jeered at us, lowered their arms, and fled into the night.

Grandma’s Secrets

Posted: April 24, 2024 in Friday Fictioneers
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“That wee door hides all my life’s secrets.”

Emilia’s grandchildren scooched closer.

“At fifteen, pharaohs wooed me on Khufu boats. At twenty, I lived among a finagle of fairies, collecting stars and moonbeams we traded to elven for rubies and diamonds.”

Seamus let out a low whistle. Angie raised an eyebrow.

“At twenty-five, I became a minstrel and played the lyre while a golden-haired man fell in love with me.”

“Grandpa?”

“Yes. Your grandpa. Go now. I’m tired.”

Seamus whispered, “She’s nuts.”

As Emilia fell asleep, the tiny door opened, and elves, fairies, moonbeams, rubies, and diamonds tumbled across the leaves.

Thanks to Fleur Lind for this thought-provoking picture and to our Fairy Blog Mother, Rochelle Wisoff-Fields, for posting it so we Friday Fictioneer Folk could wipe the cobwebs out of our writerly minds and come up with a 100-word story.

Thrown a Lifeline

Posted: April 3, 2024 in Friday Fictioneers
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The River Corrib has claimed many a lad: Fionn, Aisling, Cian, just to name a few. And lasses, too: Aisling, Fiadh, Kayleigh. Each gave up too soon. But you can’t blame them now, can you? Young, not prepared to handle the death of a loved one, sexual abuse, teasing. So we funambulists stepped in with tight wires at Shantalla Park, catching the troubled, training each one to balance and focus instead of jumping into the raging waters of the Corrib in order to end their life before allowing themselves to make a sparkling mark on the world.

https://www.irishtimes.com/health/your-wellness/2022/07/02/reinventing-the-river-corrib-from-a-site-of-grief-to-a-place-of-creativity-and-celebration When Donn and I were in Galway and walked over the Corrib River bridge, we saw a young funambulist in Shantalla Park and had no idea why she was there. All we heard about was the multitude of suicides in the river that runs at three meters per second. I’m glad Rochelle chose Sandra’s picture so I could revisit that experience and find out why the tightrope walker was there.

Beauty is in the Eye of the Beholder

Posted: March 13, 2024 in Friday Fictioneers
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Isabella hums The Girl from Ipanema, imagining a wasp-waisted, long-legged girl with muscular calves, smooth thighs, the moons of her breasts peeking above her bikini top.

In the mirror, Isabella sees lumpy calves, thighs riddled with spider veins and cellulite, and breasts sagging over three rolls of fat around her waist. Tears well.

Just then, at just the right time, Jorge swings open the door with biceps and buttocks sagging, three chins instead of one, and his own lumpy calves; he resembles a chocolate bear left too long in the sun.

“Hey, Pretty, wanna’ hit the beach?”

Isabella grins. “Yes!”

Birdie’s Graduation

Posted: February 28, 2024 in Friday Fictioneers
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Daddy drove that junker to my high school graduation. Me – first in the McClellan clan to earn a diploma. Our kin never made it two wits beyond 4th grade. Graduation night, he was all kinds of puffed up with pride. Brought me flowers and a weird stuffed koala bear playing a flute. No matter, there ain’t much available at the Five-and-Dime. When Daddy wrapped me in a big ol’ hug, his breath was full of the moonshine available at Lulu’s Houseboat in the swamp. Still, he made it to the auditorium; on the other hand, he never made it home.

Photo prompt by Fleur Lind

The Last Straw

Posted: February 21, 2024 in Family Stories, Friday Fictioneers
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In 1918, Solomon dragged Ida to the Colorado prairie. She found it mighty bleak: grass, wind, and more sun than a woman’s skin should endure. He built a soddie; she covered the ceiling with sheets to prevent snakes from dropping through the roof. They grew corn, raised cows and drilled a well to fill their stock pond, strung a barbed wire fence to protect their water rights. 1930 brought clouds of rolling dust. Plants withered; cattle died of thirst. When Solomon snipped the wire around the pond so the neighbor’s cows could drink, Ida hitched the wagon and left.

I based this 100-word story on my grandparents. They were hard-working farmers and ranchers. By shocking corn, Grandpa earned enough money to buy two Percheron horses that were later struck and killed by lightning. Grandma sold eggs, tomatoes, chickens, and cherries. They were very strong Catholics and tough as well-worn leather. And, no, Grandma didn’t leave Grandpa when he took down the fence, but she was awfully mad. He told her, “If we have water, the neighbors have water.”

The Magic Glass Box

Posted: February 7, 2024 in Friday Fictioneers
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They say that once you step inside the glass box, it takes you to never-before-seen worlds. After a million-dollar payment, people line up with great hope in their hearts, eager to see what’s “out there,” whether it’s up in the heavens or inside the Earth. But not all are chosen; no one gets a refund. And no one has ever returned to tell the tale of where they’ve been.

Anticipation

Posted: August 30, 2023 in Friday Fictioneers
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She is so many women he can’t find the one he loves

Or wants to love

Or doesn’t

Sometimes she wears pink satin and lace and whispers in a voice softer than silk

Other times she enters a room in leather pants so tight

He can’t help but think she’s been poured into them

And her voice is sharper than a crack of lightning

He wants to love her

He does

But knows what a mistake that would be

He will lose

She will win

Still, he anticipates the scent of her perfume

Celia’s Diary July 24, 1872

Posted: August 23, 2023 in Friday Fictioneers
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I gots no choice but to murder a turtle, slice her up; make soup for the menfolk on this ship. Thing is, she’s sorta’ become my friend. These mens caught her, flipped her upside down, n’ trussed her up seven months ago. She still be alive. I visit her every day. Something in her eyes begs me to set her free. Can’t do no such a thing. Even if I had enough muscle to throw her overboard, I’d be next. So, tomorrow I’ll tap on her shell so’s she’ll poke her pretty head out, and I’ll just chop it off.

But Where Will He Send the Letter?

Posted: August 16, 2023 in Friday Fictioneers
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For three months, Mr. Lin sat on the bus’s upper deck, scowling out the window. Children pointed. Laughed. Only because he scared them.

For three months, Mr. Lin sat on the bus’s upper deck, struggling to compose a letter to his wife. String together words he hoped made sense. I pressed the forget-me-knots you gave me between the pages of your favorite book. Our grandchildren are smart and strong. You’ll never receive the last postcard I sent from America. I miss you. The doctors say they regret you’ll never be a day over 60. My heart is broken.

(This is a tribute to my friend Laurel Leigh who died from lung cancer. Laurel never smoked. She had a wonderful laugh, was a giving spirit, and was my first writing instructor – who became a loving friend. She will never be a day over 60. Yeh, I know, life isn’t fair.)

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