Evelyn, the Warrior

Wee Evelyn awoke from her afternoon nap and blinked into the afternoon sunlight, trying to orient herself. The unmoving puppy Pa was there, the blanket ja-ja was there… where was her ninny, her pacifier?

Clutching ja-ja ever tighter, she looked down, hoping to spot it down by her feet. She kicked aside the bootie that had come off her foot to clear out a potential hiding place, to no avail. She exchanged a worried glance with Pa, who told her with a look that he didn’t know where it was either.

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Not Just A Warm August Nap – A Bionic Hip!

I may be cheating with today’s Daily Prompt, but I have recently decided to blog about things a little closer to my heart, as I think they make for better reading, so I feel empowered to take some liberties. The prompt was to take a story I had heard and embellish it for the sake of story telling, but this is going to be a little different:

I am going to take a story in my memory, a true story, embellish it with another, equally true story, and then just go on from there. 🙂

Continue reading “Not Just A Warm August Nap – A Bionic Hip!”

Story of Croasert Coup

148 words, and I think this may become part of something else.  What do you think of the story?

Once upon a time, there was a little boy who had the chicken pox. This was one lucky boy, though, for his parents won the Doctor Drawing (as it was later called by the Wordsmiths) on the first try! He went to the clinic with his parents, and got medicine to help with the itching. A week later, he went back for a check-up

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It Is Enough

Another stab at flash fiction! Whatchu think?

Years of battle over an idea had dwarfed nations, slain charismatic leaders and laid waste to Earthly bounty. Before these last remaining ruins of humanity disappeared, another desperate idea finally appeared, one on which they could all agree.

A run to the death.

The strongest warriors of remaining tribes began a final test that would make Pheidippides weep with equal parts pride and dismay. A battle waged of sinew, sweat and stamina, as warriors literally chased death in the only measure adequate to determine the strength of their belief. As the number of racers dwindled, hearts were lodged in throats as minds were myopically unified on a single question: “Whose belief is superior?”

The final answer was found in the unexpected sight of the remaining warriors finishing the race unified, side by side. They nudged the world into reconciliation with a single word before death: “Enough.”

No final victor, only a victor’s final command.

Midday Jealousy

Dear Midnight –

It is as a friend and colleague that I am writing you. I fear that you are taking too much on yourself as the inspiration of poets and lovers, for they all seek your company.  Let me help take up some of the burden. Need I remind you that you have been stealing my sunshine (as it were) for eons? Can we not finally resolve this?

Yours, Noontime (formerly Midday)

 

My dearest Noontime –

How thoughtful it was of you to consider my own well-being, particularly given the work that you need to do containing the sun. We both stoke fires: your sun stokes the fire of the Earth; I cannot help that I stoke the fires of the Earth’s inhabitants’ imagination. I freely confess that the light of the pale moon in my sky depends upon your sunshine, and I thank you for it.

Midnight

 

*Writing 101 – Day 14

Recuerdos de la Alhambra

The ancient stone cavern  was oddly fitting for the guitarist playing Recuerdos de la Alhambra. The notes  skipped off strings teased by skilled fingers, bouncing like the shadows of the marble stone in the candlelight from the silk covered table. In the center of the cavern stood a couple elegantly dressed. Her red dress seemed to shimmer of its own accord, and his black hair curled slightly over his crisp white collar.

* * * * *

The paiR. Dinner nakpins hang limp from hands – forgotten surrender flags. “Bastardo!” Snarled words and spittle. A snarled laugh of disgust. “HA!” Storming across the roomhe slams his hand against the knocked-over chair and sends it fly-flying against the wall. Wood rains. She charged closer to him closing-the-10-foot-distance beating her breast in protest. “’Li mortacci tua!” Whirling around, tearing hair. A red patch of silk fell to the ground.

 

*Writing 101 challenge, day 7.  Whachu think?

 

 

Squeezing My Arms Around… Flash Fiction

This is my first attempt – ever – at writing flash fiction.

“Oh, shut up! You wouldn’t know a fucking thing about how to beat these guys, pretty boy.” Lorali snarled to the boy on the stairs – I still didn’t know his name.  He looked at his friends and laughed. “I don’t owe you shit, boy,” she continued, “and I’m never gonna finish squeezin’ my arms around the truth.”

I was struck by the last expression as I remembered where I’d heard it before.

I moved closer to Lorali and whispered to her, the first time I’d dared get so close. “He’s the one that did that to you.” She looked at me in surprise and didn’t have time to cover the pain in her eyes. Suddenly her cruel features were made soft.

How did I do?