The Mitchell and May (Pre-)Show

PHOTO PROMPT © Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

“You’re looking at the wrong camera.”

“No, you are, May. I’m looking at camera B.”

“Camera A’s on first. Get a grip, Mitchell!”

“Camera B, May. Why are you wearing brown? I told you I was wearing brown today.”

“This? It’s more maroon than brown! Do I have to get you a color wheel? And go easy on the makeup. Good grief! Is that blush, Mitchell?”

So? What’s wrong with a little color?”

“Just feels like you’re auditioning for the Moulin Rouge, that’s all.”

The producer sighed. “More like the Punch and Judy show,” he mumbled in the control booth.

100 words; Fiction
For Rochelle Wisooff-Fields' Friday Fictioneers
Click on the frog and join in!

An Incident

“Tweet me not weary in this whirligig of time.” She stabbed the Styrofoam cup with the stick end of a small American flag. “I’m homeless by design unmet by need. You need not apply.”

The politician’s flunkie grimaced. “Ma’am, we’ve been told to clear the area.”

“Nobody’s here. Starbucks brothers in the Amazon, sister’s Facebooking. Red Zone, Blue Zone, Ozone. Google it.”

“They’re armed,” he warned.

“Say, Moby Dick’s back from the dead. ‘Sometimes the great bones of my life feel so heavy.’ Tell them Ambergris is worth a fortune.”

“Ma’am?”

“Eyes and pearls. My home’s on my back. Your bones are too light. ‘From hell’s heart, I stab . . . .’”

A shot rang out. The bag lady crumpled, fell.

“’Ye damned whale’,” said the flunkie, winking at the FBI agent. “’I don’t give reasons. I give orders!’”

Written for dVerse's Prosery: Bone Weary -- 144 words utilizing 
the line: "Sometimes the great bones of my life feel so heavy."
All other quotes are from Moby Dick by Herman Melville.

Twisted

Twisted is just what I got juggling Linda’s #JusJoJan (“twisted”), Michelle’s #JanuaryWritingPrompt (“cannibalizing airframes”), Melanie’s #WOTD (“jentacular”), and Di’s #Take Seven (“add, all, basic, being, bit, determined, hidden, knew, lean, lurking, measured, more, show, sneer, started, there, tin, tired, treat, wobble, work”). Whew! Here’s what I ended up with.

It was very hush-hush. The servants kept at their WORK, starting with their JENTACULAR* routines, putting on a SHOW for all the houseguests, DETERMINED to keep them away from the HIDDEN runways and hangars where their fancy aircraft were stored. The servants KNEW more than they let on about the TWISTED, seamy affairs among the guests and BEING discreet acted MORE or less ignorant of it ALL. But they were TIRED of being TREATed with that hint of a SNEER that the upper-classes didn’t bother to hide. Once in a while, a guest would express an interest in checking up on their plane, but there was always a butler or an under-butler or housemaid LURKING THERE to sound the alarm, and soon the guest would be diverted with a TIN of something savory or a MEASURED warning by a LEAN threatening native. ADD in a BIT of theatrics, and the guest’s knees would WOBBLE in alarm as they retreated. The servants had STARTED their own enterprise in this neglected corner of the world where so many starved while others jetted in and out of their massive estates. Their enterprise was pretty BASIC. They were cannibalizing airframes off the luxury jets of their guests and selling them to dealers around the world. And thanks to the increasing number of millionaires, it was a thriving business.


*jentacular –“means just about anything related to breakfast.

Flowery Observers

I dismissed the reports of aliens there and started towards the valley when the first of the periscopes appeared, lurking by bushes and disguised as bright flowers.

Perennial question: Who’s behind this?
Cee's FOTD
Linda's One-Liner Wednesday
Di's Three Things Challenge #470 "there, started, lurking"

Ice Storm

A friend’s betrayal. The first crack in the heart. A child’s heart. Swallowing a sob, a gurgle hard against the throat. A nudiustertian heartbeat ago. The storm settles.


That friendship went the way of trains into the sunset, trains with Hercules propellers in a steampunk show, and a suddenly shrunken figure, lean with knowing, stiffening its back against the world.

The heart armored, now slow to trust, still easily betrayed, always anticipates the moment of departure, inexorable in its movement like the ticking of a clock, yet attuned to distant trumpets ushering in the dawn.

Frost-browned blooms
Knew caskets of ice
Await life.

After the Storm (for Cee’s FOTD)

Continue reading “Ice Storm”

First Encounter: A Tale of Terror

Thought I’d see if I could squeeze a few fun writing prompts (see below) into one tale of terror. Thanks Di, Linda, and Michelle!

First Encounter

“That … that … that THING is coming closer!’

Kroot hugged her red scarf tightly and tried to be brave. Beside her Kreet cleared her throat, ready to deliver the speech she had been given by the Grand Penguin himself. Kruff shrank back into her corner, her eyes squeezed shut.

Continue reading “First Encounter: A Tale of Terror”

In the Church

In the church she felt only marginal comfort
A stranger alone in the pew
In the corner a man was praying
Modeling silent admonition:
“Be still, and know I am God.”*


The grace and joy that washed over her
As all sang and the gospel was proclaimed
Made her thankful for this time to worship
And that she had decided to stay.

*Psalm 46:10:”Be still, and know that I am God. I will be exalted among the nations, I will be exalted in the earth!”

Sammi's Weekend Writing Prompt #190, "marginal" 31 words
Linda's Just Jot It January, "in the corner"
Image credit: https://www.pexels.com/photo/woman-sitting-on-bench-1217250/

Summer Dreamin’

Today, Michelle’s writing prompt (“pregnant guppies”) had me flummoxed. Seemed impossible to fit it in with summertime and roses for Cee’s FOTD challenge. Tried anyway. 😉

Here I am in winter mourning
Yearning for summer’s golden rays
When fertile gardens bloom blushing roses
And pregnant guppies swim moonlit pools.

Of Belugas and Mercies in the New Year

Come, magical sprites of sea, land, and air
Dreamlifters that transport us far from care
Belugas, or bluebells, or a child and a mare
My speech to you is dire and fair:

Dire, because of last year’s dismal fare
Of health and crises that cause us to beware
Threat of contagion from death’s lair;

Fair, because your songs lay bare
The beauties of God’s mercies and care
Shown in his Son whom we boldly dare
Address as our brother, Lord and Savior,
Whose love we eagerly want to share
Aware that we can rejoice in this new year
With all those whose burdens he helps to bear.

Michelle's January 2021 Writing Prompts: "Belugas and dreamlifters"
Linda's JusJoJan Prompt, "Speech"
Image credit: Pexels.com

End-of-the Year Two-fer

What can I say? The creative juices, they were a’flowin! So depending on whether you like verse or story or naught, read either or neither, with many thanks to our Friday Fictioneer hostess, Rochelle, who has kept us as a band of brothers and sisters in service to the muse the outgoing year through. Happy New Year and blessings to all! ❤️

Written for Rochelle's Friday Fictioneers   
Genre: Dystopic Fiction and Poetry
Word count: 100 words 
PHOTO PROMPT © Na’ama Yehuda  
Click on the frog and join the party!

The Dais of Gadolfo

When Ella awoke, she found herself lying full-length staring upwards at a fleecy caravan of clouds.

How had she gotten here?

“You have offended the Great Ones,” a voice intoned from the tower above her.

“Great Ones?”

“Citibank. Chase. Goldman Sachs. Amazon. Facebook. Twitter. Google. Netflix. Must I go on?”

“No. Please. I’ll reopen my accounts!”

She attempted to rise but found herself tied to stakes on a stone table.

The Dais of Gadolfo!

The Great Ones were making an example of her like the others for the world to see.

Above her, Gadolfo, a surgically-armed camera drone, slowly descended.


PHOTO PROMPT © Na’ama Yehuda

Out of the Curse, a Promise

The old year’s streaking past us
Her tattered skirts raised high
There’s a trail of desolation
She’s in a hurry to get by.

Shops closed never to reopen
Livelihoods destroyed
Hosts of unsavory creatures
Circle over what’s bespoiled.

You can’t blame it all on Covid
But the contagion in human hearts
Stirring greed, cowardice, hatred
Like a cesspool of primeval rot.

This year’s humbling lesson
Shows how little we’ve progressed
The world still needs a Savior
And the heart his cleansing blood.

Looking up at clouds unfettered
High above Babel’s towers
A glimpse of lovingkindness
A promise of healing showers.