Category: Fiction

Morning Glow

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CHALLENGE RESPONSE – THURSDAY INSPIRATION – SHORT FICTION

She sips her coffee, thinking about her first great love—that love she could never talk about—the love that fills her with joy and pain all at once. The joy is knowing what love truly is, not that stuff you read in romance novels or movies. Pain, well, if you know love, you know pain.

There were throwaways—well, that’s what folks called them back then. It meant no one wanted them. She felt that way until she met the woman who changed her life. She also fell in love with a boy who lived with the woman. He was like her, a throwaway. She knew she shouldn’t love him but couldn’t help herself. They spent one night together before he left for the war, and the war took him.

She’ll never forget how she felt the next morning. It felt like she was glowing from the inside. For it was the first day she felt whole.

Writer’s Workshop Prompt – 05312024

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CHALLENGE RESPONSE – FICTION

Here is my response to Writer’s Workshop

The sun through the 4th floor glass felt good, It was partly on my shoulder and partly on my face. It was good to the feel the warmth. I’d been so cold lately. Nothing, I did made me warm enough. Even when AC went out and it was 90’s degrees in the house, I was okay everyone was else, but they kept their complaints out of earshot. I appreciated that.

I’m sitting thinking about the one who got away. The one who was supposed to make things better and all that. I never knew if they really happened or was it something said we believed in publicly, but thought was a crock of shit privately. “The One” worked at Aunt Peg’s candy shop in the local mall. I must have spent hundreds of dollars on soft peppermint sticks that summer.

The neighborhood paperboy loved me. He made a dollar for every trip to the candy shop. You see, I never could muster up enough courage to actually go up to the counter and ask for the candy.

“Do you even like peppermint?” Maynard, the paperboy asked

I didn’t answer. I did my best to give him an evil leer. Although, I don’t think it was working very well.

“Look, if this is all about the girl? She’s right there. Just talk to her.” Maynard took his dollar and left. That was the last day of summer and I never said a word to the girl.

I still eat soft peppermint sticks when I can find them. Those puff balls seem to have cornered the market. Some marketing genius started this whole mess.

Yep, Aunt Peg’s soft peppermint sticks were the best!

MLMM Photo Challenge – 05302024

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FICTION – PHOTO CHALLENGE RESPONSE

Here is my response to MLMM Photo Challenge

Image credit Sarah Whiley

I surveyed my kingdom and the lush gardens before me from my perch on the railing. There’s a sign by the gate with a picture of me. It says something below it. They call me Stanley. I wonder which one came up with that name. The humans often walked these paths, marveling at the beauty of nature, but none could truly appreciate it as I did. I am the peacock, the jewel of this realm, and my feathers are the crown jewels.

I strut through the gardens daily, tail feathers trailing behind me like a royal train. The sun catches the iridescent blues and greens, making them shimmer like the waters of a hidden lagoon. Today, I decided to take a break and observe my domain from this higher vantage point.

The air was fresh with the scent of blooming flowers, and the trees whispered secrets to each other in the gentle breeze. I watched as a family strolled by, their eyes widening in awe as they noticed me. The little ones pointed and gasped, tugging at their parents’ sleeves to share their discovery. I preened, feeling a surge of pride. Even the youngest humans recognized my magnificence.

Beyond the garden’s edge, the world seemed a distant dream. Within the bounds of my green paradise, life moved peacefully. Birds flitted from tree to tree, and the occasional squirrel scurried past, always keeping a respectful distance. They knew, without a doubt, who reigned here.

The sun began to dip lower in the sky as the day wore on, casting a golden glow over the garden. I could hear the murmurs of the visitors growing softer as they made their way to the exits, reluctant to leave this haven of beauty. Soon, the garden would be mine again, a quiet sanctuary where I could rest and dream of new ways to dazzle my audience come morning.

For now, I stood still, a statue of elegance and grace, soaking in the admiration of those who lingered. I am the peacock, guardian of this garden, and in my feathers, the world sees the magic of nature.

Julian’s Truth

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CHALLENGE RESPONSE – FICTION

Here is my response to RDP’s Daily Prompt – Lithe

In the heart of a bustling city park, where children’s laughter mingled with the melodious chirping of birds, sat a man named Julian. He was a solitary figure amidst the vibrant chaos, a contemplative soul who found peace in the art of people-watching. Julian was particularly drawn to the nuances of human interaction, the subtle play of expressions, and the eloquence of body language.

On this sun-drenched afternoon, his attention was captured by a woman practicing yoga on the lush, green grass. She embodied grace, her movements fluid and effortless, a visual symphony that mesmerized Julian. He noted how the word “lithe” seemed to be crafted for her, the very definition of her elegance and strength. She moved with an almost ethereal poise, her limbs stretching and coiling with a feline agility that left Julian in awe.

For days, Julian returned to the park, hoping to catch a glimpse of the lithe woman. She became a muse to him, a living embodiment of art and beauty he dared only admire from afar. Her presence stirred something within him, a longing to reach out and connect, to transcend the boundaries of his solitary existence.

Finally, mustering every ounce of courage, Julian decided it was time to step out of the shadows of his observation and into the light of interaction. He approached her on a day painted with the perfect azure of the sky. His heart thundered in his chest, a tumultuous symphony of nerves and excitement.

“Hello,” he said, his voice barely a whisper against the backdrop of the park’s life.

She turned toward him, her expression mildly surprised. Her eyes reflected the tranquility of the world she embraced. “Hello,” she replied, her voice as soft and melodious as he had imagined.

Julian stumbled through his introduction, words tangled with admiration and awe. He spoke of his observations, his fascination with how she moved, how she seemed to personify the word “lithe.” He expected bemusement, perhaps even annoyance. Instead, she smiled, a warm, genuine curvature of her lips that reached her eyes and ignited a spark of connection.

Her name was Elara, and she listened earnestly attentively, making Julian’s words flow more freely. They talked beneath the canopy of verdant leaves, their conversation meandering through the trivial to the profound, just as the park’s myriad pathways did.

In time, their meetings became a cherished ritual, two once-strangers finding solace and joy in shared moments. Julian, who had once been content to observe life from a distance, actively participated in its menagerie, woven with threads of companionship, understanding, and the unexpected beauty of a chance encounter.

And so, in a park where the world seemed to converge, Julian discovered the courage to connect, inspired by a woman who danced with the wind, her lithe form a reminder of life’s boundless grace.

Lizard Boy: Timmy Sinclair

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CHALLENGE RESPONSE – FICTION

Chapter 1

A boy named Timmy Sinclair lived in a bustling city named Licksville, known far and wide for his extraordinarily large tongue. Timmy was no ordinary boy, and his tongue was no ordinary tongue. It was the size of a baguette, supple like a gymnast’s and versatile like an artist’s palette.

From an early age, Timmy realized that his large tongue was not a curse but a blessing. He discovered he could use his tongue for tasks that others could not. He could taste the subtlest of flavors in food, making him the best judge in town for cooking competitions. He could also use his large tongue to help clean out jars and reach places his hands could not.

In school, Timmy was the star of the science fair. He used his tongue to demonstrate how taste buds worked, making science fun and exciting. His classmates admired him, and his teachers praised him for his creativity. Unfortunately, not everyone saw Timmy’s tongue that way.

Summer ended, and school began. Timmy was excited. He couldn’t wait for his next adventures. When he arrived at homeroom on the first day, there were two new students: one girl and one boy. Timmy took a seat and waited. He wanted to know everything about the girl. She had long raven hair, caramel-colored skin, and the most enchanting eyes he had ever seen.

Ms. Rowster came into the room, and they settled down for attendance. Timmy barely could contain himself as he anxiously waited to hear the name of this beautiful girl. When Ms. Rowster got to her name, she asked her to stand up and tell the class a little about herself. She did.

“Hello. My name is Simin Karimi, and I’m from Detriot,” Simin said, then sat down.
Timmy felt she had the most beautiful voice to accompany the rest of her beauty.

Ms. Rowster did the same with the new boy as well. He stood and cleared his throat, “I’m Brad Zigler from Ohio. I know everyone has heard of Zigler cheese, right? Brad asked. A few nodded in agreement while the others sat in quiet bewilderment.

They were all sixteen, but Brad stood over 6 feet and had a large nose, freckles, and a fiery beard. Due to his size and attitude, he had already started gaining friends. Timmy knew he would be one of the most popular kids in school before long.

At lunch, Timmy sat at his usual table, watching Simin’s every move, hoping she would sit at his table. Marcy Busch slapped Timmy on the shoulder.

“Who’s that?” Marcy asked.

“S S S imin,” Timmy shuttered. He was a little tongue-tied, as they say. He felt strange because he never shuttered a day in his life. Marcy looked puzzled at Timmy, then Simin. Marcy motioned for Simin to sit with them. Timmy shifted uncomfortably but managed a smile. Marcy introduced herself.

Marcy and Simin chatted away while eating, picking at their food, if you can call it eating. They were well on their way to being fast friends. Timmy sat quietly, nodding and smiling at the appropriate times. Timmy noticed Simin kept glancing and smiling at him. This made Timmy nervous. Here is the most beautiful girl, and he’s suddenly tongue-tied.

“Stop being rude!” Marcy said as she nudged on the shoulder. Timmy tried to say something, but his tongue got in the way. It felt like it filled his entire mouth. Timmy had never experienced this before. Marcy’s comment didn’t help matters.

“So, you see a pretty girl, huh?” Marcy asked.

“You’ve been talking my ear off since first grade. Geez, thanks,” she smiled. Her cobalt blue eyes sparkled when she smiled, and her smile always seemed to do the trick when Timmy got nervous. Marcy made him feel safe.

“Hey, Simin,” Timmy finally managed. Simin smiled.

“Oh my god! So you’re the freak people have been whispering about!” a voice exclaimed. They looked up, and it was Brad Zigler with a horrified expression.

“What are you? Some sort of lizard?” he exclaimed.

Timmy blushed, and his eyes filled with tears. Before he knew it, Marcy had sprung from the table, kneeing Brad, and delivered a well-practiced right cross—the signature move she picked up when she developed breasts at 12. Marcy explained that once all the women in her family had a nice set of girls, her mother, and grandmother taught her the move in case the boys got handsy. Nanna said boys “always get handsy.”

Marcy stood Brad silently, her brunette hair tied in a ponytail. Brad groaned in pain as he clutched his private area. Marcy stepped toward him, and Brad scooted away with his held up in surrender. Marcy turned to look at Timmy. Her pale alabaster skin was rose-colored. Her eyes were like fire. Yet, they softened when Timmy looked up at her. She stood 5 feet even.

“Bullies give me the sweet ass!” she exclaimed as she retook her seat. Marcy didn’t make eye contact with anyone, then whispered, “Sorry.” Simin squeezed her hand. “Marcy, you’re wicked fast. Next time, can you save me some?” Simin asked jokingly. They all chuckled as they left the lunchroom.

Author’s Note:

Today, I felt good enough to write a little fiction. I hope you don’t mind. So, I combined a couple of hosted challenges I felt worked for the story. The third challenge was one I had for myself, and it was two-fold. Primarily, I’ve been writing light non-fiction for the last few weeks. I needed to know if my fiction tools still worked in something light. I also challenged myself to see if my depictions of the characters in this could used with AI image generation. The answer to the latter is yes. Overall, I’m pleased with the image outcome. As for the former, it felt good writing, but I will leave it up to you guys. Should I continue this corky tale? I wrote more, in case you are wondering. Or hit delete and move on to another project?

Prompts used for this story:

SocS: Hosted by Linda Hill – Words starting with “signa”

Ragtag Daily Prompts: Sunday (safe); Thursday (Lizard)

The challenge words are hyperlinked to their origins. I hope you guys enjoy this corky little tale

RDP – Thursday

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CHALLENGE RESPONSE – FICTION

My response to RDP – Thursday – bamboozle

The Grand Bamboozle

A spry little man named Barkan lived in the serpentine alleys of the ancient city of Khazan, notorious for its labyrinthine streets and enigmatic inhabitants. Barkan was not your average resident. He was a trickster, a master of bamboozles, and his clever ruses were the talk of the city.

Barkan was not always this cunning. Once upon a time, he was an innocent and naive boy. However, life in Khazan was tough, and the city’s harsh realities turned him into the wily person he had become. Yet, Barkan’s bamboozles were never harmful or malicious. They were light-hearted pranks aimed at teaching lessons to the arrogant and the pompous.

One day, a haughty nobleman named Lord Faizan visited Khazan. Rumors of Barkan’s bamboozles had reached him, and he was determined to outwit the trickster. Lord Faizan was known far and wide for his pride and arrogance, qualities that made him the perfect target for Barkan.
Upon his arrival, Lord Faizan announced a reward for anyone who could outsmart him. The city excitedly buzzed, and Barkan saw the perfect opportunity for his most significant bamboozle yet. He accepted the challenge, and the city held its breath, waiting for the grand showdown.

The next day, Barkan invited Lord Faizan to a feast at his humble abode. As the nobleman arrived, he was surprised by the simplicity of Barkan’s home. Little did he know, the grand bamboozle had already begun.

Sunday, Monday, Tuesday – RDP

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CHALLENGE RESPONSE – PROSE

Here is my response for RDP Sunday, Monday, and Tuesday.

Let me be blunt from the beginning. The snow was coming down heavy, but the wind blew it sideways. The temperature was dropping rapidly. I didn’t want to be out here, but the gig paid the bills. Prices were so high that you bought a loaf of bread or a gallon of gas. I got a letter in the mail today. An old friend I hadn’t heard from since we both reeked of innocence. I was more than a little envious because he had found the love of his life. He had found happiness. Sighs … good on you, brother! Good on you.

6th Avenue Heartbreak

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SHORT FICTION

Image by Michael Kauer from Pixabay 

Manu Jenkins and Maury Lawrance faced off back in the 1950s. This face-off changed how things were at The Paradise drive-in. Manu Jenkins, “Jinxy” people called him, and Maury weren’t gang members, just guys who couldn’t back down. Only to find themselves in a situation that lasted a lifetime. This face-off leads to the development of the neutral zone. The neutral zone is no gang activity at the drive-in. Anyone caught fighting at the Paradise was banned for life. That was the law of the land for as long as anyone could remember.

According to Jinxy, “The Paradise” was the only place in town where you could walk around without anyone beating you senseless. Old Lonnie Lawrence, Maury’s father, had everything: swings, slides, cotton candy, and make-out spots. Jinxy nudged me with his elbow, smiling. “That’s where I met my sweet Pearl.” He said, staring off as if trapped inside a memory. Then, finally, he leaned back and smiled. I wondered if he was watching the movie from that night. Praline Madsen “Pearl” was his wife of forty years before going home to glory. Jinxy didn’t make it to the following fall. Jinxy and Pearl, PaPa and Nanna, seemed to me to be a love story, exactly like one that played at “The Paradise.”

Forty years later, My little brother, Trey, wanted to see a double feature playing there this weekend. Bruce Lee’s Chinese Connection and The Game of Death. I was 17, and hanging out with your 12-year-old little brother when you were supposed to be chasing tail wasn’t ideal, but I loved Bruce Lee just as much as he did. To get to the “Paradise,” we had to cross enemy territory. The Paradise may have been the neutral zone, but the surrounding neighborhood wasn’t. I knew the 6th Ave boys owed me a few beatings for jumping a couple of them when they got caught in my neighborhood. Trey didn’t know anything about my part in the beating, but he had witnessed a few as they happened.

“Moe?”

“Yeah, Trey.”

“Why are they beating that man? What did he do?”

“Nothing, Trey … Just in the wrong place; wrong time…you know?”

“No, I don’t….make them stop, Moe!”

“I can’t.”

“Why?”

“It’s the world we know.”

“It doesn’t have to be.”

~thanks for reading~

Shaking of the Rust

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FICTION – RANDOM STORY

Daylight slipped into the darkness. The streets have begun to empty. People have started to enter the safety of their homes. A mother is sipping a cup of tea after a hard day’s work. A father making dinner for his children and a sister reading a story to her brother before bedtime.

Hoyt Curtis sits in the dark, staring at nothing in particular. A disassembled .45 ACP on a table in front of him. He and his .45 never met a problem they couldn’t solve. At least, that’s what he would tell himself every time it pointed at its target. However, the truth is it caused far more problems than it ever solved. A picture of his family lay on the window sill. A family that walked away from him 10 years ago. That’s when his wife had reached her limit. The man she loved and became someone else.

Hoyt couldn’t blame her. It was true. The safest thing was for her children to leave. His demons were taking over. They had taken up residence in the front room of his mind. The bastards had the nerve to put their feet on his hand-carved Italian coffee table. He believed his family was better off without him. It was his job to keep them safe, even if it was from him.