September 17, 2020, prompt: In 99 words (no more, no less), write a story of mice. It can feature any variety of the little critters in any situation. Are the the character or the inciting incident? Use any genre, including BOTS (based on a true story).
Milo, a little grey mouse With the heart of a giant He could stare down the largest cat And get away unscathed he would be sent out For the most timid of his clan His days were long and slow He wanted more. Dressed in his best suit Knapsack on his back He was off to the cries of “Don’t go Who will hunt for us, we’ll starve!” “I will teach Jacko before I go I must seek my fortune. If Mickey can make it big In Hollywood, Then so can I I will take Hollywood by storm someday…”
As I sat at my workbench I told myself I would paint myself into history Like Di Vinci, Van Gogh, Monet Only my mind is as blank as the page I looked at Where did they get their inspiration from? The five and dime, the local minute mart? If only I don’t remember painting the strange circles Other worlds, my notepad splashed with paint As if a five-year-old sat in my place Fred, my friendly skull Told me to pursue a different career I thought this a good idea, closing my notepad The next time I look at a blank page I will fill it with wonderful words Produce the next best seller Ten weeks at number one I told myself Hoping that one day, what I say will be so…
ABOUT US: For those new to our website and blog, we would like to thank you for visiting. Between us, we write in several different genres, so there should be something for everyone to enjoy. Anita cannot abide computers, so I (Jaye) do all the technical stuff! Our books tend to be varied, from horror to supernatural romance and coming of age, and mystery thrillers. We try to keep our website interesting with guest posts, bloggers, poetry, and reviews for all the books we read. Our books are shown in the right-hand sidebar and clicking on the images should take you straight to Amazon.If you enjoyed your visit, we would love you to leave a comment…
Sat Beneath The mushroom Misty morning My own quiet time My thoughts run ahead wild Free from boundaries I roam I am now become the blue mist My heart and soul one with all I touch I am content to stay, to roam free, wild…
I was watching The face of the moon Watching me When the moon winked at me I thought, you loon The moon can’t wink at you I could see the eye wrinkle At the time I was overcome I considered it an unusual present A wrinkle in time I felt my heart bloom with joy I continued watching wanting more Blow me a kiss Pucker those dark grey lips Speak to me Give me more to reflect on…
‘Fiction In A Flash Challenge’ Week #17 Entry Part 2) By Harmony Kent @harmony_kent #IARTG
I felt my hand tremble As I pulled the paper from the bottle Thin, fragile, delicate with age, the edges burned as if they meant to destroy it before placing it in the bottle I could hardly bear to unroll it It felt like the Rosetta Stone in my hand With great care the words came into view A sad tale of a young man’s loss I could feel his pain in every word He was sorry he had to go Tell Laura, I love her The date on the letter was my birthdate My name is Laura…
Is there any sound more haunting? Than a wolf crying under the full moon Lending his voice to an ancient magic Long forgotten Only the echo in his heart remains Will his continued howling Bring back a little magic one day?
September 10, 2020, prompt: In 99 words (no more, no less), write a story that includes something heard on the radio. It can be from any station or era. What is heard? A song, announcement, ad? Think of how radio connects people and places.
I remember falling in love with a song After hearing it coming from my mum’s little Dansette radio Indian Reservation Years later I bought it on vinyl Played it until it became paper-thin The neighbours banging on the wall Begging me to play something different It’s strange how one song Heard on a tiny radio Can colour your life To me the world suddenly became wonky, off-kilter. Why do people think they can take what doesn’t belong to them Changing Nations with their greed Indian Reservation remains one of my favourite songs to this day Played often…
He heard the sound the minute he walked into the dining room to start work removing the ugly fireplace.
A faint scraping sound echoed around the room, but where was it coming from?
His mind returned to the job in hand, the removal of the totally unsuitable faux marble fireplace. He swung the large club hammer at the bolster chisel to separate the cheap surround from the wall. Seconds later, the scraping sound set his nerves on edge. He winced.
“Don’t be daft…you’re imagining it!”
But every blow he made was answered by the sound that seemed to be coming from the walls.
Once the fireplace lay on the floor in pieces, he started to carry the pieces out to his truck. Each time he returned; the noise greeted him.
What began as curiosity and amusement, slowly turned to annoyance and he couldn’t decide what to do about it.
He had to be imagining it, for he had moved in six weeks ago and not heard anything before now.
Maybe he should just ignore it.
Instantly, as if it heard his thoughts, the slightly louder sounds seemed to argue with that idea.
He slowly walked around the room, pausing at each wall but annoyingly, he heard nothing.
Three of the walls were brick, but the one adjoining the kitchen was a partition wall, plasterboard on a timber frame. He remembered building it the week before, and if there was anything trapped, it would be in that one.
It was getting late, and he was hungry. Whatever was going on would have to wait until tomorrow. As he turned to leave, the noise began again, and the sense of urgency was palpable.
He reached into his toolbox for his utility knife and approached the partition wall. Carefully, as he couldn’t remember exactly where the power cables were, he cut a sizeable hole and using the torch on his phone, he stretched his head through to see what the wall might conceal.
He could hear something moving about. He tried to see what it was, but the hole was too high.
Minutes later, after cutting a hole at ground level, a small, bedraggled cat crawled out, barely alive.
(For visually challenged reader, the image shows a person walking in a desert, dwarfed by huge sand dunes. A long line of their footsteps can be seen behind them)
Just Around The corner He said it was No mention of sand The endless miles of dunes I should give up, turn around But which way will take me back home? Far away from all this endless sand Not further away from all I hold dear…
ABOUT US: For those new to our website and blog, we would like to thank you for visiting. Between us, we write in several different genres, so there should be something for everyone to enjoy. Anita cannot abide computers, so I (Jaye) do all the technical (oily rag) stuff! Our books tend to be varied, from horror to supernatural romance and coming of age, and mystery thrillers. We try to keep our website interesting with guest posts, bloggers, poetry, and reviews for all the books we read. Our books are shown in the right-hand sidebar and clicking on the images should take you straight to Amazon.
If you enjoyed your visit, we would love you to leave a comment… Hoping to see you again!
And looking surprisingly well after her ordeal and determined to carry on where she left off before the proverbial stuff hit the fan.
Anita also came home with even more medication than last time, plus a daily injection, all of which to be carefully administered by little old me.
We also have a new set of worries, due mainly to the fact that Anita is still not fixed, not quite yet. It will take a pacemaker to do that. Her heart must settle down first, clear the rather large clot that is preventing the left side of her heart from working properly, and recover enough for a pacemaker to be possible.
This requires an intense regime of blood thinners and warfarin, a nasty drug that needs constant monitoring and blood tests. All worth it if the pacemaker returns Anita to full health!
Turns out it wasn’t a second heart attack after all. Due to the massive damage the first one caused and the presence of a large clot inside Anita’s heart, it just couldn’t cope. It stopped minutes after we arrived at the emergency department. Luckily, they managed to bring her back, but it was touch and go for a while.
Apparently, the first heart attack was what they like to call the widow maker because it is usually fatal.
So the fact Anita is here at all is miraculous and something we are all grateful for…