Friday Fictioneers – 6/18/21

Rochelle has offered us the photo prompt below:

PHOTO PROMPT © Alicia Jamtaas

She’d resided here for four years.
Having made the decision to move, Mama led her young ones deeper into the woods.
A surveyor had walked through their woodlot, two nights before, disturbing the family’s treasured privacy while the sound of machinery had been “closing in” on their reclusive setting for two months. It was time to go.

Mama looked back a final time. The old pumphouse had stood up well in spite of neglect. She felt too old for the abrupt change but reluctantly moved on.

Twelve successful litters, in one safe place, was more than most opossums could claim.

(100 words)

18 June 2021 | Rochelle Wisoff-Fields-Addicted to Purple









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Sunday Writing Prompt MLMM- A Spiritual Awakening

This week’s Sunday Writing PromptShape-shifter

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I’d always wondered about my grandfather’s proclivity for understanding Nature. I’d assumed it was his Native American heritage on his mother’s side. You’d think his tales of the “Thunder God” would have contradicted his Christian beliefs, but they didn’t.
He’d say when asked, “Does speaking of atoms negate the idea that God created them?”.
So, Grandad explained that Nature’s many abilities had no bearing on his belief in one intelligent designer of the universe. In fact, he admitted they were the clues to it.
I recall one summer that Grandad and I spent together. He lived in a trailer on the edge of the desert. I was 14 and my mother decided getting away from peer pressures while reconnecting with Grandad was a great idea.
I wasn’t happy. No television… no internet… NO MC DONALD’S!
Well, Grandad was thrilled with my company and we began daily hikes into the local caves. I have to admit that we had a great time and the cave paintings from his ancestors were mind blowing! He had a lazy eye which gave him an otherworldly appearance and made every single story come alive.
Grandad explained many legends and I felt such a pride in that heritage that I insisted upon registering as a full tribal member.
During one excursion, we happened on an altar deep inside the mountain. Grandad was surprised, himself, to discover it!
Suddenly, the mountain shuddered and a part of the ceiling crumbled trapping me (but fortunately not crushing me) beneath a large rock. After not being able to budge it, Grandad decided to seek help. He left me with his crucifix and told me to pray. He PROMISED that I would be okay.
I thankfully dozed between prayers because my legs had lost feeling and I was losing hope.
A snort awakened me. There beside the ancient alter was the largest, pure white, mountain goat I had ever seen!
It may have been my physical pain playing with my head but, to this day, I know that goat winked at me with an extremely familiar lazy eye.
Then it proceeded to dig into the dirt floor with sturdy hooves, lowered its head, and pushed with great might, easing that rock off of me. I passed out with relief only to awaken to my grandad carrying me over his shoulder into the trailer with the crucifix still wrapped around my hand.

After days of care and recovery, I was my old self again, except for some deep purple bruises. At our final campfire, the night before I was to leave, we prayed together. A rumble came from the mountain once again, but this time it was from a distance. Grandad placed the crucifix in my palm and closed my fingers.
“Keep this with you, always, for safety and as a remembrance of your spiritual awakening at Waneta Mountain.”
It wasn’t until Grandad passed that I fully realized what I had experienced.

[The name Waneta means Shape-Shifter, and is of Native American origin. ]


Sunday Writing Prompt, May 30/21 – Shape-shifter | Mindlovemisery’s Menagerie (wordpress.com)

First Line Friday: May 21, 2021

Your line for this week is:

A perfectly brewed cup of tea can’t fix everything.” Fanny retorted.

Nan had done all she could do and threw up her hands. She’d waited on Fanny ‘hand and foot’ since her ‘accident’ without one ounce of gratitude.
If you asked Fanny, the world was about to end! But, her prognosis for a full recovery was solid and her needs were being met by her lifelong friend, Nan.

Nan decided to clip out a series of tragic stories and obituaries from the newspaper. Her friend’s gloomy attitude needed a dose of reality!

The next day, Fanny wasn’t treated to her tea and croissant precisely at 8:00 am. Instead, she was handed a folder and told to read its content before Nancy would do a ‘darn thing’ for her.

Forty-five minutes later, Nan found a red faced Fanny in the kitchen preparing her own breakfast. She’d been crying. Fanny motioned to Nan to sit and hobbled to the counter. After a brief pause, she gathered enough strength to present Nan with a cup of tea and croissant on a tray then, a bit unsteadily, retrieved her own.

Nan started to get up to help but Fanny waved her off.
“A perfectly brewed tea can’t fix everything but a loving friend certainly comes close. Thank-you Nan, for everything.”


First Line Friday: May 21, 2021 | Mindlovemisery’s Menagerie (wordpress.com)

Six Sentence Story~ Improvise~ Yankee Ingenuity

PROMPT WORD:  IMPROVISE

Yankee ingenuity
Improvisational design or problem-solving, dealing with low availability of replacement parts and materials.

American farmers have a long, well deserved, reputation for ‘thinking outside of the box’ in order to independently, and innovatively, solve their own problems as they would arise.

Liddy was only sixteen when she decided to keep and breed rabbits, mostly to prove to her Dad, that she’d, one day, be a responsible heir to the family farm so, just before Thanksgiving, when Liddy woke up to a sudden dramatically unseasonable temperature change-dropping quickly and sharply-she freaked out realizing that her rabbits had yet to have fully winterized hutches!

Up to this point, the rabbits had clean bedding, frequent watering, and food, but their hutch windows were just screen and the forecast was for 5 below zero F, so she raced outside in 8 above F temperatures determined to cover those windows and protect her rabbits who had yet to acclimate to frigid winter weather.

Her hands grew instantly numb as she fumbled with plexiglass and screws and the monumental mistake of being unprepared for New England weather changes created strings of tears that froze instantly to her cheeks.

Feeling defeated and ashamed, she considered calling her Dad for a rescue when she got an idea how to improvise a barrier to the Arctic winds and after gathering a stack of newspapers, and a bucket of warm water, she covered all those windows with soaked paper layers that froze tightly in place in mere seconds.

Her Dad had been waiting for a panicked call, and when he didn’t get one, he rushed to find Liddy already inside and the most clever application of good ole Yankee ingenuity he’d seen in a long time, so he hugged her pronouncing, “You’re one fine farmer, young lady, and I’m one proud Dad!”.


Sunday’s Six Sentence Story Word Prompt! – GirlieOnTheEdge’s Blog (wordpress.com)
It’s Six Sentence Story Thursday Link Up! – GirlieOnTheEdge’s Blog (wordpress.com)

d’Verse Prosery~ Farmer Foster

HERE’S HOW TO TAKE PART IN THE PROSERY PROMPT:

  • Write a piece of flash fiction or other prose up of up to or exactly 144 words,
  • Including the given line from the poem.
  • Post your Prosery piece on your blog and link back to this post.
    The quote below must be included.

“Only mouths are we. Who sings the distant heart which safely exists in the center of all things? – from Rainer Maria Rilke, “Heartbeat.”

A no nonsense farmer wanted room to manipulate his wheelchair so he had his grandson take down a wall in the center of his old house.
The farmhouse was in the same location for over 200 years, and had a lot of issues, but one of them had never been ghosts.
As soon as the wall was removed, Foster started hearing mumbling near his ears when he ate his supper.
He was annoyed but ignored it.
Then there came breathy words as he ate…

“Only mouths are we. Who sings the distant heart which safely exists in the center of all things?”

The old fella wasn’t afraid one bit but now his dander was up!

“I don’t know ’bout your dag gum MOUTHS but you had BETTER shut your ‘arses’ THE HELL UP!”

Foster never had a ghost problem again, from that moment on.

(144 words)


Prosery: Here’s the thing about existing | dVerse (dversepoets.com)

Lady Jabberwocky Prompt of the Week- Harold’s Unfortunate Mistake

Prompt of the Week: Scene of the Crime

Normally, police detectives didn’t get involved in “missing persons” cases without direct evidentiary reasons but the multiple calls from alarmed neighbors, who new Harold’s unflappable routine, made them take an interest. Two of the neighbors had thought they’d heard fireworks several nights before, but now, had decided they’d actually heard gunshots and all of them were extremely worried because they hadn’t seen the ‘dependable’ Harold for days!

Officers had not been able to solicit any answers to their knocks and the putrid odor emanating from the unkempt house offered an excellent probable cause to enter uninvited.
Their first perusal was a 360 degree examination of the outside. Every window was covered to the top with debris on the inside. And, yes, the odor was nauseating!
The first to enter, after breaking in the front door, were the beat officers who needed to secure the scene wearing Hazmat suits {complete with booties} to protect themselves from the rot, as much as, to preserve evidence.
What they found sent two of them running outside to vomit!
Harold, although beloved by his neighbors, was obviously a most severe hoarder.
Rotted food, animal feces, and garbage, covered every inch of every room and it was stacked to the ceiling. Three feral cats raced past the officers the moment the door had been breached. The origins of the stench had now been confirmed.

After an excruciating search, taken in shifts, Harold had not been found but four 9mm shell casings were in clear view when they had entered the back porch!
Now, it was the detectives’ turn and foul play was clearly suspected.
Looking for clues to Harold’s disappearance was going to be a nightmare!
Up to this point, no murder could be concluded but, since Harold had no known family and was 86 years old, locating him was ramped up to an APB.
Obviously, Harold’s friendly relationship with his neighbors had been made by ‘outdoor’ interactions. Over seven years, he had strolled the exact same route through the neighborhood everyday, rain or shine. He cheerfully engaged many of them sharing humorous stories and jokes. The man was a skillful comedian… and a real charmer.


As yellow crime scene tapes were tied, and the police presence increased, most of the worried neighbors started to gather along the street. Then the detectives made an unusual discovery under newspapers on the kitchen counter; A half-eaten fresh sandwich and a dated, three day old, envelope that had contained a plane ticket.
Why hadn’t those cats eaten the sandwich?
Who had been, or would want to be, inside this house casually eating in the last six hours?
What did the plane ticket mean?

A disturbance suddenly erupted at a garage across the street!
Those feral cats were yowling, screeching, and pacing, outside the door creating an hysterical display.
Inside, Harold was found with a duffle bag full of precious items pilfered from his distracted neighbors! They had left their homes unattended, and unlocked, to watch the police. It was a beautifully planned crime that clearly counted on the affection and trust he’d engendered.
He was apprehended and disarmed without incident and cuffed, then driven downtown. Harold was found to have many aliases and it was learned he had made his living conning people throughout his life.
The suspected crime scene had been the well planned diversion to a real crime and it had taken Harold’s mistake, of befriending cats in addition to people, to crack it.


Prompt of the Week: Scene of the Crime | Lady Jabberwocky

MLMM Sunday Prompt~ A Fictional Futuristic Nightmare

Today’s Sunday Writing Prompt: Beautiful Mistake

It’s Autumn 2023, and the Covid-19 scare has lost its clout with many Americans.
Cases are down but, far more importantly, deaths from Covid-19 are well below those being recorded from the seasonal flu. A success that vaccinations fully claimed.
Chancy had not been vaccinated. She was a nurse who’d found the suppression of information on excellent early treatments terribly unnerving since 2020 and she also resisted the flood of media propaganda rationalization that the ‘vaccine’ was totally safe. There was NO way of being that certain. It was, after all, an experiment.
Chancy wasn’t obese, and had no other comorbidities that would lower her chances of survival from the virus below 99%. So, after checking with her doctor that he had access to early treatments, she couldn’t reasonably consider an “emergency experimental vaccine” as a good choice. Chancy couldn’t put her finger on it, but something just seemed terribly wrong.
Still, she was told by everyone she knew that her decision was a mistake. Ultimately she responded to all of them, “It’s my mistake to make!”.
Of course, with a barrage of many coercive forces, a part of her wondered if she had made the wrong decision?
It was early November 2023, when an alarming news story suddenly filled the media. The headline was: A New Version of Corona Virus Is Sweeping the World!
The rest of the story claimed that it was primarily targeting, and killing, the vaccinated population.
“How could that be?” she wondered.
Apparently, the new virus was also coming from China. Those citizens, who’d been vaccinated, had artificially, and inadvertently, trained their immune system to simply ignore new corona viruses through the experimental vaccination process! The success rate had been good but the unanticipated future of the ‘experiment’ was now decimating the world.
Chancy slipped on her shoes and headed straight for the hospital to offer aid. This was going to be cataclysmic!
A futuristic nightmare of epic proportion.
For matters of her own health, she took only a little comfort in knowing she’d made one beautiful ‘mistake’ by not getting vaccinated. But, this wasn’t a time for ‘I told ya so’.


Sunday Writing Prompt, May 9/2021 – Beautiful Mistake | Mindlovemisery’s Menagerie (wordpress.com)