Lost Causes – Fiction

Time for this week’s Flash Fiction For Aspiring Writers.   It begins anew each Wednesday.   100-150 words more or less to do with   the photo below  (photo changes each week).  I’ll put the link to this week’s stories at the end of this piece.  Blogs, like this, are such a great gift for writers – and I believe readers,  too.  Pass on by – click on the froggy at the end of this story.

Very thankful  to PJ for hosting this for us. Your hard work, on our behalf, is so much appreciated.

churchLost Causes

At least once a month,  Mom would march us kids to the parish church to light a prayer candle.  We’d pray for anyone in our neighborhood gossip and hard times deemed worthy.  I guess that set me up for a lifetime of lighting votive candles and praying for lost causes.

I prayed a lot when Peter left me.  I prayed so much my knees were red.  Sometimes they’d bleed,  but not as much as Peter bled.

“Is there anything you want to say on your own behalf?” the judge asked me.

“No,” I replied.

All these years later, I’m still not sorry.  He loved on her in our bed, and then he left me.  That’s enough to drive any woman crazy.

I know it’s hopeless, but sometimes I go to the prison chapel and spend a dime on a votive candle.  I light it and pray for his sorry soul and my crazy heart.

Ellespeth

thanks to ©priceless joy for our photo this week

Planning A Getaway…

cottagefor our 14th wedding anniversary next month – to this wonderful garden cottage.  It’s near the ocean.  It’s near the redwoods and fine hiking trails and fantastic seafood.  And the best part is that it’s less than 45 minutes away from where we live.

I can imagine opening that gate to see the magnificent garden.  Ohhhh!  And dreaming in this bedroom with a balcony overlooking the garden!

bedroomWe have so much to celebrate and be thankful for in our lives.

Ellespeth   

A Preference For Fiction – Poetry/Poetic Fiction

Time for this week’s Flash Fiction For Aspiring Writers.   It begins anew each Wednesday.   100-150 words more or less to do with   the photo below  (photo changes each week).  I’ll put the link to this week’s stories at the end of this piece.  Blogs, like this, are such a great gift for writers – and I believe readers,  too.  Pass on by – click on the froggy at the end of this story.

And so…all that would come to me is this poem.   Nothing new about these feelings.  Not in poetry and not in fiction.

gazeboA Preference For Fiction

Even though the snow has melted
and spring beckons hopeful thoughts,
there seems still the chill
of winter passing through our love.

I sit
near the fireplace
on a soft floor pillow
and poke
burning logs into a crackling state
and watch
you, sitting in your easy chair,
reading a book
of fiction.

Outside there is a crispness in the air.
The sky is bluer than a blues song.
Some trees struggle to survive another winter.
Some trees
refuse to accept
that winter exists.

One day
the wind will call us
and we will sail onward.
Eventually we might dock
where nothing else matters but love.

None of this means anything.
Today is just a day
stuck between seasons.

Ellespeth

photo prompt © Dawn M. Miller

Moving Day – Fiction

Time for another installment of   Friday Fictioneers  hosted by Rochelle.  100 words or so based on the image below. Click on the froggy link (after this piece) and come join us!

This story marks a year I’ve been pestering people with Friday Fictioneers. I really never dreamed that I could write a story almost as short as my poetry, so I’m grateful for the encouragement I’ve received here. For me, Friday Fictioneers has become as addictive as Crème Brûlée.

My offering, this week, is a 100 word piece about Chloe – a fairy character I’ve written about before in my infrequent series “Once Upon A Bed Again”

ff_santoshwriter-1Moving Day

When Miss Randolph died she left behind a garden – famous for miles around,  and me.

My name is Chloe.  I’m a fairy and I live in a dewdrop, on a bougainvillea leaf, deep in Miss Randolph’s garden.  I’m moving today.  It won’t be the same here without her.  You see, we’ve known each other since she was a young child.  When I first moved here,  I was her bedroom fairy.  Then I was her garden fairy.  At the end, I was once again her bedroom fairy.

I don’t want to move too far away.  Miss Randolph promised she’d visit me often.

Ellespeth

photo prompt – © Santoshwriter

When Silo Was Born – Fiction

 Time for another installment of   Friday Fictioneers  hosted by Rochelle.  100 words or so based on the image below. Click on the froggy link (after this piece) and come join us!

When Silo Was Born

Everyone waited out in the heat that afternoon. We looked at each other with fear in our eyes. The silo, just outside our town, had blown apart. People talked sparks and metal and I’m in labor just about then.

My daddy was crying as they wheeled me into the delivery room. I kept asking for you. My mother squeezed my hand. She was crying, too.

He came out so beautiful and perfect and screaming his way into this world. I named him Silo. Since we hadn’t chosen a name yet, that one seemed best to me at the time.

Ellespeth

 

prompt -© Marie Gail Stratford

I Promise I’ll Forgive You One Day- Fiction

Time for this week’s Flash Fiction For Aspiring Writers.   It begins anew each Wednesday.   100-150 words more or less to do with   the photo below  (photo changes each week).  I’ll put the link to this week’s stories at the end of this piece.  Blogs, like this, are such a great gift for writers – and I believe readers,  too.  Pass on by – click on the froggy at the end of this story.

Very thankful  to PJ for hosting this for us.  It’s so much appreciated.  So exciting to see how this is taking off and attracting more people each week.

I Promise I’ll  Forgive You One Day

Sometimes I wonder if you remember, like I do, that afternoon at the park. The world was colored burnt orange and fading green. A flock of mallard ducks guided each other to a swim in the river’s gentle flow. So many innocent yesterday promises. We were going to remember that afternoon forever.

“We don’t have to hate each other before we say good-bye,”  I said years later. It was raining and cold.  I was standing in the foyer, looking at you through the screened door.

You were standing on the porch looking back at me through the silence.

Sometimes silence is like a vacuum. It just sucks everything out of a person right before some deeper, more peaceful breath prevails; when that ascent to forgiveness seems impossible. What was there left to promise anymore?

Ellespeth

Thanks to PJ for our photo.