Click on the graphic image to be transported to Sammi’s page and other ‘goodnight’ works.
Ginny-Ginny is Forever
I wish we were again
She, her; I, me, when
Somehow two were one,
All days and nights were special
When bedtime was large
with Daddy’s love.
I kissed her neck, repeating Goodnight, g’night so fast, ginny-ginny
became our special time,
She’d laugh, then sleep.
Look both ways at special bonds of love,
for wanting to be better than we were,
for past moments that will never be forgotten.
Mind the gaps of imperfection in humanity.
***
“A daughter is the happy memories of the past, the joyful moments of the present, and the hope and promise of the future.” ~ Unknown
“Watching your daughter being collected by her date feels like handing over a million-dollar Stradivarius to a gorilla.” ~ Jim Bishop
Another fine photo prompt as FF Mistress Rochelle and Darling Dale team up yet again to prompt me into some foolish fiction for the final 2021 Friday fib.
Click on Dale’s photo to flash over to Rochelle’s blog in case you want to learn more about writing to a photographer’s photo. The prompt pic and my yarn follow.
Genre: Biographical Fiction
Title: Dale’s Candid Camera
Word Count: 100
Are you sure we got the right one, Maggie? We’ll never get away with this. We’re gunna get caught. Who cops trees at Christmas time?
It’ll be fine Ralphie boy. Once we get past this hotel, we’ll have a free tree, Eh?
Who’s that?
Who is what?
That lady over there is taking our fucking picture. Quick, hide your faces. Everybody has a freaking camera these days. It’s almost enough to make me stop stealing things.
Do you think we’ll be published? Maybe she wants to make us famous.
Just keep moving and hope… Oh shit Maggie. I think that’s Dale.
Look both ways, everyone is camera ready these days.
Mind the gaps and check the trees for varmints and critters.
Smile, you’re in the blogosphere.
Click on Jack and Sarah (Tony Danza & Lea Thompson) in “Stealing Christmas” to read more soon to-be-famous micro-fiction.
I admit it. Sometimes I joke about lesser folk,
about how I am grateful to them
for making me look better than I am.
We called them shit screens,
or wedges that raised everyone else up
the totem as they forced their way into
the bottom of the pile. Isn’t that awful?
I don’t know by what standard I should be judged,
nor how I should think about myself.
I just want hot coffee on cold mornings
and time to think about a full life,
or to worry about people I love,
for no specific reason except I care.
To all those whose tarnished image I have improved
when I wedged my own way down,
or screened out the shit storm on my own,
or played the bug on your windshield,
you’re most welcome,
from the bottom of my sniffy faults.
Look both ways and reflect on things like envy and greed.
Mind the gaps as dysfunction becomes the new normal.
Each Wednesday, the wonderful and majestic Rochelle sends a photo to inspire us to write one-hundred or fewer words that tell a story. Friday Fictioneers is fun. Click on the prompt photo for the access to her special page.
Genre: Sci-Fi
Title: It Is What Was
Word Count: 100
“This SUV is a time machine that transports mentally, not physically. You can only go back during your lifetime, not forward.
“That mirror shows exact time and place holographically. You go from now to then for about five minutes, then you are back here. You may change any past decision of yours, but rules disallow affecting life or death—kind of a prime directive. Your life will change based on the new decision. Any questions?”
What if I change my mind afterwards?
“We allow one free return trip to reset things. So far, everyone has done that. Ready?”
Not yet.
Look both ways, regret little, love much, and be yourself.
Mind the gaps and SUV, time machine sales staff.
“Finish each day and be done with it.” (Ralph Waldo Emerson)
Click on the time machine module to read other stories.
Click the prompt graphic to teleport to Sammi’s blog and other poetry or prose.
Egregiously Absurd
Smugglers
of humans seeking better lives, liberty, to taste
freedom, asking only workman’s wages.
They flee to us with wicked problems,
bringing constantly changing confusion,
due to undefinable inequalities of states.
By coercion or consent, trusting snakeheads,
coyotes, or polleros; at great cost and risk,
begging asylum from worse.
We pick them up, send them back;
our failed fences, blank walls.
WTF is beautiful about that?
Look both ways and “Imagine there’s no countries
It isn’t hard to do
Nothing to kill or die for
And no religion, too.”
Mind the gaps on the high road of morality.
Friday Fictioneers challenges us to write fewer than 101 words mused up by a photograph supplied by one of us and posted as our prompt by the ever-wonderful Rochelle. Click the prompt photo to see her blog page and get clued-in on all the fun.
Genre: Crime Fiction
Title: The Payoff
Word count: 100
I was out walking behind the old abandon Morrow Brothers service station, where I had my first job. Hearing voices, I climbed over the mess of old mufflers and tires to see.
I saw Clay Morrow arguing with some guy. Morrow pulled a gun from his toolbox and shot the man.
I saw youthful me—watching.
Then, I watched as Morrow walked over to me, said something, and handed me a paper.
Back home, I called Dr. Kupferberg.
“Doc, I wasn’t dreaming. I remember. I witnessed a murder and told no one. Morrow paid me off. I’m holding the check.”
Look both ways.
You won’t recall repressed memories, until you do.
Mind the gaps in criminal acts, especially if you’re involved.
Click on Clay Morrow’s (Ron Perlman) gun to read other renditions.
From the bar at dVerse, Lisa pitched me the Prosery Monday poem, “When We Sing Of Might,” by Kimberly Blaeser (see it here).
From the poem, Lisa lifted a line for me to fold into a piece of prose of fewer than 145 words of my own making but including the line, “I dress in their stories patterned and purple as night.”
I had to use every word of the entire line. I was allowed to change punctuation and to capitalize words, but I was not permitted to insert words in between parts of the sentence.
But for the Grace of What?
I walked the muddy road through the depressingly disgusting homeless camp. There was nothing but mud everywhere; muddy tents and muddy mad people totally demoralized and pissed off at the world that had put them here. They were angry about being in this place and they refused to come to terms with what they themselves had created, not just a camp, but a metaphor for their lost lives, an intractable bog of stink and decay. The city provided piss pits and shit pots smelled to hell and back. These lost souls were in the grips of unshakable petulance. It was in their eyes, posture, and the way they walked. To report on this homeless debacle, I knew what I had to do. I would be in Rome and do as they did. Briefly, I dress in their stories—patterned and purple as night.
Look both ways to see all that’s there.
Mind the gaps, but spare judgement.
There, but for the good grace of random fortune, go I.
Friday Fictioneers challenges us to write micro-fiction (<101 words) prompted by a photograph supplied by one of our colleagues. It’s all teed up by our friend, extraordinary artist, and fabulous leader, Rochelle. Click the prompt photo to see her blog page with all the skinny. It’s fun.
Today’s picture has a two-level outhouse indicating politicians up top and voters below. I recall seeing this arrangement in a military cartoon with officers on top and enlisted below.
In the Viet Nam War, officers and radiomen were preferred targets of the North Vietnam Army and the Viet Cong, which is why soldiers did not salute officers in the field.
Genre: Military Fiction (War Story)
Word Count: 100
Title: FNG* Down
The new Lieutenant ordered me to be his radio man. Our platoon leader was callow, yet confident and eager. A stickler for rules, he risked soldiers’ lives needlessly. A poor listener with a gung-ho, know-it-all attitude.
He chewed me out in front of my squad and gave me extra guard duty. Bad enough I had to hump the motherfucker’s goddamn radio.
In the jungle one day the lieutenant ordered me to step back, I yelled, “Yes, Sir,” stepped back and saluted him. The crack sound of the AK-47 made me dive for cover.
Our next lieutenant was a big improvement.
Be aware of enemy presence and men with guns.
Mind the gaps, make more friends than enemies, and keep your powder dry.
Just because you are paranoid doesn’t mean you’re not being watched.
Click on the soldier to link to the squares, where other stories are being told.
*FNG is military initialism and jargon for fucking new guy.
Our Literary Journey 