Photo credit @Roger Bultot
Reflection of Sin
My home world and all of my transgressions reflected in mockery through its enormous eye. It snapped its mandible in anticipation. I scrambled backwards trying to find my footing as my flesh tore against the gravel.
It was true that I had fallen far from grace: the son repeats the sins of the father. Continue Reading
Below is my work for Friday Fictioneers. I also wanted to share (brag about) my success in my first writing contest. I’m batting a 1000.
We’re thrilled to announce the winner of our Postcard From the Park Mini-MOLP writing contest.
Tracey Delaplain from Reno, Nevada has scooped the title with a brilliantly crafted piece that wove in a well researched slice of American history!
I won the Magic Oxygen mini literary prize for July with my flash fiction piece, “A Wild Idea“, a postcard from the park. You can see the announcement here where you can read about future challenges.
Photo Credit @Sandra Crook
Hell Bent For Leather
The sharp tang of leather made her stomach churn. She tossed the unfinished chaps aside, a gift no longer needed. Her son’s dusty Stetson and new saddle lay where the cowboys had thrown them. A dram of whiskey had been offered and accepted. Their duty done, they had backed out of the house hats in hands, heads bowed, murmuring condolences.
Her grief now complete, both of her men lay buried beneath cow shit and broken dreams.
“The chaps could be shortened”, she thought, “and I reckon the steers won’t feed themselves.”
The prequel to today’s story is Whiskey For My Men http://wp.me/p4oHp4-Kk
Cowboy up! Go to Rochelle Wisoff-Fields site and join Friday Fictioneers. She’ll give you 100 words to round-up your story.
Photo credit@ Geogia Koch
A copper tang mingled with the dockyard flotsam.
“Lotta blood. She been dead long?”
“An hour or two, hard to say for sure.”
“Not really, just a little damp.”
The officer turned to face his partner; her uniform, wet and tattered, “Same MO, same perp?”
“You look rode hard. How long you been chasing this asshole?”
“About two hours too long,” she said, her voice strangely shallow.
“Next time call for backup. You always gotta be a damn hero.”
“Sure, next time,” her words trailed off as her image faded to nothingness.
For more hard boiled crime fiction or nautical tales go to Friday Fictioneers hosted by the famous Rochelle Wisoff-Fields.
National Park Service Centennial
August 25, 2016
Photo credit @PDPhoto
August 25, 2016 marks the U.S. National Park Service Centennial. The National Park System manages 407 national parks and continuously promotes good stewardship for the wild spaces we have come to love. These parks have been set aside for future generations to enjoy and we as Americans are stake holders in the continued efforts to preserve and protect them. Here is my tribute to Yosemite National Park and to two of the men who were dedicated to her preservation. #FindYourPark and National Park Service
A Wild Idea
No words can convey the hidden spirit of the wilderness and I confess that your vivid prose had not prepared me for the beauty of this wild place, a natural cathedral far grander than anything built by the hand of man*. I stood at the base of a 3000 year old sequoia and in its presence I could not envision a more commendable legacy than to preserve these giants.
Photo credit @Adam Ickes
A Better Plan
Wanting to disappear, I curled into myself and buried my head under the soft pillow. If I made myself small enough, I could hide from the last hours of my dad’s life.
You wrapped around me, wanting to shield me from my grief.
“No more suffering,” you said but I wasn’t sure who’s suffering you meant.
“It feels like I killed him,” I confessed.
“He begged me to push him off a dock and leave him. I couldn’t do it,” you whispered.
“That’s just stupid,” I lifted my head with a soft chuckle, “God, I’m going to miss that ridiculous old cowboy.”
In control until his last breath, my father died exactly 24 hours after he told the hospice nurse, “This will all be over by tomorrow.” The story is true and I’m so glad that my husband didn’t agree to my dad’s demand. Calling hospice was exactly the right thing to do. He had a good death with my sister and I at his bedside. I couldn’t have wished for a better ending to his story. And a day doesn’t go by that I don’t miss him and his tales and his sense of humor.
For more 100 word stories sail over to Rochelle Wisoff-Fields‘ website and follow the dock to Friday Fictionners. (Oops, I guess it’s a bridge and not a dock.)
Photo credit @ Ted Strutz
“Let’s just say I’m a girl. You can imagine that can’t you?”
The gossamer threads left very little to his imagination but he nodded in reply taking the dancer in his arms. Continue Reading
PHOTO PROMPT- Copyright – Jan Wayne Fields
To Swallow the Truth
I was to write a “thought piece” extolling the virtues of Lady Liberty; a bit of history and a huge dose of propaganda.
What I wanted to say was that The Lady had closed her arms and opened her legs long ago.
If I had swallowed my truth pill instead of sticking it under my desk, I could have easily written the lies.
“Diversity and discontent serve no purpose in our united state.”
Swallow or spit?
I reached under my desk, pulled off the wet capsule and swirled it on my tongue.
With the truth slowly dissolving in my mouth, maybe Lady Liberty wasn’t a whore after all.
For more Friday Fictioneer, 100 word “truths” trip over to Rochelle Wisoff-Fields website and follow your assignment without question. No Thought Police allowed.