Tag Archives: literature

Is Daddy Home?

She rested her head on her hands, elbows propped upon the sill. Weary eyes filled with water and her nose was pressed against the cold glass.

“When will it ever stop raining Mummy?”

“It will stop when the clouds are empty baby, and the stars and moon can shine through them”

“When will that be?” Emily asked

“About half past your bedtime, but before the Sun raises its head.”

Headlights appeared, reflecting off my little girls curls. A car approached slowed on the gravel circle, and stopped at our front door.

“Mummy, a car,” said my little one. I waited to see who would brave to monsoonal type rain to visit us on such a night, Out of the car stepped two men in crisp Army uniform. One carried a small box, the other, a meticulously folded flag. I saw this through the window which was being pelted by raindrops. Teardrops left my eyes that would rival the speed of the rain.

I wailed as the knock came upon the door.

Daddy is home.

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 Haiku for the rain

Light rain forms puddles

Gathering on the bush path

Splash splash a birds bath

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The Sommelier. Friday Fictioneers

I have used a paragraph of an assignment I am writing about memory for uni for this challenge. In fact, the challenge prompt has assisted me in writing my assignment. Its a few words over the 100, but the entry in my assignment was way more. I edited and adapted for the challenge. I hope you enjoy.

PHOTO PROMPT © Jeff Arnold

 

I tried to finish the article I had been working on before I got the news that my father’s body had been found. I found it difficult to remember the nuances of the wine I was reviewing, so poured a glass from a fresh bottle.  Colour, deep and mysterious, Swirl, even and smooth. Sniff…sniff. The room in which my father lay was very sterile, unlike the usual smell of my father He usually smelled manly, of aftershave and hair-oil. Sniff, dark like a Christmas cake. Sip, I took one and couldn’t gauge it, so I gulped the whole glass. And Savour, yes, the taste, like memories are lingering.

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The Curtain Closes: Friday Fictioneers

PHOTO PROMPT © Dale Rogerson

Word count 99 words.

The final show was over. Most of the cast were going for drinks. I won’t be joining them. This was a long season. My children had suffered. Goodbyes, hugs and signed programs were exchanged. I had a carriage waiting.

“Welcome home ma’am”, James said. “The children are waiting. They haven’t had dinner yet”.

“Splendid” I said.

Opening the door, the children looked up. I was handed a rat, as the first of my children approached. “Hello Bertha” I said. She hissed, opened her mouth and swallowed the rat whole before wrapping her long shiny body around me in love.

 

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The Old Barn. Friday Fictioneers

Below is the story that I am submitting to the Friday Fictioneers challenge. I had to edit significantly from my original which was over 145 words. The shortened version is 107 words. I have done something here that I don’t normally do. Under the submitted story for Friday Fictioneers, you will find the original. You can choose which is better.

PHOTO PROMPT © Dawn Miller

The Old Barn

“We gotta tear the old barn down dad.”

“Why?” I turned angrily towards Jim.

“It’s not useful anymore, its an eyesore and well, its old”

“That barn has done a lot of good in its day. It’s given shelter to needy folk, looked after the animals during storms and birthing, it did you all right as a youngster.”

“Well, I’m in charge now and I’m gonna tear it down. I just wanted to tell you that’s all”.

There was no arguing with him. I stood up and walked to the barn for the last time. There I sat on my old useless chair and closed my eyes.

 

Original

“We gotta tear the old barn down dad.”

“Why?” I turned quickly and angrily towards Jim.

“It’s not useful anymore, its an eyesore and well, its old”

“That barn has done a lot of good in its day. It’s given shelter to needy folk, looked after the animals during storms and birthing, it did you all right as a youngster. It’s still sturdy, sure it has its leaks and needs a new coat of paint but…”

“Well Dad, you don’t run this farm anymore, I do. The barn is past its used by date now and I’m gonna tear it down. I just wanted to tell you that’s all”.

There was no arguing with him. Anything not productive was just discarded. I stood up, put my coffee mug in the sink and walked out to the barn for the last time. There I sat on my old useless chair and closed my eyes.

IM000622

An old but still useful barn I took a picture of prior to 2010

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Elysian: Weekend Writing Prompt

Image result for elysian

 

 

Elysian.

Death is the end of struggles. Whether it is Elysium, Heaven, Nirvana or Paradise, all represent the same thing. Freedom from all difficulty, from hunger, pain, heartache, everything removed. Well done good and faithful servant, enter into your rest. But what if we were able to have the Elysian feeling without death, without aging. It’s possible.😉

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Its our secret, ok? (Friday Fictioneers)

Prompt is the above photo, Word count:100

I confess that I am a bit of a mischief maker. When I was younger, it was penny fireworks in letterboxes or painting the principal’s car tyres pink. Nothing malicious mind you. Just good old- fashioned pranks. Everyone laughed and shook their heads. “What will you amount to Billy Saunders”.

Of Course, when I got married, I needed to be responskible (on purpose for that’s how I spoke), but since retiring, widowed, the children gone, I can be mischievous again. So, its crop circles in the Summer and Snow circles in the winter. HEHE. Nobody will ever know it’s me.

 

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Lest We Forget. Friday Fictioneers

Word Count 93.

I wrote a poem for this prompt. I hope it is acceptable. Thanks to Sandra Crook for the photo prompt.

The rugged tower of rock

stood reaching for the sky

it was made to remember heroes

Men, much braver than you or I.

 

Blindly they ran, walked or rode

into battle with the enemy unseen,

men also brave, onward they strode

whose intent was just as keen.

 

They clashed on the beaches,

and the rocky hills above

They fired guns in anger

for a country they so loved.

 

Among them was no victor

no winner could be seen

just rivers of blood which flowed

over hills that once were green.

Lest We Forget.

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The Great Mayor: Weekend writing prompt

 

I am the greatest Mayor of all time. I want to make this city great again. We will build a wall around the city to keep out criminals. I am the most popular mayor of all time. There’s no-one more popular. Look I could stand in the middle of the street and shoot someone, and people would still elect me, that’s how popular I am.

And so, the hubris went on. People actually believed the stuff that spewed from his mouth. Until, that is, his batteries started failing and one of his strings broke.

Image result for donald trump cartoon

thanks to Sammi Scribbles for the inspiration.

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Oh tree

bush shack

Oh tree

within your branches we’d play

in your shadow we’d lay

shielded from the summer sun

 

you were there when we wanted to swing

behind you we sat when crying

or hid just for fun

 

into your bark we’d carve

the initials of lovers, now gone

and still you stood strong

 

you waved your branches in anger

at the wind and storm who scared us away

we were back before long

 

under you, our pets laid to rest

with you, childhood was blessed

around you, together we’d run

 

now your branches are bare

we’d hear them sigh, you are so dry

rest now, dear tree, your work is done

 

 

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