Aunt Tilly and her passing

 

The coffin of Great Aunt Tilly lay in state in the funeral home, surrounded by family, who mourned her passing.  Whispering between themselves, their depth of sorrow was on display.  

She was quite the grand personality…Well, she was one stingy b…When Tilly entered the room, who could ignore her?…she was evil, downright ev…she was the best mother…

No one could say with certainty when the door creaked open and a slow dense fog rolled in along the floor.  No one could describe how the temperature fluctuated between cold and colder.

Screaming, all stampeded from the funeral home to their cars and roared away.

Andrew Jones, the undertaker, and his son Richard were speechless at first. Then Richard cleared his throat, “Well, you don’t see that every day.”

This is a post from Dec. 2015. The underlined words come from Wednesday Words from that time.These were provided by River. The problem of using words from an old post  is that  they can be peculiar.  River-driftingthroughlife@blogspot.com, Elephant'sChild at  myjustsostory.@blogspot.com.often provide some great words.

 

Clare in the Mist, waiting waiting

 

Clare in the mist, courtesy of http://1stwrites.blogspot.com

‘Today, I will watch for him today,’ Clare thought, staring out across the bay.

The mist roiled about her, soaking her to the skin.  Clare shivered and then her skin relaxed in the warmth that followed.  Listening for a sound, she found herself in a cocoon of mist and silence. 

How many days had Jackson been gone?  ‘Today is three-hundred eighty-four’, she rolled the number around in her head.  Flash images of his back as he slung his rucksack  over his shoulder, growing smaller in the distance as he rowed his curragh away from her—that’s all she could see now.  His face was a blur, lost in a mist itself.

Still no sound, Clare strained to hear, to see just a hint that Jackson was coming back to her.  That he would stay this time.

Then a sound, ker-plunk, broke the stillness of the air, the glassiness of the water.

Click on the link.  This is from a photo prompt, way back in 2011. I was looking for something else, and found this instead.  I do enjoy writing a short story.

What do you think Clare is thinking? Such devotion, is it one sided? Where did Jackson go? Why? What would you do?

Wednesday Words: Evening Plays Out

Oh, Delores!

As a blazing sun descended, a crescent moon waited to emerge. An evening mist spread over the rainbow leaves.

Black Squirrel made a rapid assessment of the perimeter before retiring in his acorn filled nest. Staring at a hidden camera, Squirrel thought, Get a life, why dontcha? He scampered up to his beloved hoard.

Black Crow landed in the old oak, just above Squirrel’s home. He cawed to Squirrel, “You up for some Texas Holdem tonight, Billy?”

To which Billy chattered, “You betcha, Timmy. Your place or mine?”

A Winning Hand

 Again, many many thanks to Delores at Under the Porch Light, whose words, wit, evil (vociferous?) and tricky mind, photos, and just downright clever personality never cease to amaze me.  Her site contains some amazing answers to this week's challenge.  Enjoy!