What the witch saw...

 From her small balcony, the witch watched the world go by.....

From her small balcony, the witch watched the world go by, remembering sadly her lovely forest home.  A forest fire had raged and taken her ancient house, with the only safe place to hide was behind an old iron stove.

Sigh, so many memories…

Today Wanda was waiting for the painter, whom she had hired from a town 200 miles away, to come and cover the hideous pale blue kitchen walls with bright swirls and stripes. How can anyone stand such blandness, no excitement, no taste?

Wanda rocked and gazed through the screened in-balcony, seeing neighbors was along the street in front of what was now her home.  A jogger, who was drinking bottle water…well, he's a bit stringy! Tsk. Tsk. 

Then a muscular man walking his miniature poodle strolled by.  My, he’s burned off every bit of fat…  He waved at Wanda, as she called out, “Hello, dearie!”

Then the mailman who walked briskly, no time to linger…then the old woman with walker, skin sagging from her bones…

Finally, a rusty truck braked in front of her house, and “Painter Pete” stepped out.  “Howdy there, Mz Wanda!  I’m runnin’ a bit late, but…”  Wanda had ceased listening to his prattle.  She was instead noticing fat buttocks, portly love handles, a pudgy gut, and massive possibilities. 

“Come right in, Mr. Pete!  I have been waiting for you!”

Yes, Wanda had been waiting.  The oven was hot, the cleaver sharpened, and a hypodermic heavy duty sedative waiting.  Knocking someone out with an iron shovel was so old school.

Don't you just love Cloris Leachman?

 

Wednesday words took a slow turn May 2015 when a photo prompt (see yellow house with balcony) was the assignment.

 

Romance on the Wing

 

This photo prompt was provided by Delores at Under the Porch Light

Flying in this yellow box with wings and engine, Melba smoothed her new silk dress.  It cost her $600, the new purse $400. Dammit! I've saved for this moment, I deserve this!

When her long-time beau, Clarence, decided to take her up in his brother's plane, Melba hesitated.  James was an okay pilot, she had been told.

After a spectacular loop and bank, Clarence turned to her with a giant diamond ring in hand, "Will you marry me, Mel?"

Melba looked at him in a daze.  She opened her $400 handbag.  "Blaaah!" as she threw up in it and all over her dress.

It was a moment to remember.

Re-post, changed and rewritten, September 2015

The thing about photo prompts is the freedom. 

About 100 words or so

 

The Rooster Man is back.

 

This is a photo prompt originally from 2015.

Blood was splattered everywhere, gruesome and dark.  But, there were no bodies. None. 

Detective Jim Fouler and Forensics scoured the house, gathering bits of evidence.  But, still there was nothing, no clues at all.  

Packing up and walking out the door, Fouler was certain he had missed something.  But what?

Something from the patio caught his eye.  Turning around, Jim saw the carcass of a bright yellow rooster.  Feathers littered the patio, a patch of yellow around the dead fowl.

Detective Jim Fouler shook his head.  “He’s back.  Rooster Man is back. Damn.”

 

 

 

 

This was last posted in December 2019.  This came from a photo prompt and had to be under 100 words and I have added some words since then.  Made some corrections and changes. Loved writing this.

Girl in the Mist

Clare in the mist, photo prompt

 

‘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 fog 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.

This is a repeat from 2011. The story is from my head.

We are heading to Illinois to see our son and family.  Please leave a message!  

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 and the glassiness of the water.

Click on the link.  This is from a photo prompt, way back in 2011 or 2015? I was looking for something else, and found this instead. Great photo prompt. Stirring the pot of old stories, I enjoyed scooping it up.

Good Hunting

 From her small balcony, the witch watched the world go by.....

From her small balcony, the witch watched the world go by, remembering sadly her lovely forest home.  A forest fire had raged and taken her ancient house, with the only safe place to hide was behind an old iron stove. At least the movers moved it and set it up.

Sigh, so many memories…

Today Wanda was waiting for the painter, whom she had hired from a town 200 miles away, to come and cover the hideous pale blue kitchen walls with bright swirls and stripes. How can anyone stand such blandness, no excitement, no taste?

Wanda rocked and gazed through the screened in-balcony, seeing neighbors was along the street in front of what was now her home.  A jogger, who was drinking bottle water…well, he's a bit stringy! Tsk. Tsk. 

Then a muscular man walking his miniature poodle strolled by.  My, he’s burned off every bit of fat…  He waved at Wanda, as she called out, “Hello, dearie!”

Then the mailman who walked briskly, no time to linger…then the old woman with walker, skin sagging from her bones…

Finally, a rusty truck braked in front of her house, and “Painter Pete” stepped out.  “Howdy there, Mz Wanda!  I’m runnin’ a bit late, but…”  Wanda had ceased listening to his prattle.  She was instead noticing fat buttocks, portly love handles, a pudgy gut, and massive possibilities. 

“Come right in, Mr. Pete!  I have been waiting for you!”

Yes, Wanda had been waiting.  The oven was hot, the cleaver sharpened, and a hypodermic heavy duty sedative waiting.  Knocking someone out with an iron shovel was so old school.

Don't you just love Cloris Leachman?

This collection of  Photo Challenges is being provided by Defending the Pen. The word # is to be 100-200 words. My word count is 257, oh well. I didn't follow those directions.

It is a re-post of 2015 April, I think.  

Wednesday Photo Prompt: Auntie Marie

 Wednesdays are always fun for me. The Wednesday Words are entertaining and challenging.  This week there photo prompts provided by Margaret Adamson, and her friend Sue Fulcher. The prompts will also include photographs taken by Margaret's friend Bill Dodd.  

Here is my take on those photos:

Auntie Marie reached a shaky hand to the iron work. It had been once black and strong, now it was covered with lichen and rattled. Pushing slightly, Auntie opened it with a creak and rattle.

What had been a garden with pinks, red, and yellows was a tangle of brambles. The house had been one filled with people and family. Now it was bare brick, windows long boarded up.

Auntie opened the heavy door, dust floating in the still air. Closing her eyes, Marie whispered, "I'm home. Do you hear me? I am home."

You may find more bloggers and their comments at Elephant's Child. Head on over there and also to River where prompts are posted.

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?

Green Grows the Grove

“These trees are old, really old, Aunt Celia!” Buddy whispered to the elderly lady holding his sweet hand.  “They’s older than you, even!”  He skipped to a hidden tune.

“Yes, little boy, I know they are old,” she mused, smiled down at the intense face.  “They were old when I was your age.”

His surprised face turned to laughter as he pictured this old woman skipping.  “Then you know all about the ‘sterious dis’pear’nce of Miss Cassandra!”

“Yes, my dear Buddy, but you tell me all about it, will you?”

Buddy flew into the story of the missing Cassandra, a story handed down to each generation.  Celia hid her chuckles as Buddy threw pirates and ghosts into the simple recounting of a young lady who ran away on eve of her wedding with her fencing instructor, and her “’sterious dis’pear’nce”.  “You reckon Miss Cassandra’ll ever be found?”

When Buddy finished the grand story, both were exhausted.  “Come, little man, let’s rest here a while,” Aunt Celia indicated a bough leaning to the ground.  She perched on the lowest bend, just as Buddy’s dog came bounding by.

His question unanswered, Buddy took off after his pet.

Great-Great-Aunt Celia gazed at the ground beneath her feet, knowing that just a few feet below lay Miss Cassandra in her wedding dress. Oh, well, Cassie. These things happen. You should never had trusted me.

Celia smiled. Life has been good. 

This is photo prompt from Delores in 2012. I think this is from Atlanta, GA.

He's dead, Jim.

This is a photo prompt from 2015

Blood was splattered everywhere, gruesome and dark.  But, there were no bodies. None. 

Detective Jim Fowler and Forensics scoured the house, gathering bits of evidence.  But, still there was nothing, no clues at all.  

Packing up and walking out the door, Fowler was certain he had missed something.  But what?

Something from the patio caught his eye.  Turning around, Jim saw the carcass of a bright yellow rooster.  Feathers littered the patio, a patch of yellow around the dead fowl.

Detective Jim Fowler shook his head.  “He’s back.  Rooster Man is back. Damn.”

This was posted in December 2015.  This was a photo prompt and had to be under 100 words and I have added some words since then.  Made some corrections and changes. Loved writing this.

Green Grows the Grove

“These trees are old, really old, Aunt Celia!” Buddy whispered to the elderly lady holding his sweet hand.  “They’s older than you, even!”  He skipped to a hidden tune.

“Yes, little boy, I know they are old,” she mused, smiled down at the intense face.  “They were old when I was your age.”

His surprised face turned to laughter as he pictured this old woman skipping.  “Then you know all about the ‘sterious dis’pear’nce of Miss Cassandra!”

“Yes, my dear Buddy, but you tell me all about it, will you?”

Buddy flew into the story of the missing Cassandra, a story handed down to each generation.  Celia hid her chuckles as Buddy threw pirates and ghosts into the simple recounting of a young lady ran away on eve of her wedding with her fencing instructor, and her “’sterious dis’pear’nce”.  “You reckon Miss Cassandra’ll ever be found?”

When Buddy finished the grand story, both were exhausted.  “Come, little man, let’s rest here a while,” Aunt Celia indicated a bough leaning to the ground.  She perched on the lowest bend, just as Buddy’s dog came bounding by.

His question unanswered, Buddy took off after his pet.

Great-Great-Aunt Celia gazed at the ground beneath her feet, knowing that just a few feet below lay Miss Cassandra in her wedding dress. Oh, well, Cassie. These things happen. You should never had trusted me.

Celia smiled. Life has been good. 

This is photo prompt from Delores in 2012. I think this is from Atlanta, GA.

Crushed

Cursed and Crushed

Gary listened to Weather Channel all week, watching anxiously.  Would the storm head straight toward his house?

 

Branches swayed, leaves and lawn chairs flew. Now!  It’s time!

Gary grabbed his ax, racing to the massive rotting maple tree behind his house.  With just a few chops, it would sway and fall—smashing the house and all in it.  Can’t sell it. Ex-wife won’t leave.  Insurance settlement…That’s what I need.

Powerful gusts grabbed the tree, twisted it, and dropped it on his 
ex-wife’s new car. 

Damn! He pondered. “Emily? You okay?...”

Ax in hand, Gary walked into the house. Other chopping to do.

The Yellow Plane

This photo prompt was provided by Delores at Under the Porch Light

Flying in this yellow box with wings and engine, Florence clutched her new Coach handbag.  It cost her $600, and dammit, she deserved it.

When her fiance, Winthrop, decided to take her up in his brother's plane, Florence hesitated.  James was an excellent pilot, she had been told.

After a spectacular loop and bank, Winthrop turned to her with a giant diamond ring in hand, "Will you marry me, Flo?"

Florence looked at him in a daze.  She opened her $600 Coach handbag.  "Blaaah!" and she threw up.

This was first published in October, 2012.  Delores is brilliant.

Wednesday Words: Seth

Under the Porch Light photo prompt

Seth was relieved to complete the near vertical climb through deserted stretches of trails overlooking Las Vegas.  Seth cleaned his dusty spectacles and gazed at blinking lights below.

Ha!  And Dave said I couldn’t do it!  Seth smiled as he thought of his brother’s derision as he loaned his camp gear to novice camper Seth.  But his gloat was fleeting as he realized the sun was almost behind distant mountains, and he had yet to set up camp.  The full moon was moving behind heavy clouds and it would soon be completely dark.

Frantically Seth tried to find a suitable patch of ground that wasn’t rock hard.  He tumbled down into a trench where the softer ground made hammering spikes easier.  The tent was up in minutes with the Coleman lantern blazing.   Ha! He said again, as he dropped trousers to urinate into the dry ground.  Indecent of me, but it's camping…

As he dozed off warm and cozy within Dave's tent, he heard the thunder in the mountains and enjoyed the sound of rain falling upon the tent. 

When the ground rumbled and shook, Seth leaped outside the tent just in time to see the wall of water and mud roaring toward him along the gully.  His last thoughts were, ‘Dave is gonna be really pissed about the tent….’

Dave and his tent in happier times

Please check out of Wednesday Words and Prompts from Delores at  Under the Porch Light.  Awesome writers participate in this weekly event!  You can access her site by clicking on the peaceful stream on the right side bar.