Secrets

gateway-jhardy

Thanks to Rochelle at Friday Fictioneers for hosting. If you’d like to participate, visit here.

For more stories, visit here.


Secrets

 

I was eleven when I kept my first secret.

I thought Adrienne, who lived in the mansion, was a beautiful, golden princess.

I saw her the day she crawled through the gap in the fence, carrying a knapsack, her blonde hair a halo.

“You can’t tell anyone you saw me,” she said. “It’s our secret.”

She darted through the woods and into a rusted red pickup. The driver looked at me, his gaze burning me with frost. He pressed his forefinger to his lips.

Fear pervaded my dreams. The princess screamed.

Her body was found a week later.

 

end 3/22/2017

S. Darlington

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Reality TV Presents: “Just Good Ole Boys”

 

Reality TV Presents: “Just Good Ole Boys”

I knew when I married him that Ry was not the sharpest tool in the chest. What I didn’t know was the extent of the lack of sharpness or the fact that he was, indeed, a tool.

I took his desire to be on a reality tv series about a group of good ole boys in stride, figuring that, while he was cute as all get out, he really knew nothing about being a good ole boy except for his love of cars. Somehow that must have won the hearts, minds, and souls of those “in the know” because he was cast.

In the weeks that followed Ry was glued, almost literally (don’t ask; there was super glue involved), to youtube watching every single fishing, hunting, and gun video that existed.

“I’m gonna be famous, honey, just you wait,” he said. He smiled at me, his big blue eyes shining and that dimple creating a crater in the side of his cheek and I remembered why I married him: because he was cuter than sin. I dug deep and found acceptance of his new found desire for fame. My bad.

I would like to say, “somehow” Ry forgot about the constantly rolling cameras, but there was no “somehow” involved. Ry forgot about ten minutes into their filming and went about life the way he always had. He became an immediate sensation. People loved him. He was a cute, foolish man who frequently needed to be reminded to put on pants. Again, literally.

Which is how I found out about Lily Conrad Shears. Real name.

On that fateful afternoon with the cameras of “Just Good Ole Boys” running, Ry Hulver stepped into the afternoon sunshine draped across Lily Conrad Shears’ front porch in his blue plaid button down and his boxers. He stood there looking around and you half-expected him to break into a chorus of “Oh, What a Beautiful Morning” but instead the door opened behind him and Lily Conrad Shears thrust my husband’s blue jeans into his arms and then twiddled her fingers at the camera. She was wearing only a black and red teddy.

I have been assured that there are worse things than finding out via nationally broadcast television that your cuter than sin husband has been boinking an invasive, predatory species. When asked what, the immediate response is death, of course. Which is why the sheriff of Carderiff County is on his way here. But between you and me, I didn’t do it. Oh, I’ll probably tell the sheriff that too, so never mind the between you and me thing. We’ll just catch up later.

end 3/22/20167

S. Darlington

A to Z Blogging Challenge Theme Reveal!

thmrevel

a2z-badge-1002b255b2017255d

 

So really, life isn’t crazy enough.

Why not add on a 5th or 6th commitment to April?

I will be taking part in the A-Z Blogging Challenge starting on April 1.

I will write a flash fiction piece centered around an emotion—emotions A-Z.

 

I will also be adding two more hours to each day.

“I’ve Been a Bad, Bad Girl”

If thoughts are as bad as deeds, then Leah knows she’s karmically going to a really bad place.

Ever since Tony yelled viciously at the children, making Nellie cry body-racking sobs, she’s considered ways to leave him . . . or kill him.

But he’s constantly around, claiming to work from home. He doesn’t trust her. He thinks she’s going to run off with some man. What man? A bloke at the shop?

He watches her all the time, checks her mobile, even hacked into her email. He labels her best friend, Jane, a lesbo because Jane doesn’t react to his “charms.” Did he have some once? He must have. Once. Or she wouldn’t be here.

“Babe, fry me some mushrooms,” he says.

She almost says “no” because neither she nor the children like them. And, then she remembers the article warning about the deathcap mushrooms.

 

end 3/20/2017

S. Darlington

 

Semantics

My grandpa was a firm believer in words and thoughts. He often said, “If people could think their way out of a paper bag, there would be no wars.”

What paper bags had to do with wars, I never quite knew, but for a very long time I repeated that thought mostly to my classmates who nodded solemnly as if I had spoken great wisdom. Of course, Gar Parker, my nemesis, had to ask: “What’s that mean?”

I hitched myself up to my 4’7” and looked him firmly in his freckled nose and said: “It’s self-evident.”

He laughed. “You don’t know, do you?”

I pushed him. “I do so. It’s about wars and paper bags. I said so, didn’t I?”

He laughed harder and then had the audacity to pull one of my braids. I reared back and hit him with all of my might, which hurt me, probably more than him, although he did go sprawling on his backside and I had the momentary pleasure of seeing the tallest boy in class hunkering down, momentarily, in front of me. I didn’t know what to expect, certainly not the smile that appeared as his hand slid over his cheek.

“You hit hard for a girl,” he said.

Unfortunately for me, Miss Council saw me hit Gar and marched me to the Principal Cartwright’s office.

Later that evening, grandpa said: “Do not conquer your enemies, become one with them.”

The throb in my knuckles made those words sound like very good advice indeed. “He’s not an enemy, grandpa, he’s just a boy.”

Grandpa grinned. “One of those, eh? Now that’s much more work than an enemy.”

“No kidding.”

“But soon you’ll have him eating out of your hand.”

“He’s a boy, not a dog.”

“Semantics, my dear, semantics.”

 

end 3/19/2017

S. Darlington

 

Mythbuster

grasshopper

PHOTO PROMPT © Shaktiki Sharma

Thanks to Rochelle at Friday Fictioneers for hosting. If you’d like to participate, visit here.

For more stories, visit here.


Mythbuster

 

My brother called me “young grasshopper.” He practiced tai chi years before it became a fad. He vanished in 1972, two days before shipping out. Today he would be 68. When I was 21, I drove his ancient VW bug in search of him.

 

These are facts.

He became a roadie for Fleetwood Mac.

He ate donuts with Elvis the eve before Elvis died.

He was the graffitist known as El Doro.

He penned a novel if read backwards includes the lyrics of all Beatles’ songs

He watches Kung Fu and recalls, sometimes with regret, “young grasshopper.”

 

These are myths.

end 3/9/2017 (100 words)

S. Darlington


 

Taking It All Too Hard

 

Taking It All Too Hard

The problem with experiencing life too deeply is at some point you reach the “fill to here” line and it just takes one more wayward sensation to jiggle the lever that pitches you down the jagged slope into emotional darkness.

end 2/26/2017

S. Darlington


French Connection

tltweek56

photo by Clem Onojehungo via Unsplash

Three Line Tales, Week 56


French Connection

 

In the only picture we have of her, Great Uncle Bob’s French wife, Camille, leans against a rusted Chevy pick-up, her eyes staring into the distance, her lips pursed, seeming far away and unhappy.

“A traitor,” Aunt Daphne said flicking her finger at the photo. “She consorted with the damn Germans and betrayed her townspeople.”

At seven, the words “consort” and “betray” were as foreign to me as the distaste in her mouth, so I said the only thing I could relate to: “My best friend, Kira, is damn German and she talks funny but her mommy bakes nice cookies.”

end 2/25/2017 (100 words)

S. Darlington