Memaw’s Law #amwriting

Thank to Rochelle for hosting Friday Fictioneers. If you would like to participate, click here.

phone-booth-jhc

PHOTO PROMPT © J Hardy Carroll

Memaw’s Law

Who to call? Continue reading

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Dreaming Darkness #amwriting

Thanks to Rochelle, as always, for providing a home for these wonderful photo prompts for Friday Fictioneers. If you would like to join in the fun, visit here.

vw-in-israel-wmq

PHOTO PROMPT © Kent Bonham

 

Dreaming Darkness

Darkness threatened as I navigated twisting streets trying to catch a glimpse of Joe’s taillights. This recurring dream inhibited my daytime, injecting uncertainty where none before existed.

Our life was good; why would he leave?

The house shook with thunder. The shepherd cowered between my knees and the stove where I stirred onions in olive oil.

Mary’s tiny voice filled brief quiet gaps. “What game is this, Daddy? How do I play?”

I peered around the doorway to see him, sweating, prostrate on the carpet.

Through thick rain I trailed the ambulance, its taillights red in the eclipsing darkness.

 

end 7/21/2017

Sascha Darlington

Spell for True Love #amwriting

PHOTO PROMPT © Janet Webb

Thank you to Rochelle at Friday Fictioneers for providing such a beautiful prompt for us this week! And thank you to Janet Webb for creating the picture.

 

Spell for True Love

 

June flashed by on the sparkles of fireflies as he promised to do.

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Nothing But My Aching Soul #amwriting

Thanks to Rochelle for hosting Friday Fictioneers. If you’d like to join in, click here.

PHOTO PROMPT © Claire Sheldon

Nothing But My Aching Soul

I feel for Jocelyn.

What if my husband left me for a twenty-something bikinied selfie-taker whose photos Continue reading

Hourglass #amwriting

dale-rogerson4

PHOTO PROMPT © Dale Rogerson

For Friday Fictioneers. Thank you to the wonderful Rochelle for hosting this group. To read the instructions and join in, please visit here.

 

Hourglass

I met a Swedish boy on Christmas Day and kissed him on Boxing Day and felt the earth move at Kamala Bay.

I touched my fingers to my lips and smiled at this boy, my first kiss.

We were still holding hands, not comprehending when an accented man herded us and other tourists toward a packed bus.

“Tsunami,” someone said.

The joy of the kiss evaporated as my emotions unspooled like myriads of delicate thread concentrating on my parents and little sister at the pool. Praying.

The bus bumped up a steep road and the shore behind became ocean.

 

end

Sascha Darlington

Love Needs No Words

I’m still on vacation, but I have such a compulsion to keep up with my photo prompts. I haven’t been doing as much writing as I would have hoped. But I guess vacation is about doing whatever or not doing whatever your mind needs or doesn’t need to do.

I have the best of intentions to read everyone’s entry for the week and I apologize in advance if vacation gets the best of me. I have felt like I really need this vacation, but I hate not writing and reading the works of you all.

Thanks as always to Rochelle for hosting this week’s prompt. I have chosen to believe in hope. If you’d like to participate, you can find the instructions and the photo prompt here.


 

charred-toys

Love Needs No Words

Your immediate thought is: we’ve lost everything.

And then you see your husband, his strong arms around Cecilia who’s still sobbing with fear and Bennie who has embraced your leg with both of his chubby arms so tightly entwined that you can’t move, his face buried against your thigh, and the silly dog, Casper, caked with mud shakes and then wags his tail and dashes to you, a smile on his face and you think, “No. Everything we’ve lost is replaceable.”

You share a glance with your husband. Your heart surges. He nods. Love needs no words.

 

end

6/3/2017

Sascha Darlington

Shattered

j-hardy-rubble

Friday Fictioneers for 5/26/2017


Shattered

The teenagers called me “crazy artist lady.”

The men loitering nearby called me worse when I refused their “offers.”

My lover called me stubborn for staying. “It’s not safe.”

I scoffed. “They’re just talk.”

 

I worked all day and into the evening, but flagged. Grabbing Gordo the Great Dane’s lead, we loped to the coffee shop; I hummed something cheery.

The barista smiled. “Your showing’s tomorrow?”

“Day after.”

“You must be excited.”

“And nervous.”

 

Red paint dripped down my door from the four-letter slur. Inside, three years of blown-glass artwork glittered in the light, innocently beautiful in its destruction.

 

end 5/24/2017

Sascha Darlington

Just Another Monday #amwriting

inside-the-diner

PHOTO PROMPT © Roger Bultot

Friday Fictioneers for May 19. Click here for instructions on how to participate. Thank you, Rochelle, for hosting.


Just Another Monday

Most mornings I eat breakfast here, an egg white omelet with veggies and cheddar. Roberto now adds green chile sauce remembering I like it spicy. I sip coffee at the counter, my attention diverted from my phone to the conversation between Roberto’s dad, Felix, and three women.

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