The Princess of Hardy County, West Virginia #amwriting

Thank you to Alistair at Sunday Photo Fiction for hosting. If you’d like to join in, click here. To read more stories click here⇒


© Mike Vore

The Princess of Hardy County, West Virginia

“Rise! Rise! I am the Princess of Hardy County, West Virginia!” I danced in sunshine between cow patties, velvety mullein, and prickly purple thistles. The rush through the pine grove whispered rain.

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Something of a Dreamer #amwriting

Something of a Dreamer

Elsa was known for digging up obscure songs by famous singers. She’d share the really good ones. After my failed crush on a man who barely registered my existence, she played this song by Mary Chapin Carpenter, “Something of a Dreamer.”

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Take It All Back #amwriting


Take It All Back

“Don’t tell me I’m overreacting. You’re nothing but a stupid redneck hick.” As the words escape, Melissa regrets them, but some awful force makes her continue. Meanness molds every word.

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Sky Bruised, Wine Bled #amwriting

Thanks to Alistair at Sunday Photo Fiction for providing and hosting this prompt. If you’d like to participate, click here.

© A Mixed Bag

Sky Bruised, Wine Bled

You know how you’re in the midst of a situation and realize while it’s fun, it’s all wrong?

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Let’s Fly Away #amwriting


To join in Sunday Photo Fiction, click here.


Let’s Fly Away

The phone slipped from her numb fingers to the carpet where she stared at it as if it had become a scorpion. She considered stomping on it with the heel of her shoe.

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I Choose You


© C.E.Ayr

Sunday Photo Fiction⇐this is the link if you want to participate.

Thank you to Alistair at Sunday Photo Fiction as always for providing this prompt! To read more stories for this prompt, click here.

I Choose You

After walking Judy suggests stopping at the tearoom overlooking the river. I order a slice of coconut cake. An orange cat winds itself around my legs, purring, while a black and white one crawls onto my lap.

Edward grins. “Even here you pick up strays.”

“Oh, they’re not strays,” say the proprietor, placing the teapots on the table. “They’re pests. My husband’s pests.”

Edward’s sister, Judy, and her partner, Stanley, sit opposite us. Judy eyes my cake.

“That looks nice,” Judy says. “You Americans and your sweets.”

On her plate is half of a scone; on Stanley’s is the other half. I glance at Edward, my lips still hugging the fork, adoring the delicious cake. He’s oblivious to the constant undercurrent.

I take one more tiny bite and then set the plate on the table.

Judy raises a thin eyebrow. “You’re not going to finish that? You lot always waste food. When I was young, we were lucky to even see cake. Isn’t that right, Edward?”

A boat motors by its throb like the cat’s purr. Edward pats the orange cat on the head, squeezes my fingers, and then taps my wedding ring, silently reminding me: “I choose you.”

end 2/1/2017

S. Darlington

Will You Lie with Me and Just Forget the World?


Sunday Photo Fiction⇐this is the linky if you want to participate.

Thank you to Alistair at Sunday Photo Fiction as always for providing this prompt! To read more stories for this prompt, click here.

Will You Lie with Me and Just Forget the World?

What were you thinking when you asked me here to the hotel where we spent two nights of our supposed honeymoon because neither of us had time or money for the real thing? Time, money, the expiration of our marriage as well since we’re now separate entities.

The elevator plods. At every floor it stops, the doors yawn open, admitting no one before continuing upward.

When it reaches the fourteenth floor, my patience ends. Every despairing moment of our married life careens into one great atomic bomb of a moment.

If the floor weren’t carpeted, my high-heeled steps would be heard miles away. I knock at the door. No loving patter, just solid thumping.

The door swings open. You are there, smiling, hopeful. I wonder what in the hell you have to smile about.

Something in your eyes is different. Something in your eyes reminds me of the boy you used to be. The first time we kissed. The first time you said “I love you.”

In the background I hear “Chasing Cars.”

You reach for my hand. I watch it enfold mine.

“I need you. I miss you. Can we try again?”

Just simple words rip me wide open.


end 1/28/2017

S. Darlington

When the Wolfsbane Blooms


Sunday Photo Fiction⇐this is the linky if you want to participate.

Thank you to Alistair at Sunday Photo Fiction as always for providing this prompt! To read more stories for this prompt, click here.

When the Wolfsbane Blooms

I am, again, at the mercy of Maximilian Rolfe, who, let’s face it, has none. I want the goblet. He’s filled it with poison. Tells me to drink. As if.

I tend to think: what would Indiana do? That’s not much help because we know that good timing and coincidence work for him. For me? Not so much.

“So what’s my poison?” I ask. The question sounds cooler in the movies maybe because there it’s not really poison.

“Aconite. Swift acting to get rid of your meddlesome self.”

“Tell me again, why do you have to kill me?”

He doesn’t bother answering. He edges closer, the goblet outthrust, his icy blue eyes impassive. I note bloodied wounds on his torso showing that my pathetic attempts at fighting did damage his body.

“Aconite?” I repeat. A factoid rousing my brain. “There’s no other way?”

“Just drink so I don’t have to hear your tiresome voice anymore.”

He stumbles. The liquid sloshes but doesn’t fall. I eye the goblet’s skeletal face and then Rolfe’s.

Too cavalier. Too assured. Too murderous. Too easy.

I remove the goblet from his hands. It’s heavier than I expect as I launch the liquid toward his open wounds.

end 1/21/2017 (200 words)

S. Darlington