Puppy for Christmas! #amwriting

Thank you, Rochelle, for providing us with Friday Fictioneers!

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Friday Fictioneers for 5/26/2017


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

31st Wedding Anniversary


© John Brand

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

31 Wedding Anniversary

“The ivy, John,” Ramona says.

“Yes, dear,” says John while continuing his Sudoku.

“I hate to nag . . .”

“Yes, dear.”

“…but the ivy will kill the tree. It taps into the moisture around the roots and sucks the life out of it.”

“I know exactly how it feels.”


end 4/29/2017

S. Darlington

Fish Out Of Water


photo by Clay Knight via Unsplash

Three Line Tales, Week 65

Fish Out Of Water

The instant the caught fish is removed from water, he begins to drown.

Here in urban sprawl without the mountains, I begin to suffocate.

You take my hand, tell me to breathe, and I believed I could do anything for you.


end 4/26/2017

S. Darlington



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

For more stories, visit here.



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



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.



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