Day 5 30-Day Song Challenge

Bruuuuuuuuuuuuuuuce! Continue reading


Holes #amwriting

I’m back to Friday Fictioneers! I’ve missed it! Thank you to Rochelle, as always.

PS I am still on vacation for another couple of days and will be back in totality (or whatever) on Sunday or Monday. Thanks for sticking around.



The war damaged Uncle Randolph. Continue reading



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


The Wars of Men



The Wars of Men

Every weekend my dad takes my great granddad’s car for showing.

There are words here I don’t know.

My dad bruises, sorrow buried deep, he doesn’t share. Skinny boys with bombs strapped around their torsos.

My granddad’s scars hide within, jungle mayhem, Saigon falling.

My great grandad survived Bataan, barely. Skeletal body, but a poet’s soul. His words of marching and death, echo in earliest memories.

I am a girl lost in the wars of men.

end 1/28/2017

S. Darlington


Traveling Soldier


PHOTO PROMPT © Roger Bultot

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

For more stories, visit here.

Traveling Soldier

Tonight’s slow.

I am refilling condiments and shakers when a guy with close-cropped sandy hair and hypnotic blue eyes sits in my section.

“What are you having?” I ask.

“Coffee. Breakfast #2. You.”

I glare. He smiles; it’s like a laser cutting through my armor so I laugh instead.

“Not happening.”

“Can you sit?”

I glance around. “I shouldn’t.”

“For a minute? I’m to Nam tomorrow.”

I never do this, but tonight I do. He’s lonely; I feel his nerves echoing.

We meet when I’m off.

In a moment I fall in love.

In a similar moment he’s gone.


end 12/22/2016

S. Darlington