Posts Tagged ‘success’

Growing up, my mind was all kinds of fuzzy. Now I know it was cause, every day, Daddy told me I was dumber than a rock. Said I’d never learn what 2+2 equals but might find me a man someday who wanted lots of children. Why would a person have even one child after learning they ain’t nothin beyond a nuisance? Well, I showed him, yes, I did. Wrote three books. One about sea shells, one on mushrooms, and another about birds along the seashore. Got em published. Found me a wife, too. She don’t want no children either.

This is my 99-word contribution to Friday Fictioneers. Thanks, Rochelle, for keeping this merry band together by posting a photo prompt every Wednesday! Today’s photo was taken by Dale Rogerson. Thanks!

I figured Bernard had nothing to do in this run-down out-of-sorts neighborhood
but sit on the wall, head down, fingers tapping.
Probably sex messaging.
Ruining his life one blip at a time.
Sad, he was a good-looking boy
but I had no time for a fellow digging his own grave.
I had plans.

2008 Bernard disappeared.
Likely ran away or was stabbed in a fight.
I no longer have the energy to wonder.
Too busy fending off my husband’s fists,
scrapping with my kids.

Still, there’s time to read this morning’s headline.
“Bernard Phillips Named New School Principal”

Well, I’ll be damned.



Posted: November 19, 2014 in Friday Fictioneers
Tags: , , , , ,

Claire Fuller (7)

This is a continuation of last week’s story One Way Ticket. I figured Zelda-Rae needed a happy ending. Thanks for reading!

Jonathon had worked at Mr. Tom’s repair shop for ten years.
Ten solid years of, “Yes, sir,” and “No, sir,” and “It’ll be done soon.”
Well no more. He had a wife and a child now.
Zelda-Rae, the prettiest girl in Hollywood.
Found her homeless and pregnant and sad. Took her home.
Claimed that baby as his own. Yes, sirree, cute little thing.
They’d named her Lucky. And she was, too, ’cause now they
were buying Mr. Tom’s repair shop and turning it into a
bistro. Zelda-Rae was learning to read and write,
but those things weren’t as important as the way she could cook.