I am moving blog addresses! It's been a great ride here on Blogger - it gave me an opportunity to try things and to develop an understanding of what blogging could actually be. But a new day has dawned. It's time to take on a more sophisticated pose ...so I'm moving to Wordpress.
In a day or so, a redirection notice will appear when you type in this address. So this is my final post on this address. Thanks Blogger...for everything. :))))
Gideon’s morning shower took longer than usually allowed but no one seemed to mind; he even scrubbed behind his ears – something he hadn’t done since childhood. He took time shaving too, paying particular attention to the dimple in his chin which sometimes got missed when he was taking his turn in the morning rush.
His grandma had sent him a new white linen shirt, surprisingly purchased in the correct size; it had been a wild guess on her part since Gideon hadn’t been able to visit her in over five years. He straightened his shoulders as he was buttoning the front, thinking of the smile that would appear on his grandma’s face when she saw him standing on her porch.
As he walked down the hall to leave, his friends shouted good luck wishes mixed liberally with curses, but Gideon didn't hear them; he heard only the sparrows chirping in the Arizona autumn breeze as the warden buzzed the exit door open and Gideon stepped out into the sunlight.
Five Sentence Fiction is about packing a powerful punch in a tiny fist.
Each week the lovely and dear Lillie McFerrin posts a one word inspiration on her blog, then anyone wishing to
participate writes a five sentence story based on the prompt word.
The word does not have to appear in the five sentences, it is just used for
direction. Please visit her website and read the other great entries.
Lucy pulled on the oversized blue cardigan, her small frame making it necessary to roll the sleeves up so her hands could peek out. Another moth hole was opening on the front but Lucy decided she’d mend it later. She wanted to be one of the first people in the lunch lineup.
Living three blocks from the Centre meant she got a full meal on weekdays. Her single room took all of the monthly housing allowance and most of her assistance. There was no way she could afford food too. But this room was worth the hunger. No more roaches or bed bugs. Her open sores were beginning to heal, and she’d been sleeping through the night too. Maybe my luck is changing.
Charlie was already on line when she arrived. Last Thursday, he hadn’t seen her. He’d been too busy combing his hair. But Lucy recognized Charlie. The evening he’d chosen her, months ago now, he’d combed his hair the same way, checking in the rearview mirror to make sure the part was right. He’d waited for Lucy to tuck the twenty bucks away in her handbag before unzipping his fly. She’d thought of Charlie’s kind gesture and his neat silver blonde hair many times since that night.
Lucy moved into the lineup and at the soup kettle found herself standing right beside him. Their arms touched as they both reached for a Portuguese roll from the counter. Charlie turned to apologize, but when he saw Lucy his voice couldn’t escape his throat. Lucy smiled generously and asked if he’d like to sit with her in the chairs over by the window. Charlie nodded his positive response and picking up his food tray, he followed Lucy and his lost-now-found blue sweater over to the vacant table.
This story is my entry for the "Forbidden Love" Blog Hop being ably sponsored by Ruth Long @bullishink , Lillie McFerrin @LillieMcFerrin and by Janelle (Me and Mia blog). Details can be found on Ruth's blog at : http://goo.gl/sG4eX
The cool lake water soothed Dave’s
throbbing headache and, as a bonus, blocked out the nonstop arguing coming from the
cabin. He couldn’t figure out how his
parents, far from home, could still find so many things on which to disagree.
assumed this argument was his fault. Dave suspected he had asked one too many
times about using the cellphone to call his friend Jeremy. When Jeremy called him back on his dad’s phone, all hell broke loose in the cabin.
dunked his head again as the words “My son is not a fag” flew out
the cabin door.
Photo by: Raegan Bird
Every week the graceful, dear, Angela Goff,
puts a photo up on her lovely blog as a 'Visual Dare'. The photo, and
it is always a stunning photo, can be used in one of two ways:
incorporate it into your current Work In Progress - literally, or figuratively
use it as a 100 word flash fiction to get the brain going in a different creative direction.
Two forty seven in the afternoon, the restaurant’s waiting to fill with the after-school rush, so Jeremy takes advantage of the lull to call his buddy Dave and puff an illegal smoke in the back of the kitchen. Illegal smokes man, they’re the best kind.
“Granddad lives in Ithaca – he said I could stay with him for a while if things got too bad here, and I’d say wearing a paper hat all day, asking surly teens if they want extra packets of ketchup, certainly qualifies as bad…oh hey dude, gotta go.”
The bell on the door rings non-stop as the already greasy, young customers stream in for burgers and rite of passage mischief-making; Jeremy saunters up to the front counter, walking through the doorway’s long strings of plastic like entering a Vegas showroom.
Geez, of all the things I hate about this crappy job, those god-awful orange-crush countertops are what I hate most.