Crash

Jack was the baby of the family; he was his mother’s pet and just a wee bit spoiled.  That’s what his sister Laura thought, anyway.  She was thirteen, and big enough to go places on her own.  Jack was jealous; being eight, he was only allowed the run of their street up to the corner.

It was the end of June; school had just let out and Jack was itching to get out into the summer day.  When his mother asked Laura to run to the corner store to pick up a few things, Jack begged to go along.  Laura protested – she didn’t want her little brother tagging after her.  But their mother overruled; Jack could go!

Laura walked just as quick as she could on her much-longer legs.  She wasn’t going to make it easy for him, but Jack had no trouble keeping up.  He skipped after her with a smile upon his face, more than a little lost in a daydream about how he might spend the bit of change his mom slipped into his hand as he walked out the door.

He was so wrapped up in his sugar-coated thoughts that he skipped right on by Laura, who had stopped at the busy street corner.

And the sound of screeching tires barely even registered.

***

Welcome to this week's edition of Mostly Fiction Monday. What's that, you ask? It's a little something Stranger and I cooked up, you can find the story here. Today's post was inspired by the prompt Siblings.  

By the way, I have to admit that I'm recycling something I wrote about a year and a half ago, so if it seems familiar to you, that's probably because it is.  The bigger project in my writing world at the moment is a story featuring "Laura" from the little tale above, fifty years later.  I'm not very good at multi-tasking, it seems.

Make sure you swing by Stranger Upstairs to read another take on the prompt, and come back next Monday, when we'll be writing something inspired by Dreaming.

Maybe you'd like to play too?  Feel free to join in.  Make sure you leave a link in the comments so I can come see, if you do.

Just Breathe

After a while, the numbers on the clock cease to hold meaning.  I mark time in two-hour increments, when it will either be Time for Treatment or Time to Check Vitals.  In between, I run my fingers through your damp hair and by sheer force of will, try to deepen your breaths, improve the quality of your air.

The definition of "parent" is an ongoing entry in the dictionary of my heart.  The latest footnote to be added is this: when you can't breathe right, neither can I.

***

The theme for Mostly Fiction Monday this week is Parents.  How ironic that I was almost unable to take part this week because I was too busy being one.  My youngest son has been in the hospital since Saturday due to a severe upper respiratory infection.  The first 24 hours saw him on oxygen around the clock and on the receiving end of Ventolin mask treatments every two hours.  He is doing much better now and I hope that I will be bringing him home tomorrow.  This is the first time I've been out of the hospital since he was admitted.  I am home for a quick shower and ten minutes of down time before I head back.  I know his daddy is just as capable of taking care of him as I am, but deep down in my heart, I somehow believe that my presence keeps him safe.  

The words above were scribbled in a notebook in the middle of the night.  They are not perfect but they are a perfect way to sum up this week's theme, so I share them.  Forgive the ramble and the lack of polish...

Stranger knew my circumstances, so has not yet posted.  I may have thrown a wrench in her plans, because she wasn't expecting this...but do catch up with her and see her past posts on our Monday game, and make sure you come back next week when life should have returned to normal.  I can't remember what the prompt is, but when I have time, I'll post it up.

Be well my friends.  I will catch up with you all when I get home - God willing it will be tomorrow morning.  XO

Crush

Saturday morning soccer ritual: absent-minded kisses send Michael toward his teammates. She heads for the man who is smiling in her direction, carrying two coffees from the drive-through.

“Hey,” she says when she reaches him, handing over his coffee.

“Hey yourself. Thanks.”

She studies him, secretly, as he sips. He has a good face, she thinks. It shows in the way his eyes crinkle around the edges.

“How’s your week been?” he asks, catching her eye. She looks away, hides a blush behind her coffee cup.

“Busy. Doug and I have been working like crazy, getting the house ready to put on the market.”

“I can’t believe you’re moving. Lucas will hate losing his best friend,” he says.

“Yeah, Michael will miss Lucas too. But Doug’s new job…”

"Yeah," he says.  "Of course."

“How about you?” she asks.

“Oh, you know. Same old. Anne’s redecorating again. Our bedroom, this time.”

She laughs, a nervous habit. But when he joins in, it doesn’t feel quite so awkward.

The other parents cheer, reminding them to face forward, focus on the game, so she's watching when Michael trips and tumbles, hard. She tenses up, ready to run to him, but a hand upon her arm restrains her.

“Don’t worry. Michael’s fine. Look.”

Sure enough, Michael bounces to his feet like nothing’s happened. She lets out the breath she’s been holding. His hand lingers, but only a moment.

They cheer when the other parents cheer. Clap when the other parents clap. Make small talk in between.

Then, the whistle.

“Do you know the final score?” she asks.

“I don’t even know who won.”

“See you next week?”

“Yeah. I’ll bring coffee.”

Time to go home. Game over.

***

Welcome to Mostly Fiction Monday. What's that, you ask? It's a little something Stranger and I cooked up, you can find the story here. Today's post was inspired by the prompt The Crush.  By the way, I have to admit that I'm slightly over the 250 word limit this week.  But seeing as how this started life around 800 words, the fact that I cut it down to 283 has to count for something, so I hope you all forgive me.

Make sure you swing by Stranger Upstairs to read another take on the prompt, and come back next Monday, when we'll be writing something inspired by Parent.

Maybe you'd like to play too?  Feel free to join in.  Make sure you leave a link in the comments so I can come see, if you do.

Witchy Woman

Gran says you can tell a lot about someone by the time of their birth.  Maybe she’s right.   

My oldest came with the dawn; he’s always been an early riser.  My youngest boy, born at ten to six, is ever hungry.

Me, I was plucked from mama’s womb two minutes after midnight: the Witching Hour.

***

Here are my fifty-five words for G-Man's Friday 55. So I got the fiction part down, and the word count is right...plot and character?  Well, perhaps I'm a bit light there...but I tried! 

Head on over and see what others had to say this week, and maybe give the F55 a shot yourself.

You're My Best Friend

“Oooh, my feet are killing me,” Cheryl said as she sank into the corner booth. “I should know better than to wear new shoes to work.”

The bell on the door jangled, spoiling her plans for a break. Worse luck, it was a bunch of kids from the high school up the street: lousy tippers. Naturally they took a table in her section.

Cheryl glanced over at the new girl, Donella. She certainly seemed fresh enough, especially considering they were at the end of an eight hour shift. Not so much as a single strand of her long, dark hair had slipped loose from her ponytail.

The teenagers were fidgeting with their menus, craning their necks to search her out. Cheryl's feet throbbed in protest and it felt like her blisters had blisters of their own.

“Donella, would you mind taking this one for me?” Cheryl asked. Donella’s cool gaze suggested this was unlikely, but Cheryl's persevered.

“Please?  I’ll be your best friend…” she said in a sing-song voice, smiling winningly.

“Do you promise?” Donella asked.

Cheryl laughed. “Sure, of course. Anything for you, hon. Just don’t make me get up again, okay?”

Donella tilted her head to one side, contemplating. She studied Cheryl for a moment, then nodded.

“Yes.  Alright.”

One is rarely held to a promise so lightly given. Could Cheryl be blamed for not realizing that Donella intended to hold her to her word?

Perhaps not. But already, it was too late.

***

Welcome to the first installment of Mostly Fiction Monday.  What's that, you ask?  It's a little something Stranger and I cooked up, you can find the story here.  Today's post was inspired by the prompt Best Friend. 

 

Make sure you swing by Stranger Upstairs to read another take on the prompt, and come back next Monday, when we'll be writing something inspired by The Crush. 

 

Maybe you'd like to play too...?

Here's A Story...

Once upon a time, there was a central character. All good stories have one, or so I’m told. Because this story is fiction, the central character’s name is definitely not Corrie.  I swear.

So our central character – let’s call her "Jane" – did some stuff.

I’d tell you about it, but I only have 55 words…

***

Here are my fifty-five words for G-Man's Friday 55.  I hope I did it right this week...hahaha! 

Head on over and see whether Galen's wish for 2012 came true, and maybe give the F55 a shot yourself.

Ready To Start

If you were hanging around here this past summer, you will recall that I did two 30-day Music Challenges, almost back to back - daily posts, inspired by a musical theme.

I had a partner for these two challenges, the best friend I've never met, Stranger.  And through the course of two months, we each managed to put our own creative spin on a musical prompt, day after day after day.

Oddly, when the last challenge ended, the both of us sort of went into hibernation or something.  We never talked about it, didn't plan it..but we both pretty much stopped blogging when it was done.  Why?  Heck, I barely know my reasons, never mind hers.  But I do know one thing: I miss it.

This past week saw a flurry of email communication, flying through the ether from one side of the continent to the other (Stranger and I, we're sort of North America's bookends).  The Reader's Digest condensed version appears below:

I miss blogging...

Me too.  Another challenge?

Well yes, we should.  But what?
  
How about this one?  Thirty days, thirty letters to the people in this list.

Okay, but I don't know about a daily prompt.  The last one took a toll.  How about once a week?

Oh yes!  That sounds much more manageable. How about Mondays?  And let's have a word limit.  Say 250?

I like where this is heading.  But letters...hmmm.  Might get a little stale.  What about a 250-word vignette featuring the character, rather than writing them a letter?  Fiction or non, whatever works for the week...

And that, ladies and gentlemen, is how our new weekly feature, "Mostly Fiction Mondays" was born.  See you next Monday for our first installment - 250 maybe made up words featuring a Best Friend.