Fiction

Friday Fictioneers, 5/8/15 — ‘Soul Ties’

| Sandra Pavloff Conner

This week’s Friday Fictioneers photo just pulled the following story right out of me. Had no idea it was in there, but that’s half the fun of writing, isn’t it? Photo is courtesy of Madison Woods.  My story is below the picture.

BUCKET WITH FAUCET
Photo – © Madison Woods

 

SOUL TIES

“Margo, you’ve been staring at that spigot for twenty minutes.”
“What?” Margo suddenly looked at Jane.
“Why are you just staring at that spigot?”
“I was … uh … I was remembering ….”
“Remembering what?”
“You know … the prison camp.”
“What prison?”
“We were each allowed only one small cup a day.”
“You were never in a prison camp!”
“Yes.”
“I’ve known you all your seventeen years. You’ve never been in prison.”
“The Nazis ….”
“That was your great-great-great grandmother. You never even met her.”
Margo turned questioning eyes back to the spigot. “But I remember … being so desperately thirsty … and how slowly the water ran out ….”

 

~~~

Highlighting a Student’s Story: ‘Kaw-liga Gets a Second Chance’

| Sandra Pavloff Conner

Exif JPEGI’ve done a couple of posts on Kaw-liga — that unfortunate wooden Indian who became famous in Hank Williams’ internationally popular song by the same name. But recently one of my creative writing students did her own story about poor ol’ Kaw-liga, with a new twist, and since we just published her piece in the Debut Writers Journal this week, I thought I’d highlight it here.

Kaw-Liga Gets a Second Chance.

~~~

“`

Friday Fictioneers – 4/24/15 — ‘A Trip To the Stars’

| Sandra Pavloff Conner

So good to get back to Friday Fictioneers this week. If you’d like to join in with your own 100-word story, follow the link to learn how. The photo prompt this week is thanks to Douglas M. MacIlroy.

PHOTO PROMPT - © Douglas M. MacIlroy

A TRIP TO THE STARS

“You’ve got to be kidding!” she said looking at the row of four observatories.

“What do you mean, Honey?”

“When you described a package deal called ‘Honeymoon Under the Stars’ I thought you meant a warm, exotic beach.”

“But, Sweetheart, it’s the only place on earth to spend a week in a real observatory and study the heavens.”

“Harold, I don’t want to study the stars. I want to feel like I’ve been carried there by love … and speaking of that … how can we … you know … in that kind of place?”

“Don’t worry, my love,” he said, kissing her thoroughly. “I’ll give you a trip to the stars whether you ever look through that telescope or not.”

 

~~~

100-Word Challenge for Grownups, Week 149: ‘A Dirge for April Fools’

| Sandra Pavloff Conner

Well, I seem to be in some kind of MOOD today. Julia posted her 100-word story challenge this morning, and chose a light, springy, happy subject: April. So what did I do with it?  See below, but please don’t ask me why?  I simply have no idea.

Exif JPEGA DIRGE FOR APRIL FOOLS

April. Marcus had promised to come to her in April. She’d have a white gown and bouquet of pink azaleas.

February. She’d believed Peter when he’d told her of Marcus’ infidelity and comforted her grief. So she’d married Peter on the last day of March – mere hours before Marcus’ brother arrived, bringing her the coffin containing her beloved’s body – slain at Peter’s hand.

April 1st. She buried Marcus and planted a pink azalea bush upon his grave. That night, as Peter slept, she drove a knife into his heart – and then into her own – her final breath a benediction: “Rest in peace, Marcus.”

 

~~~

“Thawing The Ice” — My Response to ‘Anyone Got a Story’ Writing Challenge

| Sandra Pavloff Conner

Finally!!! I have been energized by the other authors who have been quick to respond to the writing challenge “Anyone Got a Story to Go With This Picture,” and, at last, I have had an opportunity to sit down and write mine. I offer it below. And remember, there is no time limit on taking part in this challenge, so if you’d like to participate, hop over to the link above and check out the very simple rules. I will also post the link to this story on the original challenge page.

ABSTRACT WHITE CHRISTMAS POND-B & WTHAWING THE ICE

Misty laced up her skates and glided smoothly across the ice. It had been more than a year since she’d come to her favorite pond. The trees were stark silhouettes against the deep snow, barren and seemingly useless in this white wilderness. She felt that way herself. The gray world around her matched her gray and barren heart. Words came back to her now from the whispering past.

“You can’t just give up, Misty. Marcus wouldn’t want you to quit skating. He wouldn’t want you to give up the life you’ve always loved.”

She continued to circle the pond, listening to conversations in her head – all from last year. After the accident. “I can’t skate alone. I’m no good by myself. It’s always been Marcus and me together – from the time we were seventeen.”

“But you’re so gifted, dear,” Mother had insisted. “You were skating beautifully long before you even met Marcus. Why, from the time you put on your first pair of skates – remember? – the pink pair you got for Christmas when you were six? – from that very first day, you’ve been a star in the making. All your fans want to see you back out there on the ice.”

Misty had merely hung her head and wept. She new her mother meant well, but she’d never be able to understand. And Misty was glad her mother had never known that kind of loss.

But her family didn’t understand about the fans either. Yes, her own family were her personal fans, but the fans in all the ice rinks around the world hadn’t been hers. They were fans who loved Misty and Marcus – together – “the darling duo” as they’d been dubbed in more than one news story. The fans wanted to see both of them on the ice, not just one lonely girl –  lost now in a world that had been her own kingdom little more than a year ago.

The cold wind bit at her, but she welcomed the pain. It matched the pain in her heart. And she welcomed the gray world she skated in now. It matched the world she lived the rest of her life in with Marcus dead.

So she skated – round and round the pond – one hour – then another. And with each trip around that pond of her childhood came the memories – like warm flashes of sunlight:  the first time she’d skated in her pink skates; the first day she’d invited Marcus to skate with her there; the first competition they’d entered – and won; the grueling hours of practice that both of them had loved.

Gradually, as the happy memories flooded back and thawed the ice that had held her soul in its lonely, gray world for the past year, Misty began to feel alive again. A smile spread across her face and she flung out her arms as if to embrace this precious pond with its stark trees and white emptiness. She found herself skating into routines she’d used before she and Marcus had become a team. And gradually, she found herself adding moves to those routines. They weren’t done consciously. They just flowed from her as naturally as water flows down a hill when a barrier has been removed.

Her heart began to sing. Her body followed suit. And although the pond and all it’s surroundings were still as gray and barren as they’d been when she’d arrived, Misty discovered that she was now skating in sunshine – in the warmth of her love for Marcus and in the fire of the passion she felt for skating. Perhaps her family and friends had been right after all. Perhaps she did still have a life to live and a gift to give to the world from her kingdom on the ice.

~~~

Writing Challenge: Anybody Got a Story to Go With This Picture?

| Sandra Pavloff Conner

ABSTRACT WHITE CHRISTMAS POND-B & W

If you have a story — or poem — to go with
this picture, post it on your blog and put the
link to it into the “Comments” section below.

No word limit.  No time limit.
Let your imagination run wild.

`
(Something fit for general audiences please.)

~~~

Oh, I Remember That One: 100-Word Stories Revisited

| Sandra Pavloff Conner

Well, I am so grateful to the Lord for friends who specialize in computers and all their appendages. Thanks to one of those friends, my technological problems seem to be remedied this evening, and I shall go forward from here. But seeing that I was just too tired to start creating from scratch again tonight, I decided to take another little trip down memory lane and wandered through some of my old 100-word stories. (Some may have tipped a little over the 100 mark, but not too far over). Thought I’d just re-post a few of them on here and air them out again. Some of you will remember them, but many of you were not following at the time they were written, so they will be fresh for you.  Either way, I hope each of you finds at least one or two that you enjoy.

MUSICAL NOTES AND FLOWERS - NEGATIVECARRIED ON A SONG

I heard the song today. As I walked through Hilliard’s department store, a customer opened a jewelry box, and the melody tinkled across the room. My breath caught in my chest. Tears sprang to my eyes. But my heart smiled. Every time I hear it, I think of you.

Roger loves me, and our boys are treasures I’d never part with, but my heart still aches for you. All those years ago, Fate decreed us bitter enemies in that horrible war between our nations. But as long as I live, my love will seek and find you in the strains of that song.

*  *  *  *  *  *  *

QUILL & SCROLL - sepiaTHE WRITTEN WORD

The quills were ancient. Mara had found them locked in a closet of the abby. But the points were sharp, the monks having taken great care of them. She sighed now. “Remember, Robert … computers and photocopiers? It was all so easy?”

“Yeah … life before the E-bombs. Who would have dreamed our electronic infrastructure was so unprotected!”

“If the new dictator hadn’t confiscated all the manual typewriters and pencils as well, we could at least communicate to some extent!”

Picking up a quill, Robert replied: “Well, this is how our ancestors printed letters and books. We come from the same stock. So –” dipping his quill into the ink – “let’s get started.”

*  *  *  *  *  *  *

TERRY'S WHITE BIRCHES with name brightenedFABEL ABLE

“Hello!” Dickey Hendricks greeted the curious animal in the forest.
“Hello.”
“Boy, you’re funny looking! Who are you?”
“I’m Fable Abel.”
“Who’s that?”
“The main character in the fable about just being yourself.”
“Tell me.”
“Well, my author started creating me to be a zebra. He gave me these hind legs. But then I saw a tiger and insisted on becoming a tiger instead. So he gave me this body. But when I saw a giraffe, I begged my author to make me a giraffe. So he stretched my neck. But just as he was drawing my head, I saw an elephant and shouted, ‘No, I want to be an elephant with a looooong trunk!’”
“Oh my! So what are you now?”
“A lesson for boys and girls like you.”

*  *  *  *  *  *  *

APT. BUILDING CARTOON - PUNCHEDSURPRISE, HONEY!

“Okay, you can open your eyes. . . . Well . . . what do you think?”

“What do you mean, what do I think?”

“My surprise!”

“This . . . this . . . MONSTROSITY!!??”

“It’s a famous landmark.”

“You mean you invested ALL our money in THIS?

“It will make a grand hotel; you’ll see.”

“No . . . I won’t see. I’m going home!”

“But . . . I thought you knew . . .”

“Knew? . . .

“Well, I used the money from our old house to —

“You WHAT!”

He ran as he’d never run before.

*  *  *  *  *  *  *

VIRGINIA CREEPER -- FREE PHOTOLOVE GROWS ON YOU

Virginia Creeper wasn’t beautiful and was generally considered a nuisance wherever she grew. But she had a kind heart, and when she heard sobbing out by the alley, she crawled over to investigate. She found Barney, the discarded garbage truck, soaking the ground with his tears. “Barney?”

“I-I-I’ve been thrown away! Dumped here; no one wants me now. Dead motor. And everybody says I-I-I stink!” His sobs were heartbreaking.

Virginia gathered her strength. Stretching, squirming, she pulled herself toward the unhappy truck. She reached up, grabbed his bumper, and curled around it, stretching higher and wider until she had completely embraced Barney in a comforting hug. “Don’t cry, Barney. I love you, and I’ll stick with you forever.”

*  *  *  *  *  *  *

LIGHTHOUSE WITH FOGFOG

The fog’s especially heavy tonight. It’s a good time to stay inside and write this letter. I can’t see three feet past the door. The lighthouse on the island has sounded the foghorn every two minutes for hours. You remember the island, don’t you? Where we buried him? I often wonder what would have happened if the fog had lifted in time for someone to see us digging the grave.

I wish you were here with me. I’m always chilled and shaky when there’s fog. It feels as if something’s choking me. Nights like this, I wonder if that’s how he felt as we tightened that rope around his neck until he stopped breathing. I wish you were here with me. I hate fog.

~~~

`

*  *  *  *  *  *  *

“

STONE FACE FOR STORYONE LOOK WAS ALL IT TOOK

“The stone head at the very top of the building is what’s left of the king’s former messenger,” the guide explained. “Doomed by a curse to remain in that position, with eyes closed forever, seeing nothing. Punishment for looking lustfully at the king’s daughter.”
“You mean he’s still alive?” one tourist asked.
“Indeed, but he will never have a body or real eyes again unless the princess herself breaks the spell.”
“How?”
“She must publicly forgive him, then climb up and seal the forgiveness with a kiss.”
“And she refuses?”
“Oh, she’s willing enough, but … alas … she’s afraid of heights.”

~~~

*  *  *  *  *  *  *

HOUSE CONSTRUCTIONA MAN OF VALUE

Eddie couldn’t hold back the tears as he stood at the building site, his hand gripped by Tony, an ox of a guy with tears in his own eyes. “Thanks, Ed, for all you’ve done here.” Tony and his family had lost everything, including their house. But today they’d received the key to a brand new home.

Eddie, serving the 7th of his 25-year sentence, had worked in the carpentry rehabilitation unit for three years now, making prefab elements for these low-income housing projects. “I’m just so grateful the warden gave me permission to be here for the presentation,” he said. He’d considered himself scum for most of his life, but today – wiping tears away with his shirt sleeve – he felt like a valuable human being with something worth giving to life.

He grinned at Tony. “Dang, I’m actually looking forward to the rest of my sentence, helping to build a better life for a lot of people.”

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