Flash Fiction

Love Potion ala Cabbage

| Sandra Pavloff Conner

CORNED BEEF & CABBAGE
Two old cronies sat on a bench at the edge of a small city park, their 78-year-old bones soaking up the sunshine.

“Ahhh, just smell that!” Harry said, taking in a deep breath, rapture shining from his face.

“What?” asked George.

“Love is in the air,” Harry replied, breathing deeply once more and smiling. “Mm-mm; Yes sir – love is in the air.”

“You’re daff, Harry. That’s just the cabbage cookin’ in the diner across the street. Wind’s from the south today.”

“Oh, come on, George, don’t be so mundane. Give yourself over to your senses, man.”

“Senses? Why, Harry, you ain’t got the good sense God gave a duck.”

Looking offended, “Why would you say that?”

“Well, look at you. 78 and a half, if you’re a day, and you’re sittin’ here on this comfortable bench with not a care in the world, but you’re talkin’ about love like it was somethin’ glorious and somethin’ you want.”

“Well, it is somethin’ I want.”

“No it ain’t. You done had it – four wives — and all it did was cost you lots of money – first for getting’ married, then for buyin’ houses, then for buyin’ your wives everything they wanted, then for the divorces, and now – every month – for the alimony – four alimonies.”

“But it’s Spring, Harry! Don’t that make you feel alive and ready to take a chance on love again?”

“No, it don’t! I’ve had it with love. It’s three square meals a day, a nice warm bench to rest on, and a trustworthy buddy or two that makes life worth livin’. Those things are better than what you call love any day.”

“Well, I do remember hearin’ a quote by somebody once that said havin’ all your own teeth and a good solid bank account beat marriage for makin’ a body happy.”

Nodding his head, George answered. “There you go. Now you’re talkin’ sense. And since we both have our own teeth still yet, and money in our pockets, what say we go across the street for a big helping of Archie’s corned beef and cabbage? It’s smellin’ so good right now my stomach’s growling.”

Sighing, Harry got up from the bench. “Okay, George. I guess it is time for lunch, but I can smell love in the air.”

“It’s the corned beef and cabbage, you dope. Cain’t you tell the difference?”

“George, my friend,” Harry said, placing his hand on his friend’s shoulder as they jiggled their legs to work out the stiffness, “It may smell like corned beef and cabbage to you, but it’s got magic in it. In fact, I have this feelin’ that love is just around the corner for me.”

They both started across the street, but just as they reached the center of the road, a car came swerving around the corner and squealed to halt, just missing George and knocking Harry flat. A beautiful woman jumped from the car and ran to kneel down beside Harry.

“Oh, sir, are you alive? Are you alive?”

Harry opened his eyes, looked up into her delightful face with its halo of golden curls, and grinned broadly. “By golly, I told George love was just around the corner.” He got up and dusted himself off. Taking the young woman’s arm, he escorted her to the curb. “How about I buy you lunch, pretty lady,” he said, beaming at her. “Let’s step into the diner, here, and talk about our future.”

George followed them into the diner but went to sit at the lunch counter all by himself, shaking his head in frustration.

“What’ll you have,” Archie asked him.

“Confound it!  Just give me a order of that love potion you got brewin’ in there.”

“Huh?”

“You know – that derned corned beef and cabbage.”

~~~

Photo: Creative Commons Attribution Share Alike 3.0 Licence.

100-Word Challenge for Grownups — Week #162 – ‘The Secret Gift’

| Sandra Pavloff Conner

Julia’s 100-Word Challenge for Grownups has reached its 162nd week as we begin 2015. Her prompt this week for the story is the following phrase:

“… as I put the decorations away, I …”

Check out her site and get the simple rules for participating in the challenge.

My story is below:

CHRISTMAS ORNAMENTS -- 2THE SECRET GIFT

My saddest Christmas ever. Jobless now; no money for food or rent; no family to help. I’d cried myself bleary-eyed for days. Government assistance was unthinkable. As I put Grandmother’s decorations away, I thought of how much I missed her – courageous woman, widowed, raising six children on her meager seamstress income. I missed her sorely and wished I weren’t such a failure in comparison.

The tiny envelope bearing my name was taped inside the bottom of an ornament box. I’d never noticed it before. It held a diamond necklace and a note from Grandmother: “I prayed you’d discover this when you need it most. It’s worth $25,000. Use it wisely. Merry Christmas.”

 

~~~

Daily Post 10-Minute Free Write – 11/13/14 — ‘The Nose Knows’

| Sandra Pavloff Conner

The Daily Post issued another 10-minute free-write challenge this morning. So I decided, since I didn’t have anything else to do — except edit a novel for a budding author, grade 7 stories for Saturday’s writing class, and wash a cabinet full of dishes that had been sitting and waiting for my kitchen drain to get unplugged — I’d sit here and write. (I’m also a procrastinator.)  I glanced over at a ceramic nose on a pedestal — a friend’s gift that is to be used as a repository for my glasses. All at once I heard the first line of this story running through my head. I let my imagination take flight, and 10 minutes later here’s what I ended up with:
NOSE WITH LEGS - RED TIP

THE NOSE KNOWS

“Holy Cow! I’ve never seen a nose that big on anybody!”

“Exactly. Nobody wants a nose this big. And nobody wants their nose to feel this big either. But that’s what happens when sinus pressure builds up, congests the head and all the breathing passages, and virtually closes off the nose. Then it starts to feel big and bulbous and like some kind of foreign appendage that’s been stuck on where it doesn’t belong.”

“I don’t remember feeling like my nose was some ‘foreign appendage’ when I had a cold.”

“Well, you wouldn’t. You live on a plane above everyone else.”

“Now, what’s that supposed to mean?”

“Just what I said. You think you live on a higher level than everyone else, so, naturally, you wouldn’t relate to the description. But most people will relate, and this bulbous nose, with its accompanying voice is going to sell ‘D-GEST’ decongestant to millions of people.”

“What kind of voice?”

“It sounds exactly like a stuffed up little kid. Just enough to get attention and garner sympathy from every adult who’s watching the commercial.”

“ I still don’t think it’s a winner, and Mr. Sanders is not going to like it either when you present it at the meeting today.”

“Wanna bet?”

“How much?”

“Let’s say if Sanders likes it, you have to buy me dinner Saturday night. And if he doesn’t like it, I’ll buy you dinner.”

“Okay, it’s a deal.”

(Three days later.)

“Hi, I just called to say I’ll be by to pick you up for dinner about 6:00 if that’s okay. Since Sanders loved my idea and I’m choosing the restaurant, I thought we’d do Longshore Seafood.”

(Cough, cough) “I’m sorry, Ben.” (Cough) “I can’t go tonight.” (Cough, cough).

“Oh, wow! You sound all stuffed up. In fact you sound terrible. What’s going on?”

“I have this horrible cold, and my nose feels like it weighs a ton! I wish I could cut it off.”

“Hmmmm. See … I told you that’s how it feels. Tell you what. I’ll be right over with a box of D-GEST. It’s just become the hottest thing on the market, you know.”

 

~

‘Man With A Gun’ — Writing Challenge — Week 1

| Sandra Pavloff Conner

GUN - BLUEAt some point in my past, I read that Raymond Carver once offered advice to writers about what to do if their stories seemed to lag or hit a boring place. His suggestion was to have a man come through a door with a gun in his hand.

That idea intrigued me – much more than I expected – and, as a result, I decided to set myself a challenge — as follows: I am committing to write one story for every Saturday in August, in which – at some point in time – whether fitting or not – a man or woman does walk through a door with a gun.

During this exercise, I am going to do very little editing of my stories. Rather I will simply begin writing with whatever idea comes to mind and continue until the gunman appears on the scene. After that point, whatever happens ….

I’m hoping my readers will enjoy this experiment with me, but I also thought that some of you out there would like to participate and do your own “man-with-a-gun” stories.

If you do, please post the links to your stories in the “Comments” section of my story for that week. I’m posting a story today. If you write a story any day this week before next Saturday, please post your link in the “Comments” of my story that is dated today. If you want to wait and post only on Saturdays, I will try to have mine up each of the next four Saturdays by 12:01 a.m. – U.S. Central Daylight Savings time. That way, hopefully, many of my readers in other countries will be able to post at the start of their day if they choose.

I’m not setting any word limit, but if we try to keep them to 1500 words or less, I think we will have an easier time visiting each other’s blogs and reading everyone’s stories – that is if anyone else takes part. I hope you do.

Feel free to start this exercise at any time, or to write only one or two stories if you don’t have time for five. Frankly, I have no idea if I will meet the challenge or not, but I’m at least taking the plunge. And please remember that my blog does not post “R” or “X” rated material.

My first story is below:

TONY’S PROPOSAL

ENGAGEMENT RING CLIP ARTTony couldn’t wait to get to work and tell his colleagues about the lottery ticket. He had never won anything in his life, but yesterday his bad luck had turned to good. Granted, he had won a small game – the prize was just $300.00 dollars – but to Tony, who always seemed to be on the losing end of everything he took part in, this win had him sailing along ten feet above the ground.

As he opened the door of the book store, he saw that Marie, the secretary/accountant was already at work. “Hey, Marie,” he called from the door and then skidded up to her desk, “guess what happened to me last night.”

“Hmmm,” she answered, only half paying attention as she pulled up the program she needed on her computer. “Let’s see … . Oh, I know … you won the lottery.”

She swung around and glanced at Tony when she said it, and noticed that he looked somewhat crestfallen. “That’s a lousy thing to guess,” he complained.

“Why?”

“Because that’s exactly what I did, and I was just sure you’d all be astounded.”

By that time the other two employees had arrived and were standing beside Marie’s desk. “You mean you really did win the lottery?” Randall asked.

“Well, not the biggy, but —” he grinned at each one of them individually. “But I did win $300.00.”

“Hey, congratulations,” Peter said, punching him lightly on the shoulder. “Way to go. Does that mean you’re treating us all to lunch?”

Tony hung his head for a second and then looked up at them sheepishly. “Well, to tell you the truth, I have it earmarked for something else already.”

“I know!” said Marie, her eyes alight. “You’re going to buy Sarah an engagement ring.”

Tony looked at her in astonishment. “For heaven’s sake, Marie, what are you – a mind reader?”

Marie shrugged her shoulders. “Don’t blame me if I’m just super smart.” Then she grinned conspiratorially. “Want me to help pick it out?”

Tony lifted his head in what he wanted to pass for a look of sophistication, but which really made him look more like a schoolboy with a pout. “ I already have it picked out, thank you. It’s a little more than the $300.00, but I have a small amount in a savings account.”

Randall spoke up then. “So, when are you going to give it to her?

“I think I’ll take her to dinner this Saturday and ask her to marry me while we’re at the restaurant.”

“Sounds good. Where are you going?”

“I’ll book a reservation at The Coral Reef – a table by the window so we can watch the sun set over the beach. I want all the romance I can get going for me because I’m not positive Sarah has marriage in her plans. She likes her independence.”

“Well, that’s the perfect place.” said Marie, just as the bell rang over the front door. “Oops, time to get to work.”

But this customer wasn’t a regular. He had a large scarf tied triangularly over his nose and mouth, and he carried a gun.

All four of the employees froze, and without being told to do so, lifted their hands in the air.

“That’s it. Nice and easy, and nobody gets hurt,” said the gunman. He looked at Marie. “Now, girlie, you just walk over to that cash register – nice and slow – and take out all the money and put it in this here bag,” he said, as he tossed an old cloth drawstring bag onto the counter beside the register. Then lay your purse down right beside the bag. And the rest of you,” he added, pointing the gun more robustly toward the three men, “start taking out your wallets; empty your pockets, and put it all in the bag.”

Tony sucked in his breath. He had cashed in the lottery ticket and had the $300.00 in his wallet. He couldn’t let this man steal the money for Sarah’s ring. “Now, wait just a minute!” he said, dropping his hands to his sides. The gunman jumped forward and pushed the gun to within two feet of Tony’s nose.

“No funny business. Empty all those pockets!”

“I will not! I have something important to do with my money, and you can’t have it.”

The gunman stepped even closer. “Look, Buddy, don’t be a fool. Empty those pockets before I get tired of waiting.”

“You have no right to my money or anyone else’s!” Tony said, throwing his left arm toward the man on an angle – just enough to throw the gunman off balance and cause an involuntary reaction in his hand. His hold on the gun was broken for only a couple seconds, but it was enough for Tony to grab the gun and turn it on the thief. His friends dropped their hands, and Tony asked Marie to call the police.

The robber’s eyes were huge with fear, and before anyone could even guess what he was going to do, he had turned and made for the door. Tony shot into the air, hoping to frighten him into stopping. It worked, but only momentarily. The man didn’t look back. His intuition told him that if Tony had been going to shoot him, he would have done it the first time he pulled the trigger, so the man snatched the door open and hurled himself through it, falling onto the sidewalk and rolling several feet. But he jumped up and started running before the others could collect their wits enough to try to stop him.

“Whew!” Randall said, and he knew he spoke for all of them, as they wiped sweat from their brows and upper lips and tried to get their stomachs to relax and their hands to stop shaking. Marie went back to her desk and slumped into the chair. Fifteen minutes later, the police arrived and took their statements – as well as the gun.

When the police had left, and the store was quiet once more, Marie looked at Tony. “You are the most romantic man I’ve ever known,” she said.

He looked dumbfounded. “I don’t think I understand.”

“Why, you risked your life to keep from giving up the money to buy an engagement ring for the woman you love. You really are a gallant knight.”

Tony grinned. “Maybe I’ll be sure and tell Sarah the whole story before I propose. She surely couldn’t turn down a man who was willing to risk his life to give her an engagement ring.” He sighed. “And just think: I may owe my success with this proposal to that guy with the gun. I’m kind of glad I didn’t kill him.”

~ ~ ~

Five-Sentence Fiction — ‘The Next Page’

| Sandra Pavloff Conner
This week’s 5-Sentence-Fiction prompt is “Pages.”
`

BOOK - LIFE OF STONEWHEELER

 

THE NEXT PAGE

 

He turned the crusty pages of the 100-year-old biography he’d found in his great-great grandfather’s library – his touch gentle – reverent even – and his eyes anxious. The title – The Exceptional Life of Benjamin Stonewheeler – had grabbed his attention immediately because that name was also his. He had first assumed the book must be the biography of his grandfather, who had been Benjamin Stonewheeler the First, but none of the events in the story were descriptive of his grandfather’s life.

Instead, they described every major aspect of his own life through this current year – his 50th – but as the story continued, he was already another twenty-seven years into the future, living through experiences that he felt he should remember, but, of course, did not. This 15th chapter was recounting one particularly fateful day in that future – a day that found his life literally hanging in the balance – and with only two chapters remaining until the end of the book, he held his breath as he turned to the next page.

~~~

 

`Lillie McFerrin Writes

 

You’re Invited to Visit My Storybook

| Sandra Pavloff Conner

 

 

BOOKS WITH STORYBOOK TEXT FOR BLOG

Just a reminder that you always have an open invitation to visit my ‘STORYBOOK’ on Facebook. It’s a page of stories – nothing but stories. Uninterrupted free reading of my original short stories – and even an occasional excerpt from a novel – along with the link to read the rest of the story free as well.

~

 

Tell Me A Story Saturday Writing Challenge – A Woman Scorned

| Sandra Pavloff Conner

 

Here’s my own story in response to my “Tell Me A Story Saturday” challenge. Just follow the link to learn how to join in the fun. This week we are writing stories of 25 words or less.

WOMAN SCORNED

 

 

 

 

 

 

A WOMAN SCORNED

“Annie!  You’re attending my wedding?!”

“I’m the planner.”

“You?  My ex-wife?!”

“Relax …. Here, this glass of champagne’s just for you …. It’ll all be over soon.”

 

 

~~~

 

Tell Me A Story Saturday — 25 Words or Less — Writing Challenge

| Sandra Pavloff Conner

 

BLACK TYPEWRITER - SEPIA NEGATIVE - with text

Tell me a story – any story – as long as it’s your own original work. And as long as you tell it in 25 words or less. Post your story on your blog and then hop over here and post the link to it in the “Comments” section of this page. Leave a comment too if you like. And please remember that this blog publishes only material suitable for GP audiences.

Time limit? Let’s say until next Saturday, June 21, at midnight U. S. daylight savings time.

(If you think you just can’t do it in 25 words, try anyway. You just might be surprised, and I promise not to count the words.)

Ready to write?

On your mark …

Get set …

GO!

 

 

~

 

Velvet Verbosity #382 – The Error of the ‘Ess’

| Sandra Pavloff Conner

 

This week’s prompt from Velvet Verbosity is the word “Heiress.”

NEWSPAPER - SEPIA

 

THE ERROR OF THE ‘ESS’

The Lincoln Herald’s executive editor glowered in Alexandra’s doorway. “Alex, I’ve told you a dozen times that you cannot use these “ess” suffixes in your stories!”

“But it’s about a world-renowned heiress. What else can I call her? She certainly isn’t an heir.”

“Yes, she is.”

“No, she’s not. An heir is a man.”

“You know the Usage Panel refuses to accept suffixes designating gender.”

“But that’s crazy! Journalism’s being smothered by all this ‘political correctness!’”

“Yes, true journalists are gasping for their last breath. It’s too late for me, but I’m going to save your life: you’re fired.”

 

~~~

`

 

 

 

 

Friday Fictioneers – 6/6/14 — ‘Home’

| Sandra Pavloff Conner

 

Friday Fictioneers, here I come again. Now, the rest of you can sit around with Doug with your feet propped up if you want to, but I’m going exploring for an ancient city. Anybody else who would like to try your hand at creating a 100-word story based on the unique picture below – Douglas M. MacIlroy’s picture, by the way – hop over to the FF home place and check out the details of how and why.  (Also, hop over to Doug’s site and check out his header: amazing — mesmerizing — see for yourself!)  

My story’s below the photo.

DOUGLAS M. MACILROY'S FEET PHOTO

 

HOME

The aged archaeologist sat gazing into the fire, owning contentment for the first time in his 85 years.

He journaled these words: “At age 15, I sat in a classroom gazing at a tablet. Suddenly, it disappeared, and in its place, as through a window, I saw a mountain.  I knew it, yet I didn’t.  But I knew I’d find the ancient city – this city — carved inside.

“I was born here, but can’t remember how or why I left. I only know it’s beckoned me in my dreams all my life, and I’ve searched the world for 70 years.

“Finally – today – I am home.”

 

 

~

 

 

 

Five-Sentence Fiction – ‘Anticipation’

| Sandra Pavloff Conner


I’ve been forgetting to try the 5-Sentence Fiction challenge the last couple of weeks. And I’m almost too late this time around. The  page says I have only about 3 hours left. The prompt this week is “Marriage,” and since I’m watching the clock, I ran to my poetry file because I remembered a poem I wrote about a year ago that had just about enough material for five sentences. The only problem was that I didn’t use sentences at all in that poem. So I borrowed the material (from my own work) and added the necessary subjects and verbs to give me five complete sentences. Whew! It’s been almost as hectic as actually getting married. My “story” is below the picture.

BRIDE AND CHILDREN - PINK

ANTICIPATION

 

Coming and going, to-ing and fro-ing, thoughts in a dither, stomach a quiver, I’m scared.

Scurrying, worrying, phoning, conversing, weighing last doubts, I still could bow out if I dared.

Checking all pockets, fastening lockets, sniffing the bouquets – fragrant sublime haze – I’m okay.

Guests in their places, smiles on their faces, music at high tide, “Here Comes the Bride”: IT’S MY WEDDING DAY!

HOORAY!

~

 

~

 

 

100-Word Challenge for Grownups # 135 – ‘The Dangling Decision’

| Sandra Pavloff Conner

Julia gave us a picture prompt this week for our 100-Word story. If you’d like to challenge yourself and take part, hop over to Julia’s Place and get the details

JULIA'S BROKEN PIERTHE DANGLING DECISION

I’ve lived on this bayou all my life. Habitually sitting on this pier, dangling my feet in the water, thinking, dreaming, planning new adventures in sophisticated environments.

But when I was 16, sitting here, dangling my feet, Daniel kissed me, and I knew all my dreams were wrapped up in him, and we’d share those adventures.

Well, today, Daniel bought this property that includes this crumbling, unsafe pier, and his fondest dream is to rebuild it and live HERE the rest of his life!  He proposed.

I must decide, but … darn! … I have no place to dangle my feet and think …….

~~~

 

~

Velvet Verbosity # 380 – ‘A Donkey Named Clover’

| Sandra Pavloff Conner

 

 

DONKEY
Clover nuzzled the sweet-smelling ground cover that had inspired her name. She lived here now, on Old Jake’s homestead, having stumbled onto it by accident – or by Divine intervention – after being beaten by her previous owner and barely escaping. Limping through the stormy night, she’d eventually collapsed  in this sweet-smelling field.

Next morning, Jake had found her, huddled in pain and traumatized by her injuries. He’d bathed her wounds, fed her, petted her, and made her his own. She had the run of the farm, but her favorite spot was this field of sweet clover where she spent quiet days being grateful to Old Jake for his love.

~~~
The V.V. challenge this week is the word “Clover.” If you’d like to join the fun and add your 100-word story, hop over to the V.V. home right here:  http://www.velvetverbosity.com/

 

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Tell Me a Story Saturday Challenge: ‘Love Will Find A Way’

| Sandra Pavloff Conner

 

I’m a couple hours past the deadline – on my own challenge – can you believe it? But, be that as it may, I have finally finished my story, so I’m ignoring the deadline. If anyone else out there still wants to write for this challenge, please feel free to do so any time this week as well – and be sure and post your link on the original challenge page.

 

 

Exif JPEG

LOVE WILL FIND A WAY

 

“Gabriel Bay Lighthouse: Antiques and Unique Gifts – Martee Somersby, Owner.” Those words were music to the ears of Gabriel Bay’s newest entrepreneur. And this business, in the renovated lighthouse, was a life-long dream come true.

The grand opening had been a huge hit, and business had been brisk ever since. She even sold fresh fruit and vegetables from local farmers, and that drew even more customers. In fact everything had gone exactly as Martee had dreamed until about three months ago, when she’d walked into the store and found the huge wooden Indian maiden gone.

The sheriff and his deputies had searched the whole store and every inch of the property. Nothing else was missing, and there had been no sign of forced entry – but not another living soul had a key.

“Why?” she asked the sheriff. “Why would anyone want to take just the wooden Indian? It wasn’t even worth much money, but I bought it because it was such a lovely piece and meant something to me.”

“Well, beats me. But I guarantee you we won’t stop until we have the thief, Miss Somersby.” He stopped and cleared his throat. “I understand you keep a gun on the premises.”

“Yes, I do.

“Well, m’am, I don’t think I have to tell you to be careful with it, but if you have any more trouble, I’d sure like to think you’d call on us instead of trying to handle things yourself with a gun – if at all possible.”

“You can count on it, Sheriff,” she’d told him. “I have no desire to become some kind of heroine.”

Weeks passed, and she’d pretty well given up the hope of recovering her property. Her real sorrow wasn’t so much the money involved, but the fact that she felt particularly attached to that one item. She’d loved wooden Indians since she was a child and had seen her first one outside a modern trading post in Arizona. She’d been amazed by it, and her Grandfather had told her the history of the life-size carving.

A couple years later, while listening to the radio, she’d heard the song “Kaw-liga” — the story of a wooden Indian in front of a store who fell in love with a wooden Indian maiden in front of a neighboring. But he never declared his love — even when she was sold. Martee’s childish heart had imagined an entire story about Kaw-liga and his Indian princess, and from that day on, every place she traveled, she made it a point to look for and visit every wooden Indian statue she could find. When she’d discovered this particular carving of an Indian princess, she’d bought it without hesitation.

 

More weeks passed, and still the crime was not solved.  Martee missed her Indian princess so much that she got out her copy of “Kaw-liga” and played it over and over. In fact, she often played music in the store and included that song in the mix. People from the area sympathized with her and stopped by periodically to mull over the possibilities of what could have happened.

Today old Benny Briggs sat with her. Benny was something of a legend in his own right, known throughout the county as a “mighty-fine storyteller.” He often told of the old Indian tribes who had inhabited the region and shared many of their legends – updated a little in Benny’s own style. He sat, drinking coffee with Martee on this particular day and listening to her tell the story she’d made up in her own mind as a child about Ol’ Kaw-liga.

Finally, he said, “Well, Miss, did you ever think that maybe this here Indian maiden you had was the one Ol’ Kaw-liga was sweet on?”

“What do you mean, Benny?”

“Well,” he said, rising from his chair and putting on his hat, “I been thinkin’ about it a lot. Woudn’t surprise me none to learn that Ol’ Kaw-liga finally got tired of livin’ a life without love and came lookin’ for his maiden. Once he had his courage up, when he found her, he’d have just whisked her away.”

“You know what, Benny: no matter how many times I imagined that story, I never could end it until Kaw-liga had married his Indian maiden.”

“Well, Miss,” Benny said, opening the door and then turning back to give her a wink, “I’d say maybe you managed to believe your story enough that it came true.”

~~~

Below, you will find a video of the song “Kaw-liga.” Hope you enjoy it.

 

 

~~~

 

Friday Fictioneers – 5/23/14 – ‘The Fork in the Road’

| Sandra Pavloff Conner

 

The prompt for this week’s Friday Fictioneers 100-Word Story is the photo below: Copyright: Erin Leary.  Hop over to Rochelle Wiseoff-Fields’ site and learn how to get involved and share your own story. My story’s below the picture.

ERIN LEARY'S WOODEN FENCE

 

THE FORK IN THE ROAD

Kelsey drove along the fence, ignoring it, his thoughts battling. He’d be at the fork in the road soon. The south branch would take him to Barclay; he could hop a bus to the other side of the country.

The north branch would take him home, with his invalid wife to take care of. The neighbor tended her when Kelsey worked. And work was his only freedom.

It was hard to love a woman who couldn’t be a real wife anymore.

But he’d promised: “… for better or for worse …”  And she’d trusted him.

He took the north branch.

~

 

 

 

 

 

~