Friday Fictioneers-In the High Heat of Summer and Blood


In the heat of summer, we began cleaning my deceased great grandmother’s home. Heavy with pregnancy, I pulled the old shoes from the bottom of the armoire. I felt overwhelmed by the chore and my grief of losing her before Adam was born. Sweat slid down my swollen belly as I filled the first box of many. Old shoes were easy to throw out, but what about the the other antiques? The baby kicked while I worked. Then the nosebleed began. Blood poured down my shirt and the old shoes. Distressed, I pinched my nostrils, and ran outside for relief.

100 words exactly!

Genre: autobiographical, memory, hell I don’t know.

Thank you Rochelle Wisoff-Fields for hosting Friday Fictioneers. I’m happy as heck to be inspired to write again. I’m hoping that this priming of the pump will cause the words and stories to flow for me again. Dear Readers, please go to Rochelle’s site to read all of the entries.

Have a terrific day!

Five Sentence Fiction and The 100 Word Song-The Pursuer


Sleep came to Audrey in trivial amounts, and when she least expected it to. Sitting in a coffee shop by the open door, waiting for the waitress to bring the only drug she could afford. She supported her blonde head in her left arm, the sounds around her muffled. How much she wished for a peaceful night’s sleep, without that prickle of anxiety that continued to nag at her. There were not enough locks in the world to hide her away from her mistakes.

Five Sentence Fiction

Continuing to sleep, her regular order was delivered to the table, but Audrey hadn’t spoken to anyone. Involuntarily her arm bumped into the warm cup, but she didn’t startle awake as she usually did. It seemed her body had given up. Whatever was pursuing her had won. Audrey was done, finished, spent. There was no awesome need to prove anything to anyone, anymore. Her shoulders relaxed. She softly snored into the crook of her arm.

The Pursuer stood before the sleeping beauty. Placing the silenced pistol to Audrey’s temple, she fired. In a flash of gun powder, Audrey discovered oblivion.



The Tattoo Artist, Friendship Soup and Conversation

vintage-tattoo-couple“Tattoos made my skin more ‘me.’ -Melissa Maxwell”

Larry Smith, It All Changed in an Instant: More Six-Word Memoirs by Writers Famous & Obscure

I spoke to him on Thursday night, after handing him a jar of handcrafted soup. The note attached articulated that I hoped it nourished he and his son’s bodies as well as their souls.

His eyes clouded with tears, and he began to speak to me. To catch me up on his life. The words came out in torrents. I just listened. It usually is so difficult for me to keep my mouth shut. I always want to inject words of advice into conversations with friends. To ease the pain in some way.

He told me of recent happenings. The sadness. The grief. The loss of a good friend to suicide. And coming to the realization that he was a good man. I kept listening. And smiling. I wanted to hold him close to me, but I didn’t think he’d welcome the contact.

For some reason, he went back to the beginning of his life and shared everything. This man that has pierced me with his needle made sure to  pierce my heart too.

We spoke of his art. The drawing, painting, and tattooing. We spoke of writing. He said I was good. I told him he was better. I announced that he was a reincarnation of Jack Kerouac. He chuckled and grinned like a little kid and announced that his grammar was awful. I assured him that a writer is only as good as their editor. He snickered again.

I inquired about Christmas Day. He told me he’d be spending it alone. The nurturer in me wanted to invite him to dinner on the 25th. Wouldn’t that be something, my friend, covered with tats, ears gauged, sitting at the dinner table with my family? But I didn’t ask. I should have.

Our words began to lessen and it was time for me to take my leave. He came around the counter and hugged me tightly to him. I took in his scent, divine and manly. I whispered in his ear, ‘Merry Christmas and Happy New Year.” He smiled boyishly and I departed from his shop.

His smile stayed on my mind while I drove to my little apartment, just 10 minutes away. The fact that he would be alone on Christmas Day did also. When I got home, I extended an invitation for Christmas dinner. His reply was noncommittal but thankful all the same.

He let me into his life on Thursday night, and I didn’t worry about what time it was. Or the other things I had to do, I just listened.

And I learned.

**Writer’s Note:**
This was the Facebook status that I was tagged in after we talked on Thursday evening. I guess my words stayed with the artist. It is quite an honor to be a part of his life. No matter how small that part may be.
I woke up as the sun was reddening; and that was the one distinct time in my life, the strangest moment of all, when I didn’t know who I was – I was far away from home, haunted and tired with travel, in a cheap hotel room I’d never seen, hearing the hiss of steam outside, and the creak of the old wood of the hotel, and footsteps upstairs, and all the sad sounds, and I looked at the cracked high ceiling and really didn’t know who I was for about fifteen strange seconds. I wasn’t scared; I was just somebody else, some stranger, and my whole life was a haunted life, the life of a ghost.-jack kerouac — with Renee Heath.

Friday Fictioneers-Descent

copyright-David Stewartcopyright-David Stewart

You know it’s over, don’t you?

Is there nothing I can do to change your mind?

Unfortunately, not.

Are you scared?

Petrified, but determined.

How will you live?

Not sure, but I will make my way.

I will miss you Amy.

I’ll miss you too, but I have to go.

Jason scooches to the edge of the scaffold. As he leaps, Amy feels peace. Upon his descent, his face shows terror and then resolve. Her demeanor never changes. The first responders look at her and know there is no reason to fear, she’s not going anywhere but home.

98 words/Genre: Hell, I don’t know, but damn sad.

Thank you Rochelle Wisoff-Fields for hosting Friday Fictioneers. Criticisms and kudos are most welcome. Bring it on my loves, bring it on.

Thursday Quote-Dylan Thomas

Dylan Thomas

Do not go gentle into that good night.

Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Dylan Thomas

I know the quote is about death. Every day we wake up alive, it brings us closer to our demise. I plan to fight it every step of the way. Even when my light goes out, I’ll keep shining on.

I’ll be in the stars.

The fireflies that illuminate the fields on hot summer nights.

The chaos and beauty of a spring thunderstorm.

I will still be there. Living on another vibration, but there all the same.

Friday Fictioneers-Charred Remains


Copyright-David Stewart

Thank you Rochelle Wisoff-Fields for the prompt this week. I decided to try something completely different. I hope you like it. Remember, kudos and criticisms are very welcome. Be tough if you need to. Have a great weekend.

They gazed upon the sculpture. Cast in bronze, a drowning man groping for purchase. It reminded them of their life.  And wasted love. Rain, from drizzle to downpour. It soured their already foul moods.

Dammit, I hate this weather. I’m cold and miserable.

You’re a miserable bitch. Doesn’t matter if it’s raining or not.

Fuck y–

Their argument was cut short. At that moment, air raid sirens wailed. Planes flew overhead. Bombs hit their marks. Life was destroyed. Love killed too. Buildings toppled. Cars exploded. Fires spread. The rain that descended couldn’t even begin to wash away the charred remains.

She Asked Me, Do I Deserve to be This Happy?


Do I deserve to be this happy?

That’s what Ella asked me, via Facebook chat. I wanted to reach through the computer and smack her in the head. Let’s see, you were married for 20 years to a guy that was basically a child living in an adult’s body. You became a control freak trying to keep everyone’s shit together. If you didn’t, your family would have fallen apart. You always thought of yourself last. When you finally decided it was your turn, everything fell into place. In a haphazard way. You realized that life didn’t need to be the way it had been for 20 years. You transformed your body, mind, and life. Even as you changed, your children were at the forefront of your plans. They were number one.

At my urging you tried online dating. You asked my advice. Dude, I’ve been married for almost 24 years, I don’ t know shit! I helped you though. I held your hand. Listened to the stories of the hazards of dating. Wiped your tears. We laughed at the sheer stupidity of some men. We realized even at our age that dating sucks!

I went with you the day your divorce was finalized. Holy shit, that was an eye opener! I’ve never been through anything so heart-wrenching in my life. It was a kind of death. The sad part was the person is still alive. Still of this earth. At least with death, you can grieve the loss. With divorce, you have to see that person again. It’s like ripping off a band-aid, every single fucking time you have to get your kids. Death is final. D-i-v-o-r-c-e, not so much.

So I say yes Ella, you deserve to be happy. You deserve a man that will treat you with respect. That is your equal. That will love you for everything that you are and aren’t. Because that’s all love really is. Someone that loves us for all we are and aren’t. Because they love us, they make us better. Because we love them, we make them better. I think you’ve found your prince. Let him become enchanted with you.

A Broken Hoo Hoo, A Wedding, and A Funeral


Fuck, I need to be at the beach right now!

I’ve had a broken hoo hoo for at least six weeks. I won’t go into detail, but let’s just say it hasn’t been pretty.  I called my awesome ob/gyn over a month ago. The nurse responded that I was probably in peri-menopause and what I was going through was normal. She was quite the bitch to me. You don’t know how badly I wanted reach through the phone and slap her. I decided to wait another week and call back if my symptoms didn’t change.

Fast forward a week and of course the symptoms were still the same. Since Meggie was getting married soon, I decided I didn’t want to end up in a hospital in Mexico having a hysterectomy. I called the doctor again, explained my plight and they scheduled an appointment for me ASAP.

I was sure what the problems was. I had gained back a few pounds so I probably didn’t ovulate. I’d be given a prescription for Provera. I’d have to take it for ten days, bleed profusely and then all would be right with my body again. Yippee!!!!!

During my exam, the doctor and I chatted about the impending wedding. She couldn’t believe one of the first babies she was involved in delivering was old enough to get married. She biopsied my uterus and gave me an internal ultra-sound. Throughout the exam she assured me everything looked good. But she had to do all of these tests to rule out cancer and infections. There it was, the C word.

I told her that this crap was putting a serious crimp in my sex life. And we needed to fix it STAT! The doctor laughed hysterically at me. I giggled right with her. I checked out with a scrip for Provera, with plans to pick it up along with a crap ton of feminine products on my way home from work. It was just like I thought, my body was rebelling from the weight gain. Yeesh!

Imagine my surprise when I received a call from my doctor the Friday after my appointment. She informed me that there was a concern about abnormal cell growth in my uterus. Of course cancer was discussed. It appears that the cell growth is pre pre cancer. Of course I am afraid. I’m trying to be strong and smile through it. I’m a positive person, even if I am a snarky, sarcastic bitch sometimes.

I told Roger Darling about it. He’s a supportive partner, but I know he’s scared too. I have to have surgery in January. Here I was hoping that 2013 was going to be a better year. I pray that it will be even with this little kink in my uterus.

In one more week we’ll be in Miami, we’ll board a cruise ship and head to Key West for Meg and Chris’s wedding. I can’t wait to get out of this town and put my toes in the sand. Maybe it will change my fear to happiness. I know the way I am. I will smile through it and enjoy my time with my daughter and new son in law. However the fear will creep back in when I’m alone and my mind is racing. I’ll shed a few tears in private too.

A dear cousin of ours died suddenly and we have to attend his funeral today. It’s so sad that as we get older the only time  we ever see family is at a wedding or a funeral. I want to be joyous about the upcoming wedding, but we must get through some sadness first.

Such is life after all. Such is life.

Friday Fictioneers-Terminal

Special thanks to Rochelle Wisoff-Fields for this week’s prompt. Not sure how this will turn out. I do believe Rochelle is right. These 100 word stories can be quite addicting. All criticism and kudos are welcome. Thank you for taking the time to read my story.

Copyright-Rich Voza

Jessie looks up from her laptop, and sees Ramona and Abigail standing in the hospital room doorway.

She asks, “What do you want?”

Ramona states, “We wanted to see you is all.”

“You two wrote me off months ago. Now that I’m terminal, you’re here? Fuck off!”, she responds.

Abigail starts crying, then Ramona does.

Jessie says, “Don’t you dare cry for me, you are only here to assuage your guilt. Get out.”

The two women turn and walk away, defeated. Jessie places her reading glasses back on her nose. Turns her attention back to the laptop and continues writing.

You Gotta Get Up and Try, Try, Try


My day started as usual. The alarm went off and I practically knocked the fucking thing on the floor to shut it off. I snuggled with Heidi Jo Jo, the Wonder Schnauzer. She licked my nose. I dragged my ass out of bed, said my good morning to Roger Darling and headed to the shower. As I was stumbling into the tub, Heidi had to have me pet her one more time. Of course I talked to her like she was a baby. Her little nubbin wagged excitedly with the extra loving. Afterward I dressed in warm clothes. Grabbed some coffee. Chatted with Rog. Did my hair. All the normal boring shit I usually do.

As I was walking outside to go warm up my car, I slid on the frost covered deck and fell on my ass. I let out a huge laugh that brought Roger to our picture window. As usual he shook his head at me. Then he raised his shoulders as if to say, “What the fuck woman?” I just kept laughing and picked myself up. Wiped my ass off as I headed out to my car and started it up. I do have a new Candy Blue, the Stripper Car. She’s more curvaceous  than my other Candy Blue. But curvy girls are always better. There’s more to hold onto.

I made my way to work with the stereo cranked to 11, changing stations constantly and singing my brains out. Typical drive in. I was screaming to P!nk’s new release, Try when my Sync system cut in. It was Roger Darling of course. He asked where I was. I let him know I was almost to the parking structure. He said he had just talked to mom and that one of our family members had been found dead this morning. I started crying. He told me to hold it together and call her back. I did. She sounded sick with grief. She told me no more details than my husband did. I made sure to tell her I loved her and to call me with any news.

In the span of five minutes and two phone calls my life changed. My mundane morning routine was turned upside down. My happiness, replaced with grief. For my sweet cousins.  My entire family. As usual death will bring us together. We will hug, cry and reminisce. We will remember and look forward. We will hold on. We will let go.

Much love my dear friends. Much love.