Shards of Glass

still-life-with-doug

 Copyright-Douglas McIlroy

After her latest hospitalization, Tricia isolated herself on an island where no one knew her.

While the ocean roared and licked her feet, she searched for colored shards of glass made smooth by tumbling waves. In her workshop she placed them in jars filled with water then sold them to tourists. Tricia was confounded by what rum soaked and perfect bodied folks would purchase while they laid in the sun.

Here, she remained sober and ‘off the grid’, but it didn’t stop her from thinking about her past life. She hoped they were okay without her. Actually, she hoped they were better than okay.

104 words/General Fiction (hell, I don’t know)

 

Thanks Rochelle Wisoff-Fields for hosting this exercise in discipline. It is a joy to work with you and have you comment on my work. Along with all of my other friends from Friday Fictioneers.

Readers, please check out the other stories found on Rochelle’s page. Thanks for stopping by.

You Kissed Me Once

unidentifiable-on-a-stickcopyright-Ken Bonham

You kissed me once, while seated on a bench in Central Park, our gloved hands held steaming cups of coffee. My booted foot toed a long dead seed pod, and its remnants scattered on the sidewalk.

Our silence spoke of the depth of our love. How it had settled into the corners of our hearts made dusty by time and the broken shards left by other lovers.

I took a sip of steaming coffee, then kissed your mouth. We smiled at each other, as I drank in the beauty of your face.

You whispered, ‘thank you’, and I blushed in my reply.

 Genre: Romance/101 Words

It’s been so long since I’ve participated in Friday Fictioneers, but this photo spoke to me. Please give me constructive criticism. I assure you I’m tough, and I can take it.

Thanks Rochelle Wisoff-Fields for hosting this exercise in discipline. It is a joy to work with you and have you comment on my work.

Readers please check out the other stories found on Rochelle’s page. Thanks for stopping by.

Friday Fictioneers-Of Writing, Rituals and Love

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copyright-Douglas MacIlroy

 

Penny sat across the room from Steven. The ritual of lit candles was completed and it was time to write. Her fingers rested on the home keys, but no words came. Instead, she eyed her new husband.

He was yelling at the television, which she found endearing. As the years progressed, would she begin to hate it? Would he loathe the way she savored her writing time? Penny sat the laptop down, walked over and cuddled up next to Steven.

‘Love, you taste like peanut butter.’ He kissed her.

‘Yeah? Well, you yell at the television like my father does.’

‘Round about 100 Words/Genre: Romance, of course

Thank you  Rochelle Wisoff-Fields for hosting Friday Fictioneers. It is an honor and a privilege to have Ms. Rochelle critique my work. Please be sure to go to her page and read their stories too. We are a rather eclectic group and the genres run the gamut.

I welcome kudos and criticism. Seriously, rip it up if you want.

 

Friday Fictioneers-Peace and Fireflies

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Dawn was Dylan’s hangover, for she treasured the dark. In the mornings, she missed the crackling of embers from a bonfire, sparklers lit just for fun, and the catching of fireflies in a Mason jar.

In her country home, she’d finally found peace. With that realization you’d think she’d found a love to share it with. Instead, she’d found it in her grandchildren, the scent of fresh brewed coffee, and wildflowers growing in her side yard.

Coffee in hand, Dylan sat on the back porch step. Morning washed over her, while she unscrewed the lid and let the fireflies go.

100 Words/Genre: I have NO idea

Thank you  Rochelle Wisoff-Fields for hosting Friday Fictioneers. It is an honor and a privilege to have Ms. Rochelle critique my work. Please be sure to go to her page and read their stories too. We are a rather eclectic group and the genres run the gamut.

I welcome kudos and criticism. Seriously, rip it up if you want.

 

Friday Fictioneers-Beast of Burden

sheep-and-carcopyright-Sandra Crook

Walking back to the village, sheep meandered around Krista’s legs. One bleated, and the others followed suit. She inhaled car exhaust and lanolin. And dust.

She was so tired of feeling dirty. Her teeth were always gritty. She spat on the ground, careful not to knock the water container from her head.

This was it. Krista was done. She’d told Joey they could stay in Africa for a year. It had been three. She wanted her mother. And some semblance of a normal life.

Back at the village, she found Joey and cried, “I’m going back to Nebraska, without you.”

100 words/Genre: Domestic Fiction

I saw this photo and was immediately reminded of the book, The Poisonwood Bible. The character I most identified with was the wife/mother. She stayed with a husband that had clearly gone off his rocker while they were doing mission work in Africa. I wondered how I would react to a partner that continued living in a place that wasn’t home. That wasn’t safe. Where I wouldn’t want to have a family in. I’d be so afraid of losing who I was while trying to help people and be faithful to a partner that kept changing his damn mind. The rebel in me would eventually say, I’m done. That’s exactly what Krista did, she went home.

Thank you Rochelle Wisoff-Fields for hosting Friday Fictioneers.

Friday Fictioneers-Vanilla and Tabacco

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When an adolescent, I played in melted candle wax. Mom wasn’t around much at night, and I was easily bored. Entranced as solid became liquid, I’d light up a Benson and Hedges pilfered from a carton kept in the kitchen. One quick exhale extinguished the flame. Wick and cigarette smoke co-mingled in mid air, while I watched the wax begin to harden. Dipping my finger in, it became slick with oil. I smelled vanilla and burning tobacco, and I prayed Mom didn’t come home early. She’d no doubt question this quirk of mine.  That, or she’d kill me for smoking.

100 words/Genre: memoir

Thank you  Rochelle Wisoff-Fields for hosting Friday Fictioneers. It is an honor and a privilege to have Ms. Rochelle critique my work. Please be sure to go to her page and read their stories too. We are a rather eclectic group and the genres run the gamut.

I welcome kudos and criticism. Happy reading.

Friday Fictioneers-Time for Absolutes

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Bleary eyed from fatigue and two vodka tonics, Janelle strained to read the text from David, her ex.

“I miss you Love.”

Melodious guitar music hid her sharp intake of breath. The years and miles dissolved as she remembered him, holding and loving her.

Outside, the scent of exhaust overwhelmed her, along with the drone of traffic in the city that never slept. A taxi hailed, she instructed the driver to deliver her to LaGuardia. She sent David her response.

“On my way Darling.”

She’d had enough of what ifs. It was time for absolutes. Finally, it was their time.

100 words/Genre: Romance, of course

Thank you  Rochelle Wisoff-Fields for hosting Friday Fictioneers. It is an honor and a privilege to have Ms. Rochelle critique my work. Please be sure to go to her page and read their stories too. We are a rather eclectic group and the genres run the gamut.

I welcome kudos and criticism. Happy reading.

Friday Fictioneers-The Solo Trip

Copyright-D LoveringNot all who wander are lost.-J.R.R. Tolkein

Miranda had been promising herself a solo trip. Her mother worried she’d get lonely, or worse, mugged. What mother failed to realize was Miranda savored her time alone.

Wandering the winding streets of cobblestone, she found a coffee shop and purchased a cup. Greeted with sounds of the village coming alive, she continued her stroll.

It took forever to get here. A debilitating accident. A slow recovery. Now there was chronic pain.

In the village square she was surrounded by tinsel glimmering in the sun. It lit her blonde hair and warmed her skin.

Finally, she was a soul at peace.

100 words/Genre: general fiction

Thank you  Rochelle Wisoff-Fields for hosting Friday Fictioneers. It is an honor and a privilege to have Ms. Rochelle critique my work. Please be sure to go to her page and read their stories too. We are a rather eclectic group and the genres run the gamut.

I welcome kudos and criticism. Happy reading.

Friday Fictioneers-Freedom in the Forest

 

OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERACopyright-John Dixon

I go to nature to be soothed and healed, and to have my senses put in order.-John Burroughs

‘There is freedom in the forest, not afforded in any city.’ Damon had told her that, but Rhiannon didn’t believe it. Until she slept next to him under the stars last night, a bonfire warming their bones.

She requested a vacation together. The Caribbean Sea and a hotel on the beach. He asked for something simpler, purer. With some trepidation she consented.

Now here she was, seated before a fire she’d made, sipping coffee. The sun rose through the trees, painting Damon’s sleeping face with the colors of morning. Heart brimming with love, she went to him.

100 words/Genre: romance and nature (I guess)

Thank you  Rochelle Wisoff-Fieldsfor hosting Friday Fictioneers. It is an honor and a privilege to have Ms. Rochelle critique my work. Please be sure to go to her page and read their stories too. We are a rather eclectic group and the genres run the gamut.

I welcome kudos and criticism. Happy reading.

A Final Rendezvous With Renee

In my Dreams

These days words leave me hollow like a rotting tree stump. It may be dying, but there’s life buzzing in it anyway. Insects and animals colonize within, while the stump slowly decays and becomes one with the earth again.-Heath

I’m hollow. An empty vessel. Spent. And my story has been told. Every single one of my posts have helped bring me peace. I’ve poured my heart into every word I’ve written. Doesn’t matter if the story was real or fiction. I still bled on these pages.

The fictional stories have all had some grain of reality. A real person. A need. A want. A longing and desire. I have never created characters. I’ve created living, breathing people. Maybe someday I’ll tell you the origin of some of them, but probably not.

My journal entries, now those were something weren’t they? They taught me a thing or two about over sharing. Without them, I would have never learned about this gift that I have. It’s a curse too. See, once you begin to write,  it controls you. You immerse yourself in fiction because reality is too much to bear.

Sometimes words came so fast, I couldn’t write or type them fast enough. I was obsessed, to say the least. Photographs and paintings brought forth words and stories. I never realized how much I had to say.

My first fictional piece was called Ascent. About a girl that wanted to die. She didn’t though. Her newly discovered wings saved her as she began to plummet toward the sea. Little did I realize I was the one sprouting those metaphorical wings.

My writer, he pushed me to write for Friday Fictioneers. What began as a lark proved to be a much needed exercise in discipline. My writer fled, but I stuck with FF. Rochelle Wisoff-Fields has been a terrific mentor. I’m honored she worked so hard with me. I adore her for every criticism and kudos. My best flash fiction story was, The Invisible Man. I may submit it to Narrative Magazine. They’ve rejected my work before, but you never know what can happen.

I’ve had five short stories published by EtherBooks. Alan and Melissa from Ghost, and Damon and Rhiannon from Sounds will always be my best creations. The stories are still available for download on your iPhone or Android phone. The app is free, so please download and critique my stories.

‘The Ghost of a Great Love’ 

‘A Night Swim with Marilyn’ 

‘Dawn at Antietam’ 

‘Sounds of Orioles and the Taste of Lemonade’ 

‘On a Hot Summer Night’ 

Sometimes God Sits on a Stoop is a favorite recent post. I saw the face of God that day. I’ll never forget Curt, or his story.

I’ll keep the blog active for awhile, but don’t be surprised if one of these days it’s gone. Like me, she is a force of nature that can’t be contained.

Real life is waiting. I’m going to live it. I suggest you do the same.

Love,

Sparkly Girl

P.S. Don’t hate on me for posting the 1D video. This song is the shit. Even if it’s sung by a British boy band.

P.P.S. How can I forget Rory, my brother in arms? My world will never be the same now that you’re in it. I love you.

Although I am broken, my heart is untamed, still
And I’ll be gone, gone tonight
The fire beneath my feet is burning bright
The way that I’ve been holding on so tight
With nothing in between
The story of my life…