Category Archives: Short Fiction

Short Story – Crown the Wild Child

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Short Story – Crown the Wild Child

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This is a short story I wrote way back in 1985. It was for an assignment in a writing course I was taking. I’d send in the ‘homework’ and it would be edited with helpful tips by the teacher. I went through the whole course, and got my diploma.

This story she wrote in red ink that it was excellent. There were a few corrections, which I fixed. I don’t know how excellent the story is, but it was fun to write.

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Crown the Wild Child

If you look up the name Stephanie in a what to name the baby book, you’ll find it means “crowned”, as in wearing a crown, ruler over all. This is one Stephanie who thinks it’s true.

With her thick, shoulder-length blonde hair bouncing, she enters the room and immediately everyone in the house knows she’s there. Her favorite greeting, “Hi, Mommy, hi Daddy!” is yelled to whoever may be there, be it man, woman, or child. If you’re not quick in covering your ears, they will be tortured as a high, piercing whinny comes out the child’s mouth. this is her normal and frequently used laugh.

Skipping across the dining room she doesn’t notice a glass of cherry red Kool-aid that falls and shatters on the floor in her wake. She looks out of her mischievous brown eyes and asks her friend if she’s seen the gorgeous new hunk of a boy that just moved in down the street. “He’s so sexy,” she gushes and swoons as if in love.

At age eight, the same age as Stephanie, her friend thinks boys are yucky, and secretly wonders if Stephanie is really a sixteen year old midget. Boys are Stephanie’s main topic of conversation .

School is Stephanie’s downfall. A necessary evil that must be endured for the required seven hours. Acting in her usual wild manner, she has her name put on the blackboard several times a week, with check marks sprouting after it like weeds after a rain.

After Stephanie stays after school for fifteen minutes’ detention, her ride home is harrowing. As she leans out the car window, her arms waving wildly, everyone in a two block area can her her screaming like a banshee to schoolmates the embarrassing refrain of “Hi, Mommy, hi Daddy. Call me at home, and I love you” to all the boys.

After getting home, Stephanie makes a quick pit stop by her personal file – the garbage can where with a blizzard of papers flying, she rids her notebook and book bag of all the evidence of notes sent home for disruptive behavior, and schoolwork with bad grades. At all cost her mother must never see these papers.

On Friday nights Stephanie is ready to stay overnight with her best friend. Already at her friend’s house, she calls her mother on the phone to beg permission. Standing with the phone propped up to her ear with her shoulder, she fiddles with a myriad of objects on the desk. Stuttering and pausing, she tries hard to get the words right in order for her mother to understand her.

Her facial expressions tell the story. As her barely visible brows frown then arch, and her closely set brown eyes sparkle, her thin chiseled nose sniffs and her mouth purses. She looks like a mouse trying to get through a maze. First standing on one foot then the other, she fidgets around, then with her back against the wall she slowly slides to the floor. Finally, with a shriek and a leap, she drops the phone and whinnies her good news.

On her face is the look of a triumphant winner. Head held high, eyes shining, she is smiling as if her ‘crown’ were really up there.

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Thanks for visiting! Peace☮️

© 2020 BS

 

 

Short Story – Mr. & Mrs. Jolly Fellow

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Short Story – Mr. & Mrs. Jolly Fellow

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This is a story I wrote back in 2015. It was from a prompt on Friday Phrases, and the words were ‘alone again’.

My phrase for this was …  Her 5th marriage ended, just like the other 4. In a heartbeat, she was alone again. She wasn’t called the black widow for nothing.

Click to view

The Story …

The media hoopla that followed Mr. Jolly Fellow’s accomplishments in mountain climbing, went viral. As the first person to conquer Mt. Deception, he was pretty proud of himself. However, his braggadocio rubbed some people the wrong way.

The families of his climbing expedition team mates had questions about how their loved ones met their unfortunate ends. They hired an investigator to look into the incidents.

During the gathering of information, and interviewing friends of Mr. Jolly Fellow, along with mountain climbing experts, a Mr. Yeti came forward. He claimed to be an eye witness to the murder of those poor mountaineers. He had hard evidence, capturing on his phone’s camera, the image of one Mr. J. Fellow, tampering with the ropes and other equipment of his partners. This was just what the investigators needed to arrest Mr. Jolly Fellow…which they did. They also subpoenaed Mr. Yeti to testify at the trial.

At the preliminary hearing and indictment, it was learned that Mr. Fellow had an obsession with the tv show “Murder She Wrote” Had watched it for years, even the re-runs. He wanted to solve crimes, just like Angela, but in order to do that, he had to commit the crime.

At first, he just fantasized about it. Later, he was so far into his psychosis, he believed he ‘was’ Angela, and even dressed himself as a woman, in private. In his real life, he was still the friendly, outgoing, adventurer.

Mr. Fellow subsequently bonded out of jail, until the trial could commence. When he returned home to await trial, Mrs. Fellow was not happy. After learning of her 5th husband’s alter ego, she took her iron skillet, and whacked him over the head, thus keeping her ‘black widow’ status intact.

Breaking the news to their children, was not as easy. Little Bobby was following in his father’s footsteps, as he’d already mangled the teddy bear (and had now set his sights on his sister’s collection of Barbie dolls). Mom put him into a rehab facility for troubled youth, for treatment.

Her teenaged daughter already had an inferiority complex. She also had delusions of being a Disney Princess…I mean, going around wearing that fancy ball gown, won her no friends. She spent awhile in therapy sessions, but now, after her meds kicked in, she just spent her days vegging out on the couch, watching “Murder She Wrote”, and eating crackers and Haggis.

What was a widowed mother to do? She got an account on a dating site, looking for husband number 6.

After the death of Mr. Jolly Fellow, it came to pass, that Mr Yeti became a hero. He was featured on the cover of People Magazine, and now people all over the world knew that Yeti, the abominable Snowman, Big Foot, and Sasquatch were real. He landed a book and movie deal, that made him wealthy. He used the money to make improvements to his community, of what is now known as Yeti-land.

Mrs. Jolly Fellow was never held responsible for killing her husband with the skillet. Her actions were seen as a good deed, after all, for saving the Criminal Justice System a lot of money and red tape. They didn’t have to provide prison housing, food and medical for Mr. Jolly Fellow, for years and years to come.

Mrs. Jolly Fellow did find husband number 6. It was true love, this time, and she retired her skillet…at least for awhile…Mr. True Love pampered his Mrs., and gave her everything she wanted. He knew he had to, or…whack…

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Thanks for visiting! Peace ☮️

© 2020 BS

Drain

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Drain

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tap tappity tap tap

I don’t really know Morse Code, but I tried tapping some sort of rhythm anyway. You know, just in case.

Sometimes I see a skinny little leg, other times an eye peeking out of the drain.

I talk to him several times a day … he says nothing.

He’s a big feller, for what he is. But he’s shy.

I don’t know how old he is, but can’t be very old. His kind don’t live long lives.

I figure he’s lucky to be living in the drain here, instead of someone else’s drain.

Someday soon I will lure him all the way out. I will catch him for re-location.

Tap tappity tap tap

“Come on out Mr. Spider.”

Click to view

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Thanks for visiting! Peace ☮️

⌐ 2020 BS

Forgotten Phrases # 6 – Wilderness

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Forgotten Phrases # 6 – Wilderness

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These are short phrases (or micro fiction) that I wrote years ago.

This one I wrote for a writing challenge back in 2016.

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Subject: Insects

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Click to view

50 years after conquering the human race

they roamed freely in the wilderness

of concrete and glass

Never to fear bug spray again

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Thanks for visiting! Peace ☮️

© 2020 BS

Short Story – Fakers

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Short Story – Fakers Man Running on Facebook 4.0

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Here is another little story I wrote using the words from the online scrabble game “Words With Friends”. The words in bold are the words that were played on the game board. Hope you enjoy it!

FAKERS

They were modern day hobos, Quin and Helio. They always figured it would be fun to go on a tear, and join in the weekly races held in their little country town. The thing was, everyone knew them.

They’d been friends since childhood, always together, getting into all kinds of zany situations. Once upon a time, the older generation teased them, called them dotty, which maybe they were, but then, they didn’t care. They’d just laugh it off.

So, it was decided. They both took plenty of vitamins in the days before the race. They wanted to look hep, so they put on their fake furs and top hats, and stood in a row at the starting line.

The ref nudged the judge. “Look at them, the judge said. “I’d trade jobs with you, if I could.”

Ley, you’re too anal for my job. You’d tag the wrong one, before the ink is even dry on the entry form.”

Si, you have a point, Baal,” said Ley. They both laughed.

“But, what if you put a hex on them? When they get to mid point, they’ll probably shed those furs. They can vie it out better.”

“Don’t nag me, Ley. I’ll do it. I’m gonna make Quin veer off course. He will trip over his own feet, fall and skin his knee. It will ooze blood. We will rush him to the ER, and he will feel woe at that time. It’ll teach those two fakers a lesson. Don’t put on airs in this town – we know who you really are.”

“Ah,” said Ley, “very good. Shall we start the races?”

Baal nodded and smiled, as he shot the starter gun into the sky.

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Thanks for visiting! Peace ☮️

© 2014 & re-posted 2020

Forgotten Phrases # 1 – Footsteps

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Forgotten Phrases # 1 – Footsteps

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These are short phrases (or micro fiction) that I wrote years ago.

Subject: Footsteps

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“Don’t Cross the Line”

It got him, just as his next footstep crossed over the line.

He was warned, yet he took the dare.

With that one step he entered another dimension in time and space; he was never seen again.

As rolling thunder crossed the sky, echoes of doom’s footsteps signaled the end of days.

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Thanks for visiting! Peace ☮️

© 2020 BS

 

Flashback Friday – Abandoned

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Flashback Friday – Abandoned

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Fandango’s Friday Flashback — November 15

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Flashback Friday is a look back at some older posts of ours. To find more details, click the above link.

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This is a post I had on September 10, 2015. I think it was a writing assignment called, ‘Writing 101 – Photograph Inspiration’. We were to look at the provided photo, and write something about it. Here’s what I wrote, and it had a few views and likes (maybe 5?) Anyway, here it is again – enjoy! 🙂

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WRITING 101 … PHOTOGRAPH INSPIRATION

Today, the 4th assignment, we were shown 4 pictures, all interesting. We were to pick one to write whatever we wanted to about the picture, in whatever style you wanted. Here is my interpretation of this picture, in a short fiction piece.

ABANDONEDGOMY9CQSvmjKLxigsfxg_Attic

The late summer’s, afternoon sun has made the attic room at the top of the stairs unbearably hot. I’m already sweating from climbing the rickety, wooden stairs…upward into that sauna of an attic room.

Pausing in the doorway, I take a long look around. There’s nothing much to see…an unadorned window, framed in weathered wood, the slanted wall boards, giving this area of the room a tri-angular shape.

There is no hint in daylight of what is to come at nightfall.

I make my way back down the narrow stairway, taking note of the steps that creak. I must remember not to step on them later. The house is over a hundred years old…now abandoned in it’s declining years. There are spider webs in the shadowy corners, and dust particles make me sneeze. I must remember to wear a mask, when I return.

Sweat now trickles down my forehead, and my t-shirt is soaked. There are signs of mice living here…the only living creatures, besides the spiders, to call this place their home. I hear a skittering behind a wall, and smile. I’m not afraid of the mice. They’ll keep me company tonight, as I search for the abandoned souls of the dead.

For I am a ghost hunter…this is what I do.

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Thanks for visiting! Peace ☮️

© 2015 & 2019 BS

Little Devils

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Rabbit, Wild Rabbit, Red, Bunny, Animal

image from pixabay

Little Devils

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Here’s a short story I wrote way back in 2013, which pretty much no one saw.

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LITTLE DEVILS

They skittered away from me. They always do, the little devils. They are fast. I sometimes catch one, but it’s not easy.

Laughing at my attempts, they form little armies, who taunt me. I curse at them. I get angry, and stomp my feet, then find another weapon in my arsenal, hoping to one day find one that will annihilate them for good.

I’ve learned that they are tricksters. They have many hiding places, and love to skitter out at me…a surprise attack, only to disappear again. To look at them, you’d think they are innocent of any evil intent towards me. I know better, now. I’ve come to believe they have some kind of rudimentary intelligence that aids them in their mission…to drive me crazy.

The ones I’ve captured are disposed of immediately, but it hardly matters. Multiplication of their species is rapid, and they don’t mourn the loss of their comrades.

Where do they come from? How do they get in here? I don’t invite them in; I’d never do that. They are sneaky. If ever you look into the dark recesses of this place, you may catch sight of a few, caught congregating…formulating their plans. I shake my head, knowing they’ll be gone, if I run to get my chosen weapon.

They’ve been around for centuries…their kind. I’m sure of it. They are a primitive sort, yet hardy…impossible to completely wipe off the face of the Earth. I’ve dissected a few, those I’ve been lucky enough to catch. They made no sound, as I pulled and prodded them apart…even as they crumbled into nothingness. I was surprised. Their bodies seemed to disintegrate…a bit of hair, a bit of fluff…as I made sure they returned to the dirty little hell they came from. I shudder at the remembrance of it. I don’t pull them apart for curiosity’s sake, anymore.

I chased one the other day, though. It was skittering across the floor…a tiny one this time. From the corner of my eye, I caught a glimpse of movement. I was lucky, as I had my weapon already in my hand. I smashed the bloodless bugger flat. The only witnesses were the others of it’s kind…already trapped, and on their way to their doom.

Suddenly, I sensed a slight movement, behind me. Whirling around, I dangled my latest victim in front of them. “Hah! Look at your future, you devils,” I sneered. Flinging the deceased into their midst, I scooped up the whole lot of them, before they could react. Their execution was at hand.

As today’s invaders were being disposed of, I heard their final, collective thought…”We’ll be back…”

I sighed, shaking my head, and thought…“Waging war on those little devil dust bunnies is a never ending job.”

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Hope you enjoyed this bit of short fiction! Peace }I{

© 2013 BS

Flower Power Revisited – Flashback Post

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Flower Power Revisited – Flashback Post

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Fandango’s Friday Flashback — June 7

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Fandango asked for a flashback post from us, so this is what I posted back then on this day.

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FLOWER POWER?

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FLOWER POWER?

 

Scene: Busy Classroom

Characters: Tommy, the student, and a solar powered flower

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The teacher gave the students an assignment. They are quietly working at their desks. Tommy is looking around the room, thinking of something to write his essay about, and tapping his pencil on the desk.

Tap – Tap – Tap

FLOWER: Pssst, Tommy!

TOMMY: (looking toward the window sill) …Huh?

FLOWER: Don’t look so startled. It’s just me, the Flower. (nodding his flowery head) Yeah, I can talk.

TOMMY: (looks around the room to see if anyone is watching him) …But…how can you talk? You’re just a toy flower.

FLOWER: I’m a magic flower. Don’t worry about it.

TOMMY: What do you want?

FLOWER: I want you to write about me. You can make up some stuff, but make sure you mention I can only talk to you.

TOMMY: (smiling) Okay, but they won’t believe me. (starts writing on his paper)

FLOWER: (humming a little tune…waiting)

TOMMY: I’m finished writing. Can you read, too?

FLOWER: Nope, you will have to read it to me.

TOMMY: (reading) … Once upon a time there was a fake flower that could talk.

FLOWER: Fake? Fake? I’m as real as you are. Scratch that out.

TOMMY: Fine…(scratches through the word fake, then writes more words)

FLOWER: Well…are you done with my story?

TOMMY:  (writes ‘the end’ on his paper) …Okay, listen to this, Mr. Flower. “Once upon a time there was a toy flower that could talk to me, but only in this classroom. He was a pretty flower, but sorta weird. I think we’ll be friends forever.”

FLOWER: (smiling) I like it, Tommy! I think we’ll be friends forever, too.

TEACHER: (Looking over at Tommy) … “Tommy, stop your daydreaming, and get busy writing your paper. It has to be finished by the time the bell rings.”

TOMMY: (sighing) … “Yes ma’am.” (starts writing about a talking flower)

THE END

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Thanks for visiting! Peace }i{

© 2017 BS

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Thanks for visiting! Peace ☮️

© 2019 BS