Category Archives: Short Story

Post From the Past – Exposer – TV News


Post From the Past – Exposer – TV News Click to view


From 2014 ~

Here’s a little story I made up, using words from an online scrabble game called “Words With Friends”. These are fun to do…I just try to use all the words that have been played…try to make them fit into a quick little story. The words in bold are the words from the game. Enjoy!


Cue intro music and cool graphics… 🎵

“Good evening fans. Here it is Friday night, and we are swamped with updates here in our studio.

As always, we don’t try to demean anyone here…we’re just reporting the news as it happens. We oft get complaints from people who flip their wigs over our reg. news content. I say, if you can’t take a jab at someone as a joke, then Bro, you’re bent outta shape. This is raw and in your face. I don’t give a fig what anyone thinks.

So, without further ado, Lee will start us off with our first story.”

“Hi, Lee, what is our top story of the night?

“Ed, it would be the drag event, held at the ER disco ballroom, last evening. It was supposed to be a stag party for the groom to be, a foreigner by the name of Chine Zoa. The ETA of this shindig was to be 7 p.m. Everyone was to come dressed in drag. A Drag/Stag party. Well, the ballroom was set up nice, but the management nixed the addition of slot machines.

Then, Mike, the best man, threw dye into the decorative fountain, that turned the water as green as clover. The manager hies to the scene, and as he’s yelling at everyone, Ti and Qi, the twin viola players, hired for musical tunes, jump into the fountain. This caused a riot, as they can’t swim and needed to have the life bouys thrown in to save them.

There was chaos and looting, and it was not contained until midnight.”

“That was the highlight of our news cast. Thank you, Lee. We bid you adieu. Tune in tomorrow for more of…

Cue dramatic exit music and cool graphics… 🎵

The Exposer!!”


Thanks for visiting! Peace ☮️

© 2014 & 2021 BS

Short Story – Stephanie’s Diary


Short Story – Stephanie’s Diary

This is another 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.


Dear Diary …

Now, what am I supposed to write about? Mama gave me this little blue book with a lock on it and a tiny gold key, and said I could write about thins that happened to me every day. She called it a ‘Diary’.

I don’t know if I can even spell it. Let’s see … d a i r y, d e r r y, d i a r y. None of them look right. Oh, stupid me, here it is on the front of the book. Yeah, it’s d i a r y. Well, I still don’t know what to write. Seems kind dumb to me. I don’t want to write what happened today. I’ll remember probably forever!

Today was such a dumb day. First, I couldn’t find my tennis shoes, then when I finally did find them they had mud on them. Mama yelled at me,”Scrape it off in the trash can, not the floor!” Boy, she yells at me for nothing. I was gonna clean it up. I might have waited till after school and after cartoons, but I’d clean it up.

Well, I got to school and the teacher asked for homework papers. I forgot to do that dumb old math. She made me feel like an idiot in front of all my friends – in front of Frankie! Oh! He’ll never like me again. He probably likes Roxanne better now. She had her homework all ready to turn in. And she’s not even as cute as I am. Well, I was so embarrassed I cried. Teacher didn’t have to yell at me. I may not go back to school ever again.

Well, Frankie sat by me at lunch and he said he thought she was the meanest teacher he’d ever had too. That made me feel better. He’s such a hunk! Those gorgeous brown eyes. I never told anyone, but he kissed me once. I thought I was gonna faint, but instead I acted so dumb. I started giggling and couldn’t stop. Then Frankie started laughing too, so it was ok.

Mama says ‘tone it down, tone it down’ when I laugh. I can’t help how I laugh. She says it sounds too loud, like a horse whinnying. Well, somebody out to tell her that she laughs the very same way. Because she does. I guess I get it from her. But no – nobody’s gonna say that to her. Only little kids get fussed at for dumb stuff all the time. Let’s see …

I went over to Kelly’s house after school. She said she had a new Barbie doll to show me. She still plays with dolls – all the time! I don’t like ’em very much anymore. I must be more grown up than she is. ha ha ha!

I told her Frankie was my boyfriend, and she just looked at me like I was too dumb for words. She thinks boys are gross. I tole her she’ll change her mind one of these days when she’s as old as I am. She’s only eight, and I’m already eight and a half. Well, after we tried on my new ‘Pink Passion’ lip gloss and looked at her new doll, I had to come home.

Oh no, Mama just hollered at me to hurry up and go to bed. I’m not even tired yet. Maybe tomorrow won’t be so dumb and I can write something good in here.


Your friend,



Thanks for visiting! Peace ☮️

© 2020 BS


Short Story – Crown the Wild Child


Short Story – Crown the Wild Child


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.


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.


Thanks for visiting! Peace☮️

© 2020 BS



Short Story – Mr. & Mrs. Jolly Fellow


Short Story – Mr. & Mrs. Jolly Fellow


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…


Thanks for visiting! Peace ☮️

© 2020 BS

Ooey-Gooey – Stream of Consciousness Saturday – Earworm


Ooey-Gooey – Stream of Consciousness Saturday – Earworm 

The Friday Reminder and Prompt for #SoCS Sept. 8/18


Your Friday prompt for Stream of Consciousness Saturday is “earworm.” Talk about your latest earworm, or one that habitually haunts you. Enjoy!


Linda has asked us to write about ‘earworms’ for the SOCS challenge, today. Thanks, Linda!


Earworm, earworm, ooey gooey earworm…no, that’s not how the song goes.

The worms crawl in, the worms crawl out…no, that’s not it either, but it’s a really creepy song.

Earworm sounds pretty creepy, too, but it’s not all that bad. When you say you have an earworm, it means you have some song, or part of a song stuck in your head, and it keeps playing over and over until you’re sick of it.

Most times, for me, it’s a good song, and one I like, so I don’t mind. It helps to go play the actual song, so then you’re done with it.

The worst for me are the TV commercial ads songs. Ugh! I suppose that’s the purpose of them, to get you to remember their product. But, if I can’t stand the jingle, then I don’t want to buy their stuff.


If you want to, here’s a whole little story I wrote about earworms. 🙂 It’s creepy and funny! Some of you have read it before, but others haven’t, so…here’s the link to my story:

“It’s All in My Head”


Thanks for visiting! Peace ☮️

© 2018 BS


3 Word Challenge Story – Fifty Six


 3 Word Challenge Story – Fifty Six


This will be a bit different from my usual challenge posts. It is a challenge, though.

Brian Lageose, of Bonnywood Manor, has challenged us with coming up with a story, using 3 words he chose for us.

You can visit Brian’s blog at the following link. He has lots of interesting posts, and has written a couple of wonderfully humorous books.

Writer to Writer: The 3-Word Challenge


My three words were: Happiness, Drought, Flower


“Fifty Six”

I emerged, fragile and pale as a newborn. Inhaling deeply, I breathed the first unfiltered air since that dreadful day, fifty six years ago.

Overwhelmed, I shaded my eyes from the glare of sunlight, and looked around. Squinting, I saw nothing.

My name is Flower, and this is my story.

I was a child of twelve on that beautiful October day, with not a care in the world. Oh, I’d sensed the uneasiness in the way my parents spoke in hushed tones. They didn’t know I was listening to their conversations any chance I got, yet still it didn’t make sense to me.

As it happened, my carefree days were soon over.


We descended into our spacious, but spooky storm cellar. I hated going down there with the spiders. I was surprised though. The cellar had been cleaned, and even enlarged. There was now a small kitchen and bathroom, and places for hundreds of boxes of food and water. My parents must have been preparing for a long time.

At first I thought our seclusion was an adventure, some game or experiment, but as time went on, I came to know the truth. Wrinkles and gray hair appeared on my mother and father, and I myself changed through my teen and young adult years. Still, we remained underground.


Now I am old, older than my parents were when we first were hidden away. They are senile now, and I take care of them as best I can. Lord, when will this be over? If you say I hadn’t thought about just ending it all, it would be a lie. So many times…so many times…


We had ran out of food, two days before, and I knew we couldn’t last much longer, when I heard a scritching, squeaky noise coming from our air vents. I stared, as a long flexible tube snaked it’s way out from a tiny hole. Afraid, yet curious, I touched it, and noticed small letters printed on the hose. I collected my magnifying glass to read them.

‘This is a happiness indicator. Blow into the tubing to be accessed as to your readiness for extraction. Notification will follow shortly.’

I blew, then I held the tube up to my mother and father. We waited. Soon we heard a mechanical voice.

“You have passed. You may open the hatch to your domicile.”


Nuclear winter was over, but the fiery blast had left behind devastation. I saw no buildings, no people, no animals. Smoky skies from the fiery blast had caused widespread drought, leaving no vegetation. We were alone in a strange land. From the air around us, we heard again the mechanical voice. 

“You have a choice,” the voice said. “You may stay here and perish, or be taken as immigrants to our newly established civilization, somewhere in the universe.”

We made our choice.

My name is Flower, and this is my story.

Fifty six years ago, the world as we knew it ended. Today it begins anew.

The End


Thanks for visiting! Peace ☮️

© 2018 BS








Scene: Busy Classroom

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


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)



Thanks for visiting! Peace }i{

© 2017 BS




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 dust bunnies is a never ending job.”


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

© Copyright- Barbara Spencer (ghostmmnc) 2013



GUARDIANSfrogs 022

We are old

We are wise

We have been here from the beginning of days

We will be here at the end of days

We are all knowing

We are all seeing

We hold the knowledge of the universe in our souls

We are your guardians…

We are your friend

We are your enemy

We are your nightmare

We are your wildest dream come true…

We will consume you

We will spit you out

We are your everything

We are your nothingness…

We own you

We spend you

We love you

We despise you…

We will reward you with riches untold

We will destroy all you hold dear

We will shower you with refreshing rain

We will scorch you

We don’t care…

We know you

We adore you

We hate you

We will live on within you

We course through your veins

We commandeer your brain…

We give your life purpose

We shatter your ego

We exalt your spirit

We plunge you into despair…

We laugh at your hopes

We scorn your paltry efforts

We shine the light of love upon you

We call forth the abyss of darkness to envelop you

We cause you to break apart

We cause you to fracture into a million shards of humanity…

We forgive you

We build you up

We promise you

We give you strength…

We are watching you

We are waiting to obliterate you

We cause your death

We rejoice at your rebirth

We are your reality and reason

We are your insanity…

We are your infinity

We are your yin/yang

We are life

We are all knowing

We are old

We are wise

We are your Guardians always and forever…


Thanks for visiting! Peace }I{

© BS 2015




She was a cool girl, tall and shapely, with curves in all the right places. She wore yellow. It was her signature color. Occasionally she’d accessorize with green and brown, depending on her mood of the day.

Her place of residence was the trendy “Countertop Apartments” … on the top floor of high end suites, where a varied group of like minded souls called home.

She wasn’t the first of her family that had lived here. She came from a long line of beauties, going back for generations. On the outside, she seemed a bit tough, but she had to be. Her innate vulnerability caused her to bruise easily. To get to know her, you’d have to peel back the layers to reach her soft, inner loveliness. However, she was not above laughing at her own shortcomings.

As a well known stunt actress, she took her lumps, and didn’t mind that her work further stereotyped her. The clichés were obvious, and yet endeared her to her adoring fans. At one point in her career, she somehow slipped into a series of movies, featuring chimpanzees and orangutans. At first she was intimidated by them, but they were friendly enough, even as they stole the spotlight. Later, she enjoyed the success it brought about, and besides, it was fun and paid the bills.

This exposure eventually led to lucrative roles as a performance artist…a crazy model, letting people cover her with chocolate sauce, coconut flakes, and once even being frozen for a magician’s show. The best, though, was being named performer of the year, and given her own brand of dessert*, a song* written just for her, and a slot in a slang dictionary, as a new word*.

Her down time was mainly spent at home, where she could indulge freely in rest and relaxation. She liked to hang out with her friends, which included a motley mix of fresh, fruitful young gals and guys, to even the crusty old timers, with plenty of ‘bread’ to spend. At the condo she called home, there was never a lack of activities and fun to be pursued, and coffee was available round the clock, to everyone’s delight.

All in all, Leann was living her dream, as she was destined to do. She was top Banana!

*dessert = Banana Split

*song = “Banana Boat Song”

*word = Bananas! as in going bananas…


Note: All the above was sparked by a little label I saw on a banana, as I was getting my morning cereal. It was a sticker that said “Learn…”, but I only glanced at it and thought it said Leann. For a minute I thought…what? They’re naming bananas now, like they put names on the coke cans? Anyway, it made me laugh so much, that the cats came to see what was up with the crazy lady that interrupted their nap, with all the noise…laughing and snorting at a misread label on a banana.

And yes, I ate it and enjoyed every lovely bite…sorry Leann! 🙂IMG_0976


Thanks for visiting! Peace }I{

©BS (ghostmmnc) 2015