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Halloween Cinderella?

30 Oct

Susanna Leonard Hill’s Halloweensie 100-word story writing competition (using the words pumpkin, broomstick, and creak) inspired me to produce the following piece of classic literature this week. It also inspired my son to create an illustration for the story. I hope you enjoy it. And if you don’t, well, I’ll sick the flying monkeys on you. Cheers!

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Halloween Cinderella?

 

One Halloween night, Witch searched her cottage for her broomstick.

“I’ll turn into a pumpkin if I don’t ride before midnight!” she cried.

The potion-packed pantry contained no broomstick.

 Clock chimed eleven.

 Witch searched closets, finding only skeletons.

 Five minutes till midnight! Beetle boogers!

 She tugged the attic door.

 Cr-eeeeeak!

 “I’m NOT coming out,” declared Broom.

 “I hear brooms burn!” threatened Witch.

 “Dare you!”

 She threw a ball of bats at Broom.

 Broom ducked.

 Witch struck a match, cackling “Fire!”

 Clock chimed midnight.

 Lightning zizzled! Flames flared, blazed and baked!

 “I smell cinnamon,” sniffed Broom. “Yum! Witch pumpkin pie.”

 

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And just in case you haven’t had enough of pumpkins, several hundred showed up at the Hoes Down Harvest Festival in early October…

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The Writer’s Demon Rears Its Ugly Head

8 Apr

In response to Julia’s 100 Word Challenge:

100WCGU (7)

As the line was crossed and t’s were dotted, the s’s felt incomplete. Not unusual for s’s, a  motley group of tail-enders often bringing up the rear, like late arrivals to a party long since ended. Like the football team that can’t claim title to their effort, only to their losses—those last to reach the finish line insist it tastes of victory, that finishing deserves its own gold medal. But this meager plot of land so often claimed by other also-rans is merely well-worn turf. My jealous heart desires real victory, claiming untilled soil that I cannot admit does not exist. 

Valentine – 100 Word Challenge

8 Feb

Response to Julia’s:

100 word challenge

There it is, lying just beneath the surface. Your desire for life, your longing for love, your trust that it will come. Water like liquid glass, hiding nothing. The occasional perturbation lasting no more than a moment. Then gone. The assumption so clear, unquestioned, certain. But it is not. Valentine fool, lured into this false security. Love’s  viper peers, waits for a momentary lapse, a weakness, the ripple that leaves you looking elsewhere. Toys with your belief, until, too late, the fangs of folly pierce an artery, injecting poison. Leaves you gasping—then left for dead. Happy Valentine’s Day!   

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Domestic Tranquility

11 Jan
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Marriage Day

You said you’d:

  • Like to know my name.
  • Like to see more of me, all of me.
  • Love me forever.
  • Stop hitting me if I stopped eyeing other men.
  • Like to have kids.
  • Need time to think—or did you say drink? with your buddies.
  • Like me to wear something new.
  • Be sweet if I wasn’t always yelling at you or the kids.
  • Like to take time off—from work and our marriage.
  • Found somebody who reminded you of me.
  • Love me forever, if

I’d just put down the—

Response to the 100-Word Challenge for Grown-ups

Dark Fruit

22 Jun

In response to the 100 Word Challenge for Grown-ups:

In the dark recess of my mind, I wonder who’s not eating while I gorge on strawberries, nectarines, and peaches. Summer lovelies. Women raped in fields by their foremen or co-workers. Never tell. Mothers, fathers, children all evicted while picking fruits I swallow with delight. They work twelve-hour days for paltry pay, often shorted. Too tired and scared to argue, wanting respite from the sun, they trudge home to find their sole possessions thrown out upon the street, a red-tagged door: “No Trespassing. Violators will be prosecuted.” Exposed wiring. Holes in walls. Rodent infestation. Nowhere else to go. Juice courses down my chin. 

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