Friday Fictioneers, Feb 24th – A Canadian Childhood

My childhood was spent in northern Ontario. While most people dread winter, I have very fond memories of sledding, cross-country skiing and skating during the long winter months. My heart races at the sight of snow even after spending 28 years fighting snarled traffic in the area around Toronto. Now that I am retired, I spend most of my time in Arizona. I miss snow, marveling that it makes no sound as it falls, and hearing it squeak under my feet on very cold nights.

I want to give a special thank you to Rochelle for picking this week’s photo. Thank you Sarah Potter for providing the wonderful photo.

Don’t know about this challenge, want to join? Visit Rochelle Wisoff-Fields at https://rochellewisoff.com.

january-snowfall-nighttime
PHOTO PROMPT © Sarah Potter

The cold glass bit my nose. Fog turned the solitary figure into a blur. Using my sleeve, I wiped the glass. In the glow of the streetlight, his shoulders hunched against the cold, my father walked back and forth swinging the garden hose in broad arcs.
My mother’s relief had entwined with mine when we discover last year’s skates still fit. Soon I would be twirling across that glistening surface. My jumps as high as my imagination would take me.
Sadly, seasons changed, years passed. Those days of backyard skating rinks lasted no longer than the blink of an eye.

Word Count: 100

Like the story, let me know. Have advice on how to improve it, please let me know. Click HERE to fall down the rabbit hole to more stories based on the photo prompt.

 

Advertisements

Friday Fictioneers, Feb 17th – Susie Q

Yep, it’s that time again. Below is my 100 word story based, on the photo prompt, for this week’s Friday Fictioneers.

Don’t know about this challenge, want to join? Click her name to visit our host Rochelle Wisoff-Fields site that has all the information you need.

Here is this week’s prompt –

broken-face-liz
PHOTO PROMPT © Liz Young

Now for my story –

Being late turned her insides to jelly and sent her mind reeling with horrible possibilities.

Annie quickly shifted her weight from foot to foot.

“Come on, come on, change.” She implored the street light.

“She’s old enough to be left alone. She’s fine.” Annie reassured the pedestrians around her.

The light changed and Annie pushed her way forward, then veered off the sidewalk into the woods.

“Ah Susie Q, I knew you’d be okay. Mommy’s sorry she left you alone so long.”

Annie stoked the long dark hair and checked to ensure her possessions were just as she had left them.

Word Count – 101

Thanks for dropping by and reading. I love feed back. Leave a few words in my comments. If you would like to read more stories click Friday Fictioneers.

Have a great day,

Cindy

Scrivener’s Forge 2 – Character, Desire, and Plot

Time to work on my writing skills

This weeks Exercise:

Think of a character. Then ask yourself: what does this character want?  What is stopping them achieving their desire? What must they do to overcome these obstacles?  Write a brief scene, the climax of the story, in which your character confronts the obstacles.

For more information please drop by the host, Neil MacDonald’s page for all the rules.

My submission this week is taken from a novel I am working on. Any comments, positive or negative will help me grow as a writer. Here it is –

I finally had to nerve to confront my mother about the dreams of storms and drowning that had been plaguing me. I sat stunned by her response.

“It was 1919, times were tough, money and jobs were in short supply. I knew your dad could be moody, but I married your him anyway. Soon after we got married, things got bad. He lost his job. No job meant no money and no food. My family helped us as much as they could. That hurt and angered your father. He was proud and didn’t like having to depend on my parents. Eventually, he got the job at the paper. But the damage was done. He started drinking more and became even moodier. Even when we had Jimmy he didn’t stop drinking. The more he drank, the quicker things set him off. Poor Jimmy bore the brunt of it all.”

I sat in silence knowing I wouldn’t like what was coming. Voice wavering, my mother continued, “At first, he would just yell and bully Jimmy. Then your father started physically pushing him around. He would slap him. And God forgive me, one time, when Jimmy was five, he broke little Jimmy’s arm. I don’t think he meant to but it happened.”

With that, my mother looked like she wanted to crawl into herself and disappear. She started a slow rhythmic rocking.

“It’s okay mom; it’s all in the past. I don’t blame you for anything.”

She looked at me, remorse etched deep into her face. “I guess you think I should have left your dad. I should have just taken Jimmy and left. But I had nowhere to go. If I went back to my parents, they would have just sent me back to your father. That’s just the way it was. I tried to protect you and Jimmy. Then when you were seven and Jimmy was sixteen, Jimmy drowned. Your father swore it wasn’t his fault.” The words hung over us, like a storm the rest of our lunch.

As I drove home, I gave in to the black thoughts circling in my mind. The conversation with my mother had shaken me to my very core. The very roots of my being, my past have changed. I have been in denial about my father and my family life

“Oh Lord, I’m going to be sick.” I thought as I pulled over into a mall parking lot and opened the car door. The fresh air calmed my roiling stomach. I truly don’t have any memories of being physically abused by my father. I have no memories of him hitting my mom or Jimmy. My dreams made sickening sense. His verbal abuse and the pain from his strikes are the storms that now haunt me. My dad was a monster. All my mother’s rationalizations about it being a different time, about him having a hard time don’t change that. My father was a monster.

What does that make me?

Word Count: 496

Thank you taking the time to read this. I hope you enjoyed it. Please let me know. Check out other stories by clicking HERE. And please join us!

Cheers,

Cindy

 

 

Friday Fictioneers Feb 10 – It’s Exhausting

Time for this weeks contribution to the Friday Fictioneers Challenge to write a 100 word story based on the photo prompt.

Interested in finding out more about this challenge and the group of writers that accept the challenge each week, start with our host’s Rochelle Wisoff-Fields site by clicking HERE.

Every week numerous writers take on the challenge submitting surprising and engaging stories. Have a look at this weeks submissions by clicking READ MORE.

The intriguing photo below was provided by  Ted Strutz

chair
PHOTO PROMPT Ted Strutz

 

Bones creaking, muscles screaming, God dropped into the chair to rest. Stroking his beard, he looked out over the river. How could humans be indifferent to the fish gasping for breath in the toxic waters, the sighs of the trees as they struggled to fight the acid rain that clogged their arteries, the cries of the starving polar bears? Exhausted, he knew his work was not done. Whales were beached on sandbars exposed by dwindling oceans, whole animal species were being wiped out.

He was tired of fighting the malice of humans. He may just have to go nuclear and start over.

Word Count: 102

Thanks for reading.

Cindy

Friday Fictioneers – Feb 3rd, Go Gently

Time for this weeks contribution to the Friday Fictioneers Challenge to write a 100 word story based on the photo prompt.

Interested in finding out more about this challenge and the group of writers that accept the challenge each week, start with our host’s Rochelle Wisoff-Fields site by clicking HERE.

Every week numerous writers take on the challenge submitting surprising and engaging stories. Have a look at this weeks submissions by clicking READ MORE.

Every week I tell myself I will write an upbeat story, maybe even a funny story. For some reason that never happens. The photo’s lead me in another direction. Once again I have gone down a serious road. I hope you don’t find it too dark.

Here is this weeks photo, followed by my story.

PHOTO PROMPT © Roger Bultot

orchid

The unseen orchid twisted and stretched towards the light, but today the sun refused to shine. It had been weeks since my mother had suffered the stroke. In the still room, I listened as the machine forced air into her lungs. Whir-Click, Whir-Click.

No, Mr. Thomas you were wrong. I don’t want this frail broken form to rage. I want my mother to go gently into that good night. I pray she will slip peacefully to a heaven that I can only dream of.

I nod to the nurse. A final click, the machine stops. My mother is gone.

99 Words

Thanks for reading. This story was inspired by Dylan Thomas’ most famous poem Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night. The full text of this compelling poem can be found HERE.

Help me grow and develop my writing. Drop me a comment and let me know what you would have done differently or how I could improve this story.

Thanks

Cindy