Hoping everyone enjoys a sweet 4th of July. Stay safe.
Photo credit: Wicker Paradise on Visualhunt / CC BY
Photo credit: Karsun Designs Photography on Visualhunt / CC BY-ND
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Jo Hawk The Writer
Photo credit: jacilluch on Visualhunt.com / CC BY-SA
Adahy began his day long before sunrise. Accustomed to walking long distances without stopping, he left no evidence of his passing. The thick forest made the trail difficult to follow, but he was sure of his skills. As the day passed, Adahy worried if perhaps the directions were wrong.
He stopped and closed his eyes. Once again, he sat at the fire speaking with Hania. They spoke for only a short time, but Hania’s gave specific directions and Adahy focused on each word, committing the conversation to memory. Adahy retraced his steps comparing them to Hania’s directions. He trusted his memory and his skills; so, he wondered if Hania lied to him.
The stakes were too high, so he kept walking as the sun slid towards the horizon. At last, he saw the trail tree, and it looked exactly as Hania had described. Adahy sighted along the trunk of the tree as instructed. With the location fixed he broke into a run. The sun was setting, and his future depended on him reaching the camp before the ax fell.
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Keep on writing.
Jo Hawk The Writer
Title: Remembering Roses
Source: Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers
Word count: 150 words
This week’s photo prompt is provided by Michelle De Angelis. Thank you, Michelle!
I pulled the box out of the closet and brushed the dust from the top before opening it. This box was full of photos. I had never seen some of them, others showed images of friends and family, looking much younger than they did now. As I flipped through them, one old Polaroid caught my attention and transported me back in time.
It was a hot and humid day, so we drove to the botanical gardens. She loved to walk the paths through the fragrant roses. She pointed to different flowers and called them by their Latin names. Old friends, she said laughing. We talked about many things that day and our talk helped. It was one of the many things I loved about her.
I brushed the tears flowing down my cheeks, set the box in the pile of things to keep and slipped the photo into my pocket.
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Jo Hawk The Writer
Photo on Visualhunt
Gunner’s nose twitched, pulling his head from his sleeping position. His eyes opened slowly and focused on my face. I smiled, and he got to his feet shaking his body from the nose to his tail, in the way dogs do. When he stopped, he was awake, his nose sniffed the air until he caught the scent. He was a smart dog. The nose told me he knew about the treats in my pocket.
I patted his head calling him a good dog, but it wasn’t what he wanted. Brown puppy dog eyes tried to melt me into submission. I was strong. He cocked his head and I could hear the voice in his head. I watched him and didn’t say a word. He pranced and wagged his tail and the nose wiggled, confirming there were yummy cookies he should be eating. Growing impatient he bayed.
“Shh,” I whispered, and he cocked his head again trying to understand.
“Sit,” the command was firm, and Gunner’s eyes shifted from my face to my pocket and back to my face.
“Sit,” I said again. I held my breath as he wavered, thinking, learning.
Then Gunner sat, tail thumping on the floor, nose twitching, waiting. He didn’t wait long, and the treat disappeared in an instant. Gunner got up, but the nose focused him on the scent – more treats in my pocket. He stared at me and sat once more.
Training had begun.
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Jo Hawk The Writer
From Sonya’s 3LineTales at Only100Words.
You can find the original prompt here. Thank you, Sonya.
photo by Mark Dalton via Unsplash
I normally incorporate the two-and-a-half miles of the Freedom Trail into my early morning run.
My favorite part is running through Charlestown Navy Yard, past Pier 1 where Old Ironsides is berthed.
As I run, my heart swells with pride and I hum “O say can you see by the dawn’s early light…”
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Jo Hawk The Writer
Photo on Visual hunt
In Season
Elenore raced downstairs to the kitchen. The aroma of morning coffee told her she had overslept, and she’d better hurry, or there wouldn’t be any food left. She slid onto the bench next to her eldest brother and he passed a platter of scrambled eggs.
“Joshua! You can put that last slice of bacon on Elenore’s plate,” he said.
Joshua froze, the bacon suspended inches from his open mouth and shot David a dirty look.
“But I’m still hungry.”
David picked up Elenore’s plate and held it in front of Joshua. He didn’t say a word. Joshua sighed dropping the bacon on the plate next to the last of the scrambled eggs.
“Thank you, Joshua,” Elenore smiled as David deposited the plate in front of her.
“There’s oatmeal if you’re still hungry,” Gram called from the sink, her back to the table.
Grampa slid a buttered toast triangle from his plate to Elenore’s.
“Did you sleep well?”
“Yes, Grampa and I had the best dream.”
“Did you now?” Grampa’s silver eyebrow arched, wrinkles spreading across his forehead.
“Mm, I dreamed Gram, and I were making my favorite jam.”
“Elenore, how many times have I told you not to speak with your mouth full?”
Elenore’s eyes bugged out, and she swallowed before answering, “Sorry Gram.”
“Were there pork chops as well?” Grampa winked and smiled at her before he pushed his chair back from the table.
“Yes.”
“What do you think Babe?” Grampa asked making his way to the sink to give Gram a peck on the check.
“I think you’re dreaming too.”
Grampa chuckled and pushed open the screen door. The boys got up without him asking and followed him to the barn.
Elenore finished her breakfast then stacked the plates and flatware and carried them to the counter beside the sink. Gram handed her a damp rag, so she could wipe the table and chairs. They continued their morning work until the kitchen was spotless.
“May I see if they are ready?” Elenore’s voice broke the silence.
“Take a basket with you.”
Elenore picked up the basket and slipped out the door. She squinted as she looked at the kitchen garden. A warm breeze tickled the plants, bending them back and forth in an elaborate dance. Elenore danced too, her basket spinning she skipped past the garden towards her destination. It wasn’t far. Approaching the thicket, she flushed blackbirds from the bushes.
“Go away birds!” she shouted, “You can’t have my gooseberries.” She waved her arms and ran the last few yards. The birds squawked in protest as they flapped into the blue sky.
She eyed the purple and green translucent gems. She pulled a deep purple berry from its stem and popped it in her mouth. It made her pucker and then smile with delight. They were ready. With her full basket, her dream would soon come true.
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Keep on writing.
Jo Hawk The Writer
Title: Lucille
Source: Friday Fictioneers sponsored by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields-Addicted to Purple
Word count: 100 words
PHOTO PROMPT © Rochelle Wisoff-Fields
Robbie grabbed a breakfast sandwich from the microwave and poured milk into his hot coffee. Hanging over the kitchen sink, he snarfed the sandwich as fast as he could, washing down each bite with a sip of coffee. One glanced at his watch told him he needed to get moving if he didn’t want to be late again.
He paused as he headed toward the door, glancing at his gear piled in the corner of the living room. How long since he had played Lucille? Robbie pulled his cell phone from his pocket and sent a text to his boss.
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Jo Hawk The Writer
Title: Mirage
Source: 100 Word Wednesday: Week 77
Word count: 100 words
Image by Bikurgurl
She should enjoy the sunset, but the ice in her drink melted hours ago. She should enjoy the trip, but the passion in her life evaporated years ago. Her days comprised completing items on the list. The purpose of the trip: relax, recharge. Check and check move on to the next one.
Days turned to years filled with rushing and running, keeping her schedule and adding to the unrelenting list. No time to lose, no excuses for dropping the ball. No time to relax, recharge. A life lived in quiet tragedy; a flurry of activity defining existence, concealing an illusion.
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Jo Hawk The Writer
Title: Gottcha
Source: FLASH FICTION FOR THE PURPOSEFUL PRACTITIONER- 2018 WEEK #26
Word count: 190 words
Pedro Fogueras pexels-photo-626164 shadow
Margaret placed her hands in the small of her back and stretched. Her morning chores complete it was time to fix the children’s midday meal.
“Children,” she hollered as she reached for the screen door, “Get washed up for dinner.”
The screen door slammed behind her. The kitchen was cooler than the hot sun. Margaret darted around the kitchen, the sooner she finished this task the sooner she could sit and relax before starting supper. She spread seven sandwiches across the table along with seven glasses of lemonade as the children stampeded to their assigned seats.
“Jason? Where is Jason?” silent shrugs answered her question.
At the back door, Margaret called Jason’s name through the screen. The yard was empty. Concerned creased her brow as she stepped into the harsh daylight.
“Jason?” she called, clean sheets billowing on the clothesline next to her.
“Grrr,” Jason growled slapping the sheet from the side opposite of her.
Margaret screamed, and Jason laughed. She flipped the sheet aside, grabbed his arm and pulled him toward her.
“Never do that again,” she said, swatting at his backside as she dragged him into the house.
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Keep on writing.
Jo Hawk The Writer
Title: Top of the World
Source: Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers
Word count: 300 words
*** Ok, truth. This story is over the limit, but I couldn’t help it. It wrote itself and I didn’t have the heart to cut a story the muse handed to me. I hope you agree.
This week’s photo prompt is provided by Yinglan. Thank you Yinglan!
Edmund hung his head, his shoulders slumped, and his arms dangled, flopping at his side. He scuffed his feet sending stones bouncing along the trail.
“You ok, Edmund?”
Edmund snapped to attention spinning to face his father, a huge grin plastered across his face.
“Yeah. It’s just taking so long. How soon before we get there?”
“What does your altimeter say?”
Edmund studied his wrist, “Four thousand and thirty-nine feet.”
“And where is that on your map?”
Edmund pulled the map from his pocket. With his father’s guidance, he determined they were a mile from the summit. Stuffing the map back in his pocket, they continued along the trail. Thirty minutes later Edmund saw something flapping at the crest of the trail and ran. His father’s shout of “don’t run,” didn’t change his pace, and he was at the summit before coming to a full stop.
“Woo-hoo, we made it,” Edmund shouted jumping up and down at least a dozen times. He ran to the flagpole and planted a kissed the metal pipe. People at the summit smiled at the young boy’s expression of joy.
“Dad! Isn’t this great?”
“Sure is. Remember, we still have to climb down.”
“I know, but can’t we stay for a while? Look at it,” Edmund flung his arms wide and spun in a circle. He stopped face to face with his father. On an impulse, Edmund flung his arms around his waist squeezing as hard as he could.
“Thanks, Dad,” Edmund breathed into the soft flannel of his father’s shirt, before letting go to stand next to him. He didn’t notice his father’s huge smile or his hand brushing at moist eyes.
Father and son stood in silence surveying the view.
“So, still think you want to climb Everest someday?”
Edmund grinned and nodded.
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Keep on writing.
Jo Hawk The Writer
Jo Hawk 