From Sonya’s 3LineTales at Only100Words.
You can find the original prompt here. Thank you, Sonya.
photo by Lechon Kirb via Unsplash
I wake each day with a song track playing in my head, my own personal daily mix.
Sharing my music with others is what I crave.
I may never be rich and famous in the traditional way, but I know I will never be poor.
______________________
Keep on writing.
Jo Hawk The Writer
Title: Turkey Take Away
Source: Tuesday Writing Prompt Challenge
The Prompt: Write from the perspective of anything on or around a Thanksgiving table—turkey, fork, candle, chair, table, mashed potatoes—whatever! Be that object and write a humorous piece.
Note: This fails on the humorous aspect of the prompt, but here it is, just the same.
Photo credit: waitscm on VisualHunt / CC BY
Dinner is done, and the guests are gone. The parade was the coldest on record they say. But Santa arrived safely, kicking off Black Friday sales. I sit alone, forgotten on the dining room table. From decades of performances, I know I will soon be put away.
Each year is the same. They return the witches, skeletons and creepy, crawly things to their coffins and me and my pilgrim friends and installed in places of honor. They cook and clean and drop leaves into the dining room table, then set up card tables and extra chairs in every available corner.
The doorbell rings and the guests arrive, filling the house with delectable aromas wafting from the dishes they bring. At the appointed hour, they all gather round and bow their heads. For one brief moment, they take stock of their lives and give thanks for a bounty their ancestors would not have dreamed possible.
In a flash, it evaporates, as they pass plates, food piled high, and speak of the sales and the things they must buy. Don’t get me wrong, love and true caring live here, but others have been more grateful with less to hold dear.
I sat on the table and listened to the laughter and remember the times when things were much harder. Then something happened which had never happened. Santa appeared with a piece of pumpkin pie in his hand and sat down in a dining room chair. He smiled at me and told me I should not despair, and explained to my little turkey brain, that hardship comes in ways I could not conceive.
He left me sound advice, to follow his creed, the only thing I needed to do, was truly believe.
__________________________________________
Keep on writing.
Jo Hawk The Writer
Title: Snow Day
Source: Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers
Word count: 175 words
This week’s photo prompt is provided by Yinglan. Thank you Yinglan!
They texted the announcement as I was going to bed. It was too quiet outside, and I was suddenly awake. I pulled on my robe, headed downstairs and opened the blinds to a world turned white.
Fat fluffy flakes fell, obliterating the view. The grass disappeared, replaced by a downy blanket of snow. I opened the door and stepped outside.
The silence pounded my eardrums. I threw my head back, spread my arms wide, catching snowflakes with my face and tongue. Cold seeped around the edges of my warm robe and I shivered. I dreamed of my magical snow globe world and my horse-drawn sleigh appeared.
My handsome white steed nuzzled my cheek, and I fed him the sugar cube he loved so well. I hugged his neck, petted his silken mane, then crawled into the sleigh and snuggled into the blankets. Off we flew, surveying my lands, greeting my people and dancing until I could dance no more. Exhausted I slept.
When I awoke, I read the text again. “Classes cancelled due to snow.”
__________________________________________
Keep on writing.
Jo Hawk The Writer
Title: Catch of the Day
Source: Friday Fictioneers sponsored by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields-Addicted to Purple
Word count: 100 words
PHOTO PROMPT © Dale Rogerson
I waded into the freezing water.
Ma fished upstream where I had fought my sister for the salmon Ma caught. Tired, I headed downstream, searching for my spot. Water gushed over a rock ledge and hidden beneath it sat a salmon.
I waded deeper. The salmon rested in a channel, facing the rock wall. I cut off his exit, grabbed hold with both paws, claws sinking into fish flesh.
I clamped my jaws around him as he flopped, spraying water everywhere. Gripping him in my mouth, I ran for the grassy bank. This salmon was mine, and I wasn’t sharing.
__________________________________________
Keep on writing.
Jo Hawk The Writer
Title: Triumph
Source: 100 Word Wednesday: Week 97
Word count: 100 words
Photo by Sebastien Gabriel
No one noticed Jacques-Louis. In the streets no one stared, only brushed past him as he hurried to his destination. Those who met him found it difficult to hide their disappointment. He was not the man they had imagined, not the image they had conjured in their mind. Surely, he was not the epitome of strategical genius, wielder of power, a titan of business?
Jacques-Louis average looks, his middle-class clothes, disarmed his adversaries, made them discount him, discredit and dismiss him. He smiled, pressed his advantage and struck the killing blow.
__________________________________________
Keep on writing.
Jo Hawk The Writer
From Sonya’s 3LineTales at Only100Words.
You can find the original prompt here. Thank you, Sonya.
photo by Priscilla du Preez via Unsplash
A boy watched the Oilers defend their home turf.
The Great One left big shoes to fill, his records huge, many, and unbroken.
A boy was training in his own backyard Coliseum and dreaming of greatness.
______________________
Keep on writing.
Jo Hawk The Writer
Title: The Watched
Source: Friday Fictioneers sponsored by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields-Addicted to Purple
Word count: 100 words
PHOTO PROMPT © Rochelle Wisoff-Fields
Josh scanned the area, ever vigilant. It was quiet. He saw no one. Still, they could be watching. They watched, long distance, and the Borg people made it easy. He tossed his pack watching it land. It thumped on solid ground. A final scan. Satisfied he climbed the railing, feet dangling he let go.
Under the bridge was everything he needed, clean water, a rock chair, and a place to sleep. The waterline said the flooding wouldn’t reach him. Content, he unpacked supplies from his pack and prepared his camp. In the daylight, he could sleep. Tonight, he would run.
__________________________________________
Keep on writing.
Jo Hawk The Writer
Title: Carol of the Bells
Source: Weekly Writing Challenge #167
The five words: VOICE, BELL, PRACTICE, SERVE, CLUE
Word count: 217 words
Photo by Shaouraav Shreshtha on Unsplash
The cacophony of voices ascended to the church’s vaulted ceiling, swirling into the gilded dome, reaching toward heaven then echoed back to earth. With a sharp “click, click, click”, the director tapped his baton on the black metal music stand. A hush descended. The silence lay thick on the marble floor, muffling small movements as the group took their assigned places.
The director surveyed the group, assessed their readiness, commanded their attention and smiled. He lifted the baton, and everyone inhaled in anticipation. On the first beat, they sang with one voice, a singing bell supported the ostinato and angels reflected perfection to the mortals below.
The director led them through practice twice more before he was satisfied.
***
Sister Bernadette was called to serve long ago when she was a young girl. Today’s mass was special for her, it marked the anniversary of her ordination. She watched the director raise the baton, the music swelled, and she closed her eyes. Sister Bernadette felt her soul soar with the music when she opened her eyes she gazed upon the face of an angel.
“Please,” the word was barely audible harmonizing with the bells. “May I have a hint? One tiny clue?”
The angel shook his head causing the pealing of tiny bells.
“The answer lies in your heart.”
__________________________________________
Keep on writing.
Jo Hawk The Writer
Title: School Day Dreams
Source: Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers
Word count: 170 words
This week’s photo prompt is provided by wildverbs. Thank you wildverbs!
The entirety of his life led him to today. The first day of construction left Tony wondering if it was still a dream.
He remembered sitting in the drafty, dark boxes they called classrooms at Central School. Built in 1916, the building needed more than updates. The dark gymnasium doubled as the school cafeteria. It oozed an odd combination of teenage sweat, warmed mystery meat, and spinach. Eight years there drove him to study architecture and how students learned.
Tony’s vision was a 126,000-square-foot, state-of-the-art complex that would accommodate students from pre-kindergarten programs through eighth grade. He envisioned a bright and airy building. His design integrated solar panels into the architecture to provide electrical power and a passive heat exchanger to provide indoor thermal comfort while minimizing or eliminating energy consumption.
It took fourteen months to raise the money and get approvals. Now, the $31.3 million building of his was almost a reality. He projected eighteen months of construction and the new school would open in time for fall classes.
__________________________________________
Keep on writing.
Jo Hawk The Writer
Title: Barre Work
Source: Weekly Writing Challenge #166
The five words: POSE, FLOW, ORDER, BLEND, REHEARSE
Word count: 372 words
Photo by Renee Fisher on Unsplash
“Ladies, ladies. Your places at the barre if you please.”
Madame de Valois clapped her hands and ten pink tutus bounced and flounced as the ladies scurried to the barre.
“Today we will work on each pose. I think some of you have forgotten the basics. So, we will drill.”
At the barre, eyes rolled and at least two ladies hung their heads and a few giggled. Vera was the exception. She stood straight, heels together, feet turned out and her arms correctly positioned in first.
Madame de Valois moved along the barre, addressing each one lifting a chin here, straightening a shoulder alignment there and adjusting everyone’s turn out. When she reached Vera, she made no adjustments, only stared at her for a long moment before moving on.
“Now, we will flow into second…” Madame moved her feet and extended her arms as she sang her words to the class. She led the class through each position in order, repeating the positions, reiterating the correct postures as she moved to each lady at the barre.
“You must strive to blend one movement into the next,” Madame demonstrated as she spoke, and the ladies mimicked her. She instructed them in their drills for almost an hour before she allowed them to break.
“Okay ladies, rehearsal, tomorrow, nine am sharp. Do not be late,” Madame clapped her hands as she enunciated each word. Her ladies squealed with delight in being released and some groaned at the thought of tomorrow’s rehearsal. Pink tutus jostled and flapped, and pink leotards shuffled pink ballet slippers toward the door.
“Remind your parents,” Madame called after them. “Nine am.”
At the door, Vera paused, turned and rushed back to Madame to fling her arms around Madame’s slim waist.
“I love ballet, Madame de Valois,” Vera said as she crushed Madame, squeezing her so it nearly took Madame’s breath away.
Madame de Valois petted Vera’s blond curls that had escaped from her tight bun and gave her a small hug before Vera turned and skipped out the door. Alone in the mirrored room, Madame brushed the sudden dampness from her eyes. Without thinking, she took three running steps performed a Grand Jete en Tournant and stepped from the studio.
__________________________________________
Keep on writing.
Jo Hawk The Writer
Jo Hawk 