From Sonya’s 3LineTales at Only100Words.
You can find the original prompt here. Thank you, Sonya.
photo by Tyler Nix via Unsplash
I have shed the shackles, the ton of should and must and expectation I carried on my back.
The air streams through my hair, tearing at my skirt as if it were a sail.
I spread my arms wide, unencumbered, I break my bonds and fly.
______________________
Keep on writing.
Jo Hawk The Writer
Photo by Daniel Tafjord on Unsplash
I closed the door, locking it behind me before tossing my keys on the table. First stop, the fridge for a beer. I had earned one for surviving a miserable day. I wanted to veg in front of the television. I kicked my shoes under the coffee table and dropped on the couch. Opening the bottle, I got a nose full of hoppy goodness and took a sip. My brother had taken up brewing beer, and this batch was good.
I must have fallen asleep. The room was dark, and a loud pounding shook the front door.
“Open the door. Come out with your hands up,” the garbled megaphone voice instructed.
“Ah, shit,” I said to the empty room.
I flipped on a light and shook my brain free from the last tendrils of sleep.
“We know you’re in there. Come out and no one gets hurt,” the megaphone voice said.
I looked around the room and considered my options. The back door led into a garage piled high with boxes. Perhaps a window might work?
“We’ve got you surrounded. Come out now.”
Defeated, I walked to the front door and flipped the lock.
“Don’t shoot,” I said and slowly opened the door.
Police lights lit the neighborhood, flashing red and blue beacons. A spotlight aimed at my face blinded me and prevented me from identifying the policemen I knew were behind all this.
“Ok assholes, now what?”
“Keep your hands over your head and step forward. Slowly,” the megaphone voice said.
I walked directly towards the light in the center of the cop circle.
“You bastards, I was asleep on the couch,” I said into the darkness.
To my right, I someone chuckle.
“Go ahead. Laugh. This isn’t funny. You’re gonna be sorry.”
I heard laughter float around the circle. I was feet from the light.
“That’s far enough. Stop there,” the megaphone voice said.
I kept walking. I could see the hand holding the spotlight and moving fast I grabbed hold, twisting the cop’s arm behind his back. I placed my index finger against his temple and yelled, “Bang.”
“Your dead Davy,” I said then released him. More laughter erupted.
The cop holding the megaphone was doubled over, laughing. When I reached him, I planted my feet and punched his shoulder with all my weight behind the blow.
“I suppose this was your idea, Watson?”
Watson rubbed his shoulder and tried to talk between snorts.
“Sorry Chief. Thought you could use a pick me up after today.”
I tried to suppress the grin I knew was threatening to explode.
“Get to work. Anyone here in five minutes receives a reprimand. You’re gonna give my neighbors heart failure,” I said in the sternest voice possible.
Police lights turned off and car doors slammed as they dispersed.
“Watson?”
“Yes, sir?”
“Is everyone ok?”
“I think so Chief. This may have helped.”
“Fine,” I looked at Watson. No trace of fun and games remained. “Never let this happen again.”
“Yes, sir.” Watson extinguished the spotlight.
I checked my watch, “Since you’re technically off duty, why don’t you come in. Your latest brew is damn good.”
__________________________________________
Keep on writing.
Jo Hawk The Writer
Title: Fate
Source: Friday Fictioneers sponsored by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields-Addicted to Purple
Word count: 100 words
PHOTO PROMPT © Gah Learner
I watch the moon as it rises, the worst is upon me. The instant when the moon is full will test my resolve. Anticipation chained me in my room for three days. Battle rage flows in me, demanding I break the restraints, break out, break my vow. I lower my head staring at the deep grooves in the floor cut by my massive claws. Saliva oozes from my jaw, long sticky streams dangle and fill the voids in the floor. Thundering blood chases rational thought, forcing it to quiver and hide. A tortured howl sounds the call, sealing my fate.
__________________________________________
Keep on writing.
Jo Hawk The Writer
Title: World’s End
Source: FLASH FICTION FOR THE PURPOSEFUL PRACTITIONER- 2018 WEEK #36
Word count: 200 words
Michael (Black) Ritter pexels-photo-41506
I spin through revolving doors leaving sirens, bus exhaust and the thundering din of a thousand people behind me. Hank waves from the security desk where he chats with another guard. I enter the metal cube, the doors close and I fly skyward. Up and up, forty-five stories in the air. My ears pop as I ascend, and a melodic ring tells me I have arrived. I am home.
The apartment is sparse; I require only the essentials. It is a welcome relief from the sensory overload that pummels my nerves whenever I am elsewhere. Floor to ceiling windows enclose the apartment and offer views of the city skyline, the sea, and sky. Clouds roll, black and foreboding advancing on my sliver of heaven, my haven at the World’s End.
I lay on the hardwood floor as the storm engulfs me. The building shifts and sways, glass windows bulge and wind howls through spaces and gaps I cannot see. Rain pelts the windows while far below tiny people sprout umbrellas and traffic slows. I envy the storms rage, an emotion from which I am banned. My apartment cradles me, rocks me, eases tension from my soul. At last, I sleep.
__________________________________________
Keep on writing.
Jo Hawk The Writer
Title: Permit
Source: 100 Word Wednesday: Week 87
Word count: 100 words
Image by Bikurgurl
“You must paint over it.” The police officer stood on Alma’s porch, hands planted on his hips.
“I will not,” Alma said. “Off my property. I have your card and I plan to phone your supervisor.” Alma’s voice rose as she tried to shut the door.
“Show me your permit and I’ll be on my way.”
Alma released the door, almost toppling the officer as she pushed past him. She ran down the stairs, around the corner and jabbed her finger at the wall.
“You blind fool. Look. Enzo said this would happen, so he attached it to the wall.”
__________________________________________
Keep on writing.
Jo Hawk The Writer
Photo credit: GoToVan on Visual hunt / CC BY
Bob eased his walker along the display case full of every kind of doughnut imaginable. His grandson Liam focused on his phone, stood behind him. Bob reached the end of the case and slowly turned to walk a third time in front of the doughnuts.
Liam sighed and slipped his phone into his pocket.
“Granddad? Really? Can’t you just pick a doughnut? Hell, pick a dozen, I don’t care, but they are waiting on us.”
“Let ‘em wait,” Bob said and took two shuffling steps then stopped to scan the display case again.
“Why do you have to have a doughnut? We’re gonna eat if we ever get there,” Liam’s hands flapped as he spoke.
“Ah, your mother can’t cook.”
“Have you decided yet?”
“I can’t find what I want. You’d think with all these damn doughnuts they’d have a plain doughnut hidden somewhere,” Bob lifted the walker and gave it a vicious shake.
The woman behind the counter finished with her customer and walked towards Bob.
“Good morning sir,” she smiled, her full focus on Bob. “Can I help you find something?”
“You have anything that resembles a plain doughnut?” Bob said, his gaze never leaving the long case.
“Of course, sir,” she grabbed a paper and as if by magic presented plain cake doughnut to him.
“Nah, not that plain. Aren’t doughnuts supposed to have some sort of icing.”
“I think I know what you are looking for” she disappeared the offending doughnut, slid two steps right and offered Bob a glazed doughnut. “Is this it?”
“Where did you find that? Yes, that’s it.”
“How many?”
“Better make it two dozen.”
“Granddad,” Liam’s voice raised, and he touched Bob’s arm. “Are you sure we need that many? Mom is cooking.”
Bob snorted, “Exactly.”
__________________________________________
Keep on writing.
Jo Hawk The Writer
Title: Battle Above the Clouds
Source: Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers
Word count: 160 words
This week’s photo prompt is provided by Jodi McKinney. Thank you, Jodi!
We woke in darkness. General Geary ordered us to prepare to cross Lookout Creek at dawn. The November morning dawned chilly and damp in the valley. Our brigade massed as the fog swirled around us. The creek water ran high, and we waited. An hour and a half past dawn the water ebbed, and we received orders to move. Crossing the footbridge, we knew the objective was to meet near the Cravens house.
The mist and fog rose as we advanced up the mountain. We engaged in skirmishes with an enemy we could not see. The terrain proved rougher than any we had encountered. Rocks large and small had fallen from the mountain’s wall littered deep ravines. The forest claimed any space not occupied by rocks. Our force outnumbered the rebels, yet each step was a battle, and we fought to claim the inaccessible heights of Lookout Mountain. The mountain was ours and the battle above the clouds became folklore.
__________________________________________
Keep on writing.
Jo Hawk The Writer
The story started with a challenge set up The Haunted Wordsmith, to be continued by the next tagged writer.
Teresa’s Rules–
Chapter 1 The Haunted Wordsmith
“It’s in your blood, hun.”
His mother’s response to the announcement that he was leaving home echoed in his ears. He knew she would be supportive, but he never expected to feel both exhilarated and let down at the same time. They were close, and always had been, but a little part of him now felt she had already let him go years ago. Pushing that thought from his mind, Eric picked up his loaded backpack and set off for the adventure of a lifetime. With one last hug and long look at his old life, he …
Chapter 2 Light Motifs II
… began walking down the familiar sun-dappled path toward town and the bus station. Eric still appreciated the quiet, peaceful beauty of the old trees as their leaves donned autumn’s colors, but his mind was elsewhere. His imagination conjured up images of vibrant city life, the music, the lights, the faster pace. He’d have to get a job, of course, and was prepared with various resumes. He couldn’t wait to begin his new, exciting life, and was so preoccupied with these thoughts that he didn’t hear the rattle as he stepped over the log…
Chapter 3 This, That, and The Other
Eric braced himself for the rattlesnake bite that he knew was coming. He looked down at the log expecting to see a coiled rattler poised to strike. But he was totally unprepared for what he actually saw. There, in a small wicker basket, was a baby, no more than a few months old, Eric guessed, rattle in hand, looking back up at Eric. The baby shook its rattle and then smiled up at Eric. Eric reached down and lifted up the basket. The baby looked healthy and, given the circumstance, remarkably happy. It even started cooing when Eric lifted it up out of the basket. And that is when Eric found the note attached to the baby’s diaper.
Chapter 4 A UNIQUE TITLE FOR ME
The typed note said, “I am a victim of incestuous rape and I am not fit to be a mother. I named her Tuesday, because that is when she was born, but who ever finds her can rename her whatever they want.” Eric being the genius that he was, realized that the baby was only two days old, because today was Thursday, or possibly it was a week and two days old, but he really had no idea and it could have been a few months old and two days. Eric felt that this was better than getting bit by a rattle snake, or for that matter getting hit by a javelin, but Eric knew that he did not want this baby and he would have to figure out something to do with it, so he could get on with his busy life. It was kind of a cute baby and he always liked that song Tuesday Afternoon. Eric wondered how any mother could not feel any emotional attachment for their own baby and that is when he crouched down to pick the baby up. As he grabbed the baby, he heard a voice say, “No stupid, you have give her proper support because she is still developing, so put your hands under the baby’s head.” Eric looked around and saw…
Chapter 5 Reena Saxena
He put the baby back in the basket, blew a kiss and moved on,
“All the best, Tuesday! May you find a parent who deserves you….”
He had barely moved ten steps, when he heard the baby’s cooing again. Reluctantly, he looked back and found her smiling. She even managed to wave at him, or was she imploring to be picked up…. He was now sure that she was more than a month old, as she could communicate so well. But how had she survived for so long? Did the callous mother take more than a month to abandon her? He was imagining a face similar to the baby’s … maybe, the mother is young and beautiful, but callous … no helpless or .. innocent or .. what? Darn… it was not his problem to think about that.
Another cooing sound, and he had picked up Tuesday again. He looked into the baby’s innocent eyes, and knew that he was hooked. But how was he going to manage this?
There were only two options. One, go back to his Mom and seek her help. She might suspect something else, but it didn’t matter. Or look for the baby’s mother ….
Chapter 6 Sync With Deep
The thought of searching for Tuesday’s mother sounded hectic. Eric decided to take the baby home to his mom. When mom saw Eric, she was quite surprised by his return. She was taken aback to see a pair of tiny toes peeking alongside Eric’s shoulder. The baby’s cries filled the room. Mom quickly grabbed Tuesday in her arms.
‘I had doubted mom unnecessarily,’ thought Eric and smiled a sign of relief.
‘What’s your story?’ asked mom.
Eric quickly started from the rattle sound to the note in the diaper.
Mom’s eyes were clouded with tears. ‘The history repeats,’ she said to herself.
She remembered that day how Eric arrived at her. It was the time of sunset and she was having her usual walk along the neighborhood park when she heard a feeble cry. A day 1 old baby was found in a brown cardboard carton wrapped in a piece of bloodstained cloth. She frantically waited for an hour to see if anyone came to claim the baby. Finally, she took the baby herself and a homeless baby got a home and a mother too.
She named him Eric, meaning Ever or Eternal.
Eric’s mother was quickly hard at work fussing over the baby. There was so much to do and first thing was to change the baby’s nappy as it was considerably wet and smelly after so many or few days.
Eric knew his mother was a good mother after all he had her to blame for being the man he was.
His thought of adventures in the city were put on hold as he and his mum discussed what to do. Tuesday would have to be handed in as his mum knew the mother would in time want to know where her child was.
They decided to put a lost child sign up on every post in the village. Surely someone would come forward.
After a week there came a knock on the door…
Chapter 8 Pensitivity 101
The man stood on the porch, taking off his hat when Eric’s mother opened the door.
‘I understand you are caring for an infant which I believe is my daughter. I’ve come to take her home.’
Eric’s mother distrusted him on sight, and rather than invite him in, decided to keep him on the doorstep.
‘Yes, we are looking after a young child temporarily. And who Sir, are you exactly?’
‘My name is Edwin Mallor, and I live in the next village. My fourteen year old daughter ran away with her sister some weeks ago, spreading malicious rumours about misconduct under my roof. I have come to claim what is rightfully mine, and will see to it that you are well compensated for your time and trouble.’
‘And what Sir, has happened to your older daughter? Has she been found and returned safely to you?’
‘Sadly no. Her body was retrieved from the river eight days ago. It is believed she had left the babe unattended whilst she bathed.’
‘And where Sir, might this have been?’
‘In the woods over yonder. May I take the child now?’
‘How old would your daughter be Sir?’
‘About six weeks of age.’
‘I am sorry Sir, but the child we are caring for is about a year old. I will bring her to you if you wish, but I am confident she is not your kin.’
‘That will not be necessary then, so I’ll bid you good day.’
Eric could not believe his mother could lie so blatantly to the man, and asked why she had done so.
‘Eric, son. You are a good boy, but you don’t understand these matters. Tuesday may well be his daughter. She may also be his grand daughter. How convenient that her mother drowned and cannot defend her actions.’
‘What are we going to do?’ Eric asked.
‘I want you to remove all of the notices in the village. I need to think of a way to keep this baby safe……………..’
Chapter 9 The Dark Netizen
Eric nodded. He did not quite understand how these things worked, just like his mother had said. However, he knew that little Tuesday would be safer with them. He blew a flying kiss to Tuesday, and ran off towards the village. He had to remove all the notices.
He returned in the evening. He knocked on the door. He heard his mother’s voice coming from inside.
“Password?”
“Mom, it’s me.”
“You know the password, Eric.”
Eric sighed. When he was a little kid, Eric had been fond of making makeshift tents inside the house. He would let his mom enter the tent only if she used a password he had made up. Eric spoke towards the door.
“Olopolo!”
Mother opened the door to let Eric inside. To his shock, Eric saw an assortment of weapons laid out on his dining table. Bows, knives, swords, axes, it was a complete arsenal. He looked at his mother with questioning eyes.
“Mother? What is all this?”
Mother placed her hands on Eric’s shoulders.
“Child, you should know. Tuesday is no ordinary baby. Men will come to take her away. Evil men. We need to keep her safe.”
“But, mom what about the oath you took? And what do you mean by Tuesday not being an ordinary baby.”
Mother ruffled Eric’s hair.
“See Eric,….”
Chapter 10 Jo Hawk
“See Eric, we have a visitor.”
“A visitor?” Eric had been so annoyed with Mother’s password nonsense and surprised at the weapons he had not seen the figure sitting next to the fireplace. He watched as it unfolded from the chair rising until her head nearly touched the ceiling. She was thin, her face full of sharp angles and sharp eyes. The flowing amber-brown fabric of her dress fell from her shoulders to the floor, softening her bony structure.
“What…” Eric blinked several times. “Who are you?”
“My name is Laila. I am a fairy and Tuesday’s godmother.”
“A fairy godmother?”
Laila’s pale face might have been alabaster. She stood motionless, her slender fingers dangling from the sleeves of the gown.
“Tuesday’s fairy godmother? Some godmother you are. Aren’t you supposed to protect her?” Eric’s voice rose as he spoke, he clenched his fist and shook it at the being in front of him.
“Eric,” his mother said placing her hand on his shoulder.
“I led you to her. You required guidance holding the babe,” Laila said.
“It was you I heard?”
Laila slowly closed and opened her eyes. Her chin dipped a fraction in acknowledgment.
“What do you mean you led me to her? Me? Why me?” Eric shook his head.
“It is as foretold by prophecy.”
“What prophecy?”
Laila’s eyes closed again and though her mouth didn’t move her voice filled the room…
I have tagged Gina@Singledust
__________________________________________
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 Davide Cantelli via Unsplash
They came as they always had, speaking reverent words in hushed voices, paying homage to the masters.
But as time passed, and they no longer clutched us in their arms or caressed our patterned pages.
We became decorations, wallflowers longing for a dance.
______________________
Keep on writing.
Jo Hawk The Writer
Title: The Cocktail Party
Source: [Writing Prompt] StoryADay September 2018 Day 1
Word count: 414 words
Photo credit: SportSuburban on Visual hunt / CC BY
Pamela entered the kitchen thinking how exquisite it looked. It was her domain complete with state-of-the-art appliances, countertops, and flooring. The linoleum flooring was the newest product on the market, guaranteed to last a lifetime, it was easy to maintain, and it was easy to create custom designs. The other indulgence in the kitchen included a pair of refrigerators, large enough to store the items she needed for her well-attended cocktail parties. She negotiated with the builder to have everything as she designed them.
Tonight’s mission entailed ensuring she had forgotten nothing for tomorrow night’s party. Rodger admitted Pamela’s parties were the reason for his promotions at work. Everything hinged on the success of this party. A high-profile client was considering placing a substantial book of business with the firm.
Pamela stood in front of the refrigerators to check items off her list. One freezer contained bags of shaped ice cubes, a week’s work for the drinks. From the other freezer, she retrieved the Swedish meatballs she made earlier and moved them to the refrigerator to thaw. Two lime jello party salads, one with coconut and one without, waited in their stylish ring molds. They had set nicely. Two more copper molds held prawns in aspic ready for their assigned places on the buffet table arranged in the dining room. Two dozen hard-boiled eggs sat on the next shelf. She had everything to transform them into piped deviled eggs with a pimento garnish. Next to the eggs were the large containers of deviled ham. A crowd favorite, Pamela hoped she wouldn’t run out.
Bags of celery washed and cut into bite-size pieces were also ready for the buffet. Along with the other cut veggies, their place was next to the cream cheese spread and the peanut butter. The popular cheese whiz she planned to place strategically along the buffet. Marge had confirmed her three o’clock arrival time to help finish setting the buffet and drink cart, allowing Pamela to change into her new blue cocktail dress.
She nodded to herself everything appeared to be in order. Tomorrow morning, she would prepare the pineapple upside down cake and her signature cherry angel food cake. With the cakes finished she would prep the pigs in a blanket and the canapes. Pamela patted the kerchief holding her curlers in place then flipped the page on her notebook. The next item was to review her latest changes to the client proposal with Roger before going to sleep.
__________________________________________
Keep on writing.
Jo Hawk The Writer
Jo Hawk 