May 12, 2015–Prompt – A Title:The Old Lamp or Thursdays are Always Dark

The Old Lamp or Thursdays are always dark

 How am I going to get sexy this week?

Thursdays are his only day off, that’s when the antique store is closed. The old crystal lamp hanging in the store window is dark. After doing the bookwork for the week, my husband comes home usually around noon. After lunch we enjoy an afternoon delight. I like to spice up our married life by donning a costume and playing a role. A nurse, a naughty French maid or can-can dancer which I’ve used numerous times. I ponder, what will I do this week?

He enters the quiet house. The drapes are drawn and it was dark as night.

“Sit down, start eating,” said a flirtatious voice from the back room.

He did as told. The music started with the sound of Benny Goodman’s clarinet. While he ate, he heard something slither across the floor. He could just make out his wife in a green shiny, clinging outfit with coils of fabric around her legs and arms.

She slithered up to him and gently put her hand on his throbbing…

The end

or beginning?


By Ellynore Sebold-Smith



Charles had been down to the Old Crock Café for his twice a week dining out. It was Thursday and Bonnie was her usual chatty self. As the keeper of the light house, Charles could only take so much conversation and then his cup runneth over.

This Thursday, the topic was Bonnie’s daughter’s upcoming wedding. She would be wearing a blue wedding dress.’ Why? Someone asked. According to Bonnie everyone knew that Laura had been married three times. Jack was lost at sea; Bennie had gone to prison for twenty years, and Jack number two and Bonnie had called it quits.

Bonnie asked, “Charles what would you say to letting Laura and Billy May get married at the light house.” Charles choked on his piece of apple pie and two people ended up pounding on his back.

He finally said, “I don’t think that . . .” and everyone took that for a yes.

Larry the cook said as everyone was heading out the door, “No way, he’s cleaning that lamp every day, all day or there won’t be any light and besides Thursday’s he’ll be here eating.”

But whatever, it was agreed on by everyone else. When Thursday came around most of the town folks were on their way to the light house by noon.

Charles was absolutely shocked when he saw what they were bringing. There were at least three kegs of beer and a full case of Champagne, a cake, sandwiches of every description, and a tub of chips.

The wedding got started late, the judge got lost on the way to the light house. He didn’t arrive until four in the afternoon. By then half of the men were falling down drunk and the women had gone to the top of the light house and were leaning over the railing serenading all who were sober enough to know what was going on. Two of the women had passed out on Charles’ bed. There were men sleeping in the bushes.

By eight that evening Laura and Billy were put in a taxi and someone paid for the trip to an unknown motel in the neighboring town.

Charles had gone for a walk around three and hadn’t come back until ten. The Old Lamp was dark and Thursday would always be a bright day for Charles.

By Harry Ruggles


May 5, 2015 Prompt – A Childhood Piece of Clothing

Your Weekly Writing Prompt – from Writer’s Digest Brian Klems Weekly Prompts:
Childhood Piece of Clothing: You’re rummaging through an old tub of clothes from your childhood that your parents had stored away in their attic. As you search you find one particular piece that you remember as your favorite. When you hold it in your hands, you’re magically transported back to the moment you got that piece of clothing (birthday present, shopping with a parent, purchased with your own money, etc.). Write about that moment and how you felt when you received it.

My New Shirt – A true story

The first day of second grade Mom sent me to school in a brand new bright yellow shirt. At school I met my new teacher and, at recess, went out to play with my new friends.

The bell rang and I ran for the door. Don’t be late on the first day of school! Along the way I tripped over something and fell, crashing into a cement wall. I got up, my forehead torn and bleeding, but made it to class on time. The teacher walked up, cussed me out for bleeding all over her floor and sent me home.

When I got home the yellow shirt was now a dark red, soaked in blood. I walked through the front door, into the living room, and presented myself to my mother. I will never forget her words. “Oh my God Kevin. What did you do to your shirt?” She hustled me out the door and onto the front porch, so that I wouldn’t bleed on the carpet, and rescued the shirt off my back. The shirt was rushed to the bathroom, rinsed, and left to soak in cold water.

By Kevin Draper



There was always too much memorabilia in Granny’s house. “What will become of it when she dies?” Mildred asked herself.

Granny had such a large inherited house with the infamous spooky attic. Every room was brimming with sentimentality.

One afternoon, Mildred told her nine year old, “pack up your stuff, we are driving to Granny’s because she doesn’t answer her phone.”

She was met with a shock at the front door because the door was unlocked. Mildred could only push it open an inch with all the stacks of magazines and sentimental clutter.

“Granny, Granny,” she yelled, “are you there?”

Mildred knew the back porch would be more approachable. She ran to the back, on a narrow sidewalk that separated the close built houses from one another. The daylight was giving way to dusk. Mildred whipped out her flashlight as she approached the back steps. She saw something out of the corner of her eye. It was Granny’s little red apron. On instinct Mildred shined the light a little higher that lead to Granny’s lifeless face.

Years go by and all the memorabilia has been reduced to a computer memory stick of pictures.

Mildred was my mom and I was with her that night of granny’s shocking death. It was a defining moment for a nine year old. I kept the little red apron in a special little box. I open the box and it still has an odor that is reminiscent of Granny. I feel bitter sweet sensations shroud over me even after sixty years.

By Carol Christel-Taylor