February 27, 2018 – Prompt – Pick Six

This weeks prompt was a pick six exercise and began: You are tending to your own business when a yeti stops you. this unproven (possibly mythological being asks if you know you spouse is flirting with a glorg. You have no idea what the being wants, so you counter with handing it the newspaper you have in your back pocket.

The underlined words/phrases were picked from a list of six for each. Here is one members response.

Not every day one meets a Yeti, the one-eyed hairy fellow. It scared me just a bit I’d say, but he seemed rather mellow.
Besides I couldn’t get around him. He took up all the sidewalk. He leaned right in with his yellow-toothed smile. Suggested we have a talk.
“What about?” I gasped with a croak. While he cracked a terrible grin.
“Just between you and I.”
It involved a bit of sin.
“Linda,” he hissed, “your faithful wife has been slipping and sleeping around.”
“Give me break,” I countered. “I’d have heard in this very small town. Look,” I said reaching far behind and pulling a newspaper out. “It says right here adultery is nil. What are you talking about?”
“Well,” he said, “believe what you will. Believe it or not. Indeed I have to say really you should not believe everything you read.”

Donna Costly

March 20, 2018 -Prompt – fire, light, riddle

Two responses both from Ellynore

1. The fire threw a light on the riddle. The butler did it.
2. “Got a light buddy?”

I pulled out my bic and gave it a click. The fire lit up his face. I pulled back in shock. The only feature was a mouth with a butt extending out. No nose, no eyes, nothing else.

He spoke in a raspy voice, “What are you staring at? Haven’t you ever seen people from Riddle before?”

“No, I don’t even know where Riddle is.”

“It’s the little country between Rubik and Cube.”

Ellynore Seybold

March 6, 2018 – Prompt – use dance, adorable and pattern

Millie reached for a record, it was Glen Miller and his orchestra. She hadn’t danced to his music since she was a 20-year-old and volunteered at the USO in San Francisco. She remembered a particular day when a tall sailor came through the door.

She watched him from the other side of the room. He was hands down the most handsome man she had ever seen. She felt her heartbeat speed up. He was coming across the room looking at her with his bright blue eyes. There was a hint of a teasing nature in his glance.

She smoothed down her new skirt. She hoped he liked it. She had made it herself with a pattern from Simplicity, the latest style was the claim on the envelope.

“Hello,” the sailor said, “I’m Bud McAllister.”

Milly stammered, her tongue wouldn’t cooperate, “I’m.” Was all she could get out.

“You’re Milly aren’t you.”

How does he know my name? Her face reddened as she remembered she had on a name tag.

“Okay, Milly, I will just call you Adorable.”

Christine Howard


He was an elder, Hopi antelope clan specifically, according to the beaded pattern of the sash hanging from his headband. Been many years since I heard grandpa claim he was the first white-eye allowed to photograph the people perform their sacred snake dance. No one had ever challenged that story. Was not wise to challenge grandpa’s stories, whether family or not! I’d seen the prints, they’d been beaten-up old, the dancers carried all the right symbols; same as before me now. Only black and white photos, but one might imagine the colors, and their shades seemed to ring true. This was an experience, talking with the elder. But that damn rattle snake he held “too close by” was not at all adorable! Elder searched my face then his gaze locked on my eye. He spoke, “You look like Hiram.” One of the names grandpa went by. Then he added, “Your grandpa was a Yei-Ba-Chei* — and a friend.”

* Am continuing research on this term to independently corroborate its origin and meaning.
Aunt Edna, father (Lloyd), cousin Shirley, and grandpa Ed often labeled my younger brother and I this before we graduated eighth grade. Years later when we asked what it meant they all replied, “acting like one of the mischievous Kachinas.”

Donavin Leckenbey