March 22, 2016 – Prompt- Why exactly do you need chloroform at 2:00AM?

Patiently waiting in the entrance way.

Patiently waiting for the slam of the car door.

Patiently listening to the clicking sound of high heels on concrete.

Calmly now, glancing at the 2 Am readout on the clock.

Calmly now, I pour the chloroform onto the white cloth. Calmly now, I wait as the jingle of keys echoes through the condo

Calmly now, I hold back as the door swings open.

Calmly I wait

J.L. LAHEY

*****

Why Exactly do You need Chloroform at 2:AM?

As Mrs. Olson, the night nurse, reached the hospital pharmacy, her spine started tingling.

This had happened before and she was smart enough to pay attention.

With slow, deliberate footsteps, she neared the door. A small line of light seeped under the door.

No one should be in there at this hour.

All medications for the night shift were in the file cabinet at the nurse’s desk, labeled and ready to be dispensed

Mrs. Olsen knew she should call the orderly, but she had sent him to the lab with a blood sample needing to be run immediately.

Taking a deep breath, she inched closer to the door, and slowly pushed it open.

She had been so quiet the man, dressed head to toe in black, reaching for the bottle on the top shelf did not hear the door open.

“Who are you and why exactly do you need a bottle of chloroform at 2:am?”

The stranger was so startled he pulled the whole shelf of chloroform to the floor.

One of the lids had not been put on tight and the fumes began to fill the air.

Mrs. Olson turned and slammed the door shut and locked it before the man in black could escape.

Mary Hanley

Advertisements

March 15, 2016 – Prompt-I hope you know that my name is actually_____

I hope you know that my name is actually Rusty Boltz. I know…my parents have a sick sense of humor. But I’m a red-head, so it suits me. My Dad has his own construction company. Yup, their moniker is “Nuts & Boltz” — pretty screwy, eh?

Jeanne Browning

*****

I hope you know my name is actually Chantrel Squire as I am a writer in my own mind.  Not a mushroom that comes out in the Spring or Fall but a bonafide Writer who along with experiences has a vivid imagination of how life should be.  Not the doldrums of everyday life but the breath of Spring of fresh mowed grass or the sweet smell of a new rain dampening the dust.  If you can’t feel, smell and hear how life is then you need to read about how it should be.

So for all of that are walking around in a fog just placing one foot ahead of the other, experience.  Like Calgon take me away-a good bubble bath and book of another era, time and/or place.

That is all it takes to know what you are doing and where you are today means something to someone besides yourself.

So get with it, step outside yourself and learn a new way of experiencing you life on the edge of your World and share with someone.  They shall truly benefit from your experiences.

Carol Bouchard

 

*****

January 19, 2016 – Prompt – Create a Myth for Why People are Different Colors

Man began as a green toad. When he grew up into a human, he needed company.

“I know, I’ll bake some people from the colors of the Earth, and they will be my friends,” he exclaimed.

Shovels full of sand, rock, plants, and water were added to a slurry. The man poured a same into a baking tray and slid it into an oven. The first batch came out underdone and looked pale. The second group of people were almost burnt and looked dark. Finally, he got the temperature just right and the people he created were coming out in browns and golden.

Turning to his created people, “Now you can all be my friends,” the man said.

The woman and the others turned toward him in disgust and said, “Why should we associate with a green person.” The others nodded and walked away.

The moral of this story is never believe others will like you just because you are green.”

 

-A. Nation

 

December 8, 2015 -Prompt – Up on the Housetop

Up on the house top

I remember when my youngest baby was born in 1979; he was particularly gregarious. Who would ever suspect a baby a year old would be so mesmerized with Christmas lights. One night our family went on a car ride through the neighborhood, the baby pointed his finger and said, ‘Oh, Oh’s’ making us all laugh. We were thrilled. Our Christmas Season was more joyful than it had ever been. His older sisters laughed and mocked him with their ‘Oh, Oh’s.” His next word was three words run together. He would touch the stove knobs and turn around to see who was looking and say, leavitalone. We thought he was adorable. He also loved to play the piano, one key at a time. He added his part to his sister’s rendition. Except for putting the Christmas tree lights and bulbs higher and higher on the tree every day, we had a wonderful time.

Carmel Westerman

*****

He stood, frozen in place.
One hour earlier he had climbed the rickety old ladder to the roof to take down Santa and what seemed like miles of colored lights.
Having secured the last bunch, he stepped back to admire his work. Not too bad, he thought, and then decided to look the neighborhood over from this vantage spot.
Looking to the north, he frowned as he took in the flashy, overdone yard the Albrights.
South was the Henderson’s and their southwestern décor.
East, nothing, as usual from the Brown’s.
As his gazed west, his heart skipped a beat!
He looked more carefully at the shadows in the Irving’s back yard. Yes, there was movement!
He knew Mrs. Irving was alone. Her husband always worked late on Friday.
Trying to get to his cell phone, he realized his heavy snow gloves were making it impossible. Taking off the gloves he finally retrieved the cell from his jean pocket when he heard a scream and then a loud bang.
The Irving’s front door burst open, and he could see the outline of a huge figure, dressed in black, outlined in the light from the living room.
The figures head snapped right and left as he scanned the streets before stepping out into the quiet and deserted street.
The man on the roof was frozen in shock and disbelief. He tried to step back and move behind the brick chimney, but he dropped the string of lights and in the still, cold evening, they echoed off the roof top like firecrackers.

Mary Hanley

 

 

October 20.2015–Prompt–red marker, belt, golden paperclip and a flask

This weeks prompt: A male character ina suit, wearing gloves and is in front of a house he has never been to before. He carries a duffel bag with four items in it. They are: a belt, a red marker, golden paper clip and a flask.

*****

Nelson brushed the grass off his trousers with gloved hand and noted with regret that his new suit now sported grass stains. “Gees, I hope I have the right house. It must be,” after all it looked exactly as described by the woman who hired him to get the job done.

Hoisting his duffel bag over his shoulder, climbing the tree that towered up to the third story, managing to jump onto the balcony, and using a gold paper clip he wrestled open the flimsy catch on the balcony door.

Yes, I’m in, he thought as he spied the sleeping figure in the nearby bed. With stealth he approached, grabbed a pillow, and with firm hand held it over the face of the nasty fellow.

When the victim was about half dead he poured alcohol down his throat, secured a belt around his neck and chucked him over the balcony. His neck snapped as the belt prevented him from falling further.  Nelson had tied it to the railing.

Authorities found a suicide note that appeared as though it was written in a drunken stupor with a broad-nibbed red marker found alongside.

Kirsten Wohlgemuth

*****

Pin-Striped Nut-Case

Poem – By Lloyd Rain – 10/22/15

 

He sported a black pin-striped suit

With only one protruding black boot

The boot was tattooed with red symbols

From the marker he held in his cymbals

 

The belt wound loosely ‘round his neck

As if he were to hang in a sec

He tipped the alcohol from his flask

To ensure through his neck all would pass

 

A crowd had assembled nearby

To observe what next he would try

Only one in his circle dared ask

“What, Sir, is the meaning of your flask?”

 

He turned to face his observer

“Is it not evident, kind sir?”

Pointing his gold paper clip at the man

“This lubricant is merely a scam.”

 

“When mixed with red markings of jam

Using this tool as a ram

Fools like you’d be surprised

At the resulting explosive ka-blam.”

 

Whereupon a truck did arrive

And attendants alighted from the drive

They gently escorted our man

Into the bowels of the van

Ensuring he was still quite alive

 

As it slowly departed the curb

Viewers wond’ring, “Is he genius or rube?”

He pointed a finger below

To the sign on the side quite aglow

With the words clearly rendered and durable

Asylum For The Confused And Incurable

 

                                              $──────══════════════ End ══════════════─────$

October 13, 2015–Prompt -cell phone & key

This weeks prompt was: You are lost in the woods. You’ve had no food for days and only have two items on your person. They are: a cell phone and a key.

*****

The cell phone Mary carried wasn’t going to help her. There was no signal. She thought back to earlier when her car ran out of gas. She remembered a filling station she passed on the road and decided to walk back. It didn’t seem far. However, she got turned around and went in the wrong direction.

She blamed her confusion on hypoglycemia or low blood sugar. She hadn’t had anything to eat for a long time. There wasn’t a lot of traffic on the road and it was getting dark. She thought she saw light beckoning from some building on a side road and so she followed it deep into the forest. When she came to the end of the road there was no light. It was only the glint from the setting sun shining on the cabin window. The door was locked.

She reached into her pocket instinctively and pulled out her house key. In desperation she tried it and it opened the door. What she saw inside the room turned her world upside down. This can’t be happening she cried out as everything went black.

Linda Scott

October 6, 2015–Prompt–A Hacksaw ! ? !

Continuing give the prompt and pull the items this weeks prompt was: You’re adopted and never knew your real parents. One day a man comes to your door and says he is your father and can prove it, He produces a single items and you know he is telling the truth. The Item a hacksaw.

*****

 

Ding dong,

“Oh darn, not while I’m in the middle of getting dressed.”

Susie answered the door after quickly throwing on a dress. A tall man stood there wearing a

long black cape and top hat. She was speechless.

“Pardon me ma’am,” he said in a deep voice. “Are you Susie Hammer?”

“Yes I am,” she said with a shaky voice. “Who are you?”

“I’m your father, Harold Hammer.”

“You can’t be. My father was executed for killing my mother. You better leave or I’ll call the

police.”

“The report of my death was an exaggeration. It is me, your father in person.”

“Can you prove it?”

“Yes,”

“How?”

“Tell me how your mother died.”

“She was cut into pieces,” she stammered.

“By a hacksaw.”

“Yes.”

“Well, here it is—this is the hacksaw.” He said pulling it out from under the cape.

Susie fainted.

 

Ellynore Seybold-Smith

August 25, 2015–Prompt–Write from the Perspective of a Bookshelf in the Library

Lament of the Jealous

Sticky peanut butter slathered fingers! Here they come again! The preschool story time just crescendoed in a flurry or bubbles and graham cracker cookie crumbs! Whoa—did that little hand just rub up onto a dirty diaper? Why must I be forever stationed in the children’s  section? How I long for the rare book room of a University library! But no…wads of stale chewing gum are my only reward! Oh, the indignity of it all!

Jeanne Browning

July 28, 2015–Prompt–Once in a Blue Moon

ONCE IN A BLUE MOON

Once in a blue moon my mind goes blank,

Especially when it’s called to do a prompt.

I sit, I stare, I don’t know where

I’ll get a good idea.

I struggle, I groan and look around the room

at all the creative souls

who write away, with lots to say

and fill the pages blank.

Come on, Lloyd, you are intense.

What have you got to say?

And Pamela, so focused on the white becoming gray.

Now Roseanne is up my alley, she sits

and twiddles her thumbs.

As time goes by, the moon does wane.

Ellynore Seybold-Smith

June 30, 2015–Prompt Use these ten words: detect, old, monument, rice, off, sundown, noble, warp, cedar, yield

“Harold, hurry up. Ain’t you got that old truck running yet?” Emmett asked nervously.

Harold grunted an obscenity in reply from under the hood of the ’82 Ford. “Looks like something fell down off the alternator,” he said. “Can’t detect a spark.”

Emmett’s head appeared under the hood, his eyes wide.

“Yeah, well, I detect the sun going down in this here ‘Sundown Town.’ If we ain’t gone soon . . .” his voice trailed away.

“Yeah, I know. I know.”

“And why we gotta get broke down next to this old monument? It gives me the creeps.”

The monument in question was the likeness of a noble local hero: General Jackson from the Confederate War. It had been planted next to a cedar grove located in downtown Makersville. The limbs of the cedars were warped but strong. They never yielded in a storm.

Emmett’s head reappeared.

“And whose idea was it to sell white rice in a Sundown Town anyway?”

 

Lynne Webster

Here’s a definition for sundown town:

A sundown town is a town, city, or neighborhood in the United States that is purposely all-white, excluding people of other races. The term came from signs that were posted stating that people of color had to leave the town by sundown. They are also sometimes known as sunset towns or gray towns.

Sundown town – Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia