The spliff flared and hissed at midnight, lighting up Joel’s sharp features. He passed the butt to another hand hard as his own, exhaled, and pushed the swing back. The chains were icy in his fingers, but the pain felt good. Continue reading
Carrot Ranch
How the Wurst Was Won
Source: Carrot Ranch Feb Saddle-Up Saloon
COWSINO STORY SPINE: On the first Friday of very month, D. Avery hosts a writing challenge and month-long opportunity to talk story writing, and just general horsing around with regulars Kid & Pal at Carrot Ranch’s Saddle Up Saloon. February brings us a trio of picture prompts and the rare opportunity to play with a story spine. The following grew out of my own horseplay, so sashay on over and try for yourself!
How the Wurst Was Won
It was the baste of times, it was the wurst of times, and Thickpuddle McDrawer was up to his mustache in special orders for his Cain’t Be Beat Barbecue Special. Because of this, he once again questioned his decision to not add an extra triangle of cornbread, an oversized pat of honey-butter shaped like a rose, and some miniwurst sausages in Helene’s secret sauce to the regular order-for-two special, and then charge a buck or three more for creativity. People would pay extra for sure. History’d shown him there was something about barbecue, beans and cornbread that brought out the romantic side of those buckaroos. Continue reading
Finally
She smiled, waiting for the bell to ring, backside leaning against the desk, hands folded in her lap. She said nothing, no longer irritated by the heads bent over ill-concealed cellphones. They waited for release, too. Continue reading
Spelling Lesson Number 2
Source: Spencer Platt / Getty Images
Just like that, Kevin sneezed and knocked her sideways. The whirling contents cradled in her palms clumped and spilled sloppily forth. Lightning exploded. Snow became ice. Continue reading
The Hundred Acre Wood Goes Dark
Carrots. Original public domain image from Wikimedia Commons
Family, friends and relations were spread all about the warren’s floor, bellies pooched upwards, at the insistence of their innards. The holiday feast, so successful, meant that nobody had energy enough to grab the remote and turn on the football game. “Oh my!” they all sighed. Continue reading
Valley of the Trolls 