Join us for a weekly blog party in Six Sentence Stories, hosted by Denise and attended by some mighty fine, fun folk. Prompt word=FLAG. Read, write and come back for more SIX SENTENCE STORIES. This is all I got for you right now!
My head is hot, tight—gimme a squeeze and my eyeballs will pop,
Plop into the space that separates your body from mine—
You’d burn from the kiss I might steal were I not so sick.
But it’s all right.
Join us for a weekly blog party in Six Sentence Stories, hosted by Denise and attended by some mighty fine, fun folk. Prompt word=SWING. Read, write and come back for more SIX SENTENCE STORIES. (Link goes active Wed night).
Watcher Doings 36
“I’m fae, but I’m no Faery Queen!” roared Jimann.
“Sometimes you are,” said Montay and Ferah in unison catching each other’s eye and giggling nervously as they spoke again in unison, “and we really don’t mind when you swing both ways!”
“I’m not familiar with the ballad of Tam Lin,” grumbled Jimann, ignoring the two, and squaring his shoulders he added, “I’ve never been much of a fan of ballads or…ugh…poetry.”
Continue readingJoin us for a weekly blog party in Six Sentence Stories, hosted by Denise and attended by some mighty fine, fun folk. Prompt word=FLY. Read, write and come back for more SIX SENTENCE STORIES. (Link goes active Wed night).
Perhaps they’d spent too much time down at the lake, reconnecting as siblings after what seemed like too long an absence, but Lady Lake observed and approved so it was time well-invested; the bay had settled into twilit quiet when Ferah and Montay climbed the stairs to reach topside, and Redrue had set wards around the one and a half acres of property also drawing a salt circle that enclosed the yard, house and shed, and another within this circle that enclosed the yard with the Weber grill and its glowing embers.
Continue readingJoin us for a weekly blog party in Six Sentence Stories, hosted by Denise and attended by some mighty fine, fun folk. Prompt word=MARK. Read, write and come back for more SIX SENTENCE STORIES. (Link goes active Wed night).
“I’m going to ask you to keep the secret…” said Ferah, as she and Rockmouse reached the top of the stairs that led up from the dock, adding “about Montay in the shed—I’ll tell you all when I’ve figured out what to do—but I need to know exactly what’s best, first.”
Panting, Rockmouse volleyed back, “I get that, but has it occurred to you that we’re here to help? I mean, how dangerous is Montay, anyhow?”
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January 19: CONSISTENCY. Many Thanks to Warren for today’s prompt, as we take a moment or two each day this month to reflect on words that come from the community. And thanks to Linda G Hill for getting us organized!
A Gift of Bread-Making
Woke up to 20 below this morning, and that was AFTER sunrise. It is MLK Jr. Day today, even as the eldritch forces attempt to smudge this from our memories. We remember, and we move forward in reverence to his—and our—mission.
Continue readingJoin us for a weekly blog party in Six Sentence Stories, hosted by Denise and attended by some mighty fine, fun folk. Prompt word=VOW. Read, write and come back for more SIX SENTENCE STORIES. (Link goes active Wed night).
Montay’s dream shifted from happy times with his sister, Ferah, and the vow they’d made to each other to always have each other’s back, no matter how much they fought.
What replaced the dream was more like a hallucination that shifted from bright colors of summer moonlight to a murky, distorted dream of he and Jimann together after Ferah had parted ways with him, and the verbal poison hidden in honeyed words, poured into the porches of his ears (as it were).
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January 2 – “Magnify”. Many thanks to Barbara for today’s prompt, as we take a moment or two each day this month to reflect on words that come from the community. And thanks to Linda G Hill for getting us organized!
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Joseph stared at his beautifully plated entrée, the seasonal speciality at the high-end restaurant his wife had begged to visit to celebrate her birthday.
He’d expected and budgeted for what he knew would be a high-priced meal, assumed the food would be the chef-architect’s finest designs. He’d hoped for flavor and texture that would knock his socks off, even if he couldn’t quite identify what was placed before him by the wait-person with the Inspector Clouseau accent.
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