night

Watcher Doings 11 and 12

/ Liz H-H / 15 Comments
juicy tangerine wedges

Join us for a blog party in Six Sentence Stories, hosted by Denise and attended by some mighty fine, fun folk. Read, write and come back for more. Here’s the address for the party: https://fresh.inlinkz.com/party/830b313cca0342b4bc15d9004ef94f7e Prompt for last week: FILL. This week? NEED

ELEVEN

“There are no more blueberries for muffins, but tomorrow’s ferry from the mainland will help us restock,” Ferah temporized as she struggled with how to begin explaining, shrugging in both apology and comfort (for herself as well as her two gnome guests).

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Rapture

/ Liz H-H / 17 Comments
Night view of a city street, post rain, described in text

© Ayr/Gray

Many thanks to Jenne Gray and C.E. Ayr for their photo prompt, THE UNICORN CHALLENGE. 10/18/2024). No more than 250 words in length.

It’s dark, past midnight on Edgewater Ridge. The night is closed and starless, though the rain passed through less than a half an hour ago. Except for the line of cars parked along one side of the street, nothing moves through the shadows or under the sporadically spaced houselights.           Continue reading →

Relentless

/ Liz H-H / 13 Comments

From Jenne Gray and C.E. Ayr’s photo prompt, The Unicorn Challenge (06/30/23). No more than 250 words in length.

Humans mill about the street, hot feet shuffling over sharpened sand. Dirt blows into every crevice of eye and between the toes. Sweat-stippled breasts of nursing mothers unable to comfort babies who don’t know why they cry. Geographically-darkened dress shirts of men, loosening their ties attempting to feel like they have it all under control. Continue reading →

Solo Farewell

/ Liz H-H / 16 Comments

Oblong close scattering of stones, described in text

From Jenne Gray and C.E. Ayr’s photo prompt. The Unicorn Challenge (06/23/23). No more than 250 words in length.

(And no, this is not murder, but death by  cancer)

The last rock is placed. She stands back to evaluate her work. One hundred stones, enough to trace an outline. It’ll do. Her father’s body had become wasted, crumpled like a…a croissant! A little repose, in straightening out this depiction of his form. A little humor to remind her to breathe.  Continue reading →