The Chevy accelerates and tops the hill’s summit, before twisting and plunging into the ravine. A duffle bag and body detach, and arc onto the dirt shoulder. They disappear into the dust cloud created by the truck’s struggle with the gravel road. Continue reading “The Open Road”
Countdown from the Carrot Ranch Contest: Modern Tall Tale in 99 words (for more detail, see the link below).
Yes, I’d promised to be there by 7:00, but my shower took longer than anticipated because the hot water heater was on the blink and I had to crawl underneath to light the pilot and then dropped the one match I’d brought and the explosion Continue reading “Rodeo Event #1: Why I Had to Cancel Our Date”
“The best-laid plans.”
“The egg unhatched.”
“The circle, its ends unmet.”
“A triad missing its third…”
“Thus only a dyad.”
The nave is cold, cheerless,
No sun to set stained glass windows afire with stories. Continue reading “Essential Element”
Countdown from the Carrot Ranch Contest: Pro Bull Mashup in 99 words (for more detail, see the link below).
Captain Hand sneered, boot heels pounding across the bridge of Starship Ridgemont. “You abandoned your post, Ensign Spicoli. My orders will be followed without question!” Continue reading “Rodeo Event #2: Who Will Walk the Plank?”
Extended version: Take a Chance, Change Your Life
We were never quite clear about how they got into the tool shed, how long they’d been there, or where they came from originally. They’d arrived before we did, and will likely leave long after we’ve gone. If they ever do leave. Continue reading “Take a Chance, Change Your Life”
Rhonda made sure to never be first in line, nor last to leave, always included but never singled out. But just between her shoulder blades, an itch whispered, “Step forward…take a risk!” Continue reading “Rodeo Event #3: How Rhonda Got Her Wings”
Step One: 99 word flash, to include “beans”
It was definitely not what I was expecting. I thought we’d celebrate Bucky’s return from her Antarctic dogsled adventure with a lavish meal, and go shake our butts at a dance club. Maybe not that last one. Bucky’d only been home for two weeks.
What I saw was Bucky on the couch in sweats and wool socks, legs folded underneath her, spoon dipping into a can of baked beans.
I hid my dismay, but not well enough.
“When you’ve been living off a dogsled, a can of beans is a feast.”
I sighed, grabbing a spoon from the kitchen. Continue reading “Rodeo Event #4: Bucky’s Baked Beans, A Love Story with Two Spoons”
He could ride south to his father’s oil refinery. That way lay fine suits, easy money, easier women. His father’d left his family, but he might want to know his son. The resemblance? Startling , if his mother Lula’s cameo locket was any indication. Continue reading “Storm Windows”