They sat at the kitchen table, a bag of pretzels between them. Light from the old-fashioned lamps cast a warm glow in the room. Shelly savored the salt on her tongue, then sipped her Cabernet.
“It’s so romantic, isn’t it?” She moved her book closer to the light. “Dontcha love it?”
Jon turned the page of his magazine. “Not the best reading light.”
“Must you be so negative? Remember, ‘It’s better to light a candle than curse the darkness.’”
“Thank you, Eleanor Roosevelt.” He frowned. “I’ll stop cursing the darkness when the power’s restored and the TV comes back on.”
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Genre: Hysterical Fiction (Wow, what a rush!) Word Count: 100
If this is phto and story’s deja vu for you, it’s true. This is a rerun of a rerun. I wrote it in 2013 and posted it again in 2016 for the same reason I’m posting it this week. It has been an incredibly busy week and my muse is flat comatose. Since the high holidays are upon us, I take liberty…because I can.
If you’ve posted a story for this photo before, feel free to give yourself a break and post it again. Hey. It’s been 6 years. 😉Who’s going to remember it? Right? Of course, right!
ASHAMNU
Rhoda cast furtive glances in all directions, inhaled throat-burning smoke, held it, and then exhaled, handing the joint to Marcus.
“Don’t be so paranoid.” His bloodshot eyes glittered.
Candles illuminated the corners of his darkened bedroom. In-A-Gadda-Da-Vida blared from the stereo and patchouli incense tickled her nose.
After they’d downed an entire bag of chips, Marcus plopped his yarmulke on his head.
“So much for fasting. Let’s get back before they miss us.”
Side-by-side they sneaked into the synagogue and giggled through repentance prayers.
Every year afterward, when Rhoda dutifully attended services, she chuckled as she recalled the “High” Holiday.
The Ashamnu is a traditional prayer of repentance recited on Yom Kippur, the Jewish highest of holy days or day of atonement. The word “ah-SHAM-nu” means we are guilty or we have sinned.
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Ah the warm smell of lilacs Rising up in the air. Daffodils, ever my favorite. A feast for the eyes. Flora and fauna. Dandelion seeds delight children Who blow them into the wind. Goldenrod Ragweed A Mid-Summer-Night’s Bad Dream. According to Dr. John Bostock in 1828 Neither bleeding nor purging Alleviated The itch of the eye, Or running of the nose, Or the incessant tickle in the throat. That was then, this is now. Antihistamines bring some relief. In closing, A word of advice, my fellow allergy sufferers, Take care whilst driving. It’s impossible to sneeze without shutting your eyes.
The next photo is the PROMPT. Remember, all photos are property of the photographer, donated for use in Friday Fictioneers only. They shouldn’t be used for any other purpose without express permission. It is proper etiquette to give the contributor credit.
The next photo is the PROMPT. Remember, all photos are property of the photographer, donated for use in Friday Fictioneers only. They shouldn’t be used for any other purpose without express permission. It is proper etiquette to give the contributor credit.
This was my fifth annual visit with my brother and sister-in-law. As always it was hard to leave, but good to come back home. The ocean was rough this year and dangerous for swimming most of the time. Still great beach times. That’s my story and I’m sticking to it. 😉
Genre: Histrionic Fiction Word Count: 100
ANNUAL HOLIDAY
“You take separate vacations?”
Rochelle grinned at the tanned woman beside her as the plane made its ascent. “Every year for the past five. He goes to South Dakota for the bike rally and texts me pictures of the most gorgeous scenery.”
The North Carolina landscape dwindled below. Rochelle turned from the window. Ten days of sightseeing and beachcombing with her brother zipped by. They’d laughed at punchlines without telling the jokes and reminisced about things only siblings would remember.
“Wouldn’t you like to go with your husband sometime?”
“Nah.” Rochelle wrinkled her nose. “It’s way too peopley for me.”
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Dale rolled her eyes as she unpacked the picnic basket. “I feel a history lesson coming on from Rochelle-A-Pedia.
“Ahem.” Rochelle ran her fingertips across the rough picnic bench surface. “The word table is derived from the Latin word Tabula and its earliest models were mostly used by ancient Egyptians. Betcha didn’t know that. Furthermore, through the years, wood workers and manufacturers learned how to customize and adjust furniture used in—”
“Betcha I didn’t care.” Dale gently knocked on Rochelle’s forehead. “Yoohoo? I’m thinking of another term derived from Latin. Tabula rasa.”
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My best friend and I took Driver’s Ed the year we turned sixteen thinking we’d get our licenses together.
I passed the written part with flying colors. Recognizing road signs and learning the rules of the road was a snap.
The actual driving part was another story. Both excitement and terror welled up as I gripped the steering wheel. Images of every traffic accident I’d seen on the news zipped through my mind.
My instructor shook his head at my attempt to parallel park. “Your final driving score is negative fifty-one. Might I suggest you purchase a lifetime bus pass?”
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Retirement has certainly taken the sting out of Monday. Every day is a weekend. Monday’s one of my swim days. Fifty-four invigorating laps. This morning I tingle with anticipation.
Sipping my morning coffee, I check my emails which are mostly deletable spams.
“What’s this? A member announcement from my fitness center? Have my old-fogy dues gone up again?”
My breath catches in my throat as I read. It’s as if I’m staring down a tunnel with no light on the other side.
“ ‘The Indoor Pools, both lap and rec, will be closed until further notice due to lifeguard shortages.’
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Gretta gazed at the mountain of wool beside her spinning wheel. How she longed to be outside with her friend Heinrich to watch the sheep and play with the newborn lambs.
“I would gladly trade my baby brother for some magic help.”
She yawned. The whir of the wheel lulled her.
“I’m here to spin this wool into yarn for you, little girl.”
Gretta rubbed her eyes and gasped to see a dwarf with pointed ears. “Yes!”
He laughed. “Your brother’s mine.”
Mama shook her. “Wake up and get back to work!”
Gretta sighed. “Where’s Rumpelstiltskin when I need him?”
If you’re unfamiliar with Rumpelstiltskin CLICK HERE.
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I was going to post a rerun because I’ve been under the weather this past week. I’ve since rallied a bit and am on the mend. The photo is mine and my following tale of woe will explain.
Rochelle’s hot tears trickled down her cheeks. “I missed my kindergarten party on the last day because of measles.”
“Seriously? This still bothers you? That was over sixty years ago.”
“Don’t you see? It’s come full circle. I’m missing another party. It’s enough we had to cancel our fifty-year reunion last year due to COVID. We worked hard to make our fifty-plus-one reunion a huge success without virus worries.”
“It’s a great party.” Annie smiled from her square. “You should be proud.”
“This sucks. It’s not how I planned to spend my evening.”
“You mean on Zoom?”
“Stricken with COVID.”
I was on the planning committee for my class reunion. They had a Zoom session set up so we could see and interact with those who were there and those who weren’t. Annie’s on the bottom left and she and I continued to chat long after the others signed off. Thanks for being my high point, Annie.These are the lovely ladies of the committee. How sweet they were to make sure I was part of the picture.
