Heartache Hike

Write a new post in response to today’s one-word prompt: Hike
Via Daily Post: Hike


Different approach to today’s prompt. An experience from my personal life.

It was our first trip to Saratoga Woods. My German Shepherd, Buffy, led the way as usual. The early morning air was cool and wet. Fog draped the green, needled spires. A sloped meadow met tall, dense cedars and pines, the path beckoning us into the darkness among the trunks. We stepped lightly through the meadow, the disturbance of dew our only tracks. Into the somber thicket we went. 

Once among the bark-clad columns, awe illuminated our surroundings. Light filtered through the thick canopy, bright green ferns reached their fronds skywards. Moss clung to branches, rocks, anything offering purchase. Steam rose from the forest floor in columns of light where the sun’s rays could fully penetrate. The silence of the meadow was replaced by bird songs and squirrel chatter. The hidden world within the forest presented itself to us without reserve. 

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Timeless Together


Write a new post in response to today’s one-word prompt: Together
via Daily Post: Together


Fay’s young mind didn’t consider the unbreakable bond she shared with her pet. She had lovingly named the rat ‘Pan’ after her favorite book character, and the small, black and white creature took to the new title as naturally as a dog might. This was completely normal to Fay. Of course her new pet would understand its name and want to spend every waking moment with her; regardless of the size of its brain or expected behavior from other humans. It wouldn’t be until much later in life, after various friendships and romantic relationships, that Fay would recall the simple connection she’d shared with her pet rat, and yearn for something so natural.

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A Change of Heart

[Prompt: You are a cynical, evil dog who has had many owners. You are adopted by a lovely couple with a toddler. You do not want to be friends with the toddler but somehow you are going to love the toddler ]

 Dog    I hated being caged. Too many times in my short life I could recall being trapped within a metal barrier or clipped to the end of an unbreakable chain. I had also learned what actions resulted in consequences at a young, tender age. Barking out of turn promised a muzzle. Begging for food meant a missed meal. Showing excitement gained a kick in the ribs. Growling ensured the shock collar was put around my thin neck, and any type of eye contact with the human after that point was a memory of immense pain. But I had learned one valuable lesson during my time with my first human: biting meant I got to leave.
     Over the past three years I had resulted to biting four separate times. I had never drawn blood or caused a true injury like the first time, but I used my power to convince the bipeds I should go somewhere else. I had been exchanged between men who wished for a ‘tough looking sonofabitch’, although the sentiment meant nothing to me. 

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The Last Pancake

[Prompt: Put this sentence somewhere in your story: Even though Jake ate the last of the pancakes, Leonard couldn’t find it in himself to get worked up about it ]

     Leonard couldn’t help but scowl as he watched Jake eat. Jake’s mouth opened and closed like an automatic door that was jammed, the excessive saliva creating a wet smacking sound that invaded Leonard’s ears. A low growl rumbled in Leonard’s stomach, he glanced at his empty plate and tried to convince his brain that he had already eaten, licked the plate completely clean, in fact. A gurgle from his gut objected to his attempted mind ploy. Even though Jake ate the last of the pancakes, Leonard couldn’t find it in himself to get worked up about it.

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The Last Pancake – WriteSemper

[Prompt: Put this sentence somewhere in your story: Even though Jake ate the last of the pancakes, Leonard couldn’t find it in himself to get worked up about it ]

    As the sun rose, its light found the metal rooster weather vane on top of the house on 403 Sycamore Street. The rooster gave a small wobble as the morning warmed it before moving down to the roof, trickling down over the eaves and pattering against the east facing windows. One such window lacked a curtain to detour the sunlight and the venturing light sought every opportunity to bright up the world. It came in through the window, casting light to the mess of toys and clothes scattered across the room that hosted two beds. One of the rays blanketed itself right over Leonard’s face, warming the young boy’s face until the brightness roused him from is dreams.

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Sword in the Ceiling

[Prompt: After a long, hard day of work, you return home—the only problem is, your front door is wide open, all your lights are on and there’s a sword stuck in the ceiling. The rest of your house looks normal, but you also notice several holes dug in your backyard. What’s going on? ]

     “Winston!” I was yelling his name before even stepping across the entrance threshold. My keys were left dangling from the doorknob as I stared with disbelief at the state of my living room. As I stepped forward to survey the damage, they were forgotten all together. It was complete madness. Stuffing from the couch cushions, broken glass, and ripped papers were scattered across the floor. Cussing under my breath, I pulled my bag off my shoulder and set it on the small table next to the door. I noted the new, deep grooves that were etched into the legs, concerned about its present stability as I considered the laptop in my bag.
     The sword sticking downwards from the ceiling ended any further speculation about the table. As I stared with an open mouth at the sword hilt, the anger clenching my chest flittered with the uncertainty of danger. Turning my head from side to side, I assured my nerves there wasn’t anyone else in the room.

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Devil and the Old Woman

[Prompt: You are the devil and you have been summoned via a satanic ritual. As you manifest you find yourself in a quaint living room and meet a sweet old lady who just wants some company.]

     I stepped forward, parting the thick veil of smoke masking my surroundings. Soft, shag carpet unexpectedly cradled my hooves. My brow furrowed beneath my horns as I looked around. Photos of cats in mismatched frames peppered the wood paneled walls. Heavy, mustard colored curtains dressed the solitary window in the room, pulled closed to block the exterior darkness.The room was dimly lit, the only light provided by a television and standing lamp nearby. The center of the room was dominated by an old floral couch with wooden arms and legs, the plastic covering reflecting a distorted version of the television newscaster’s face among the blooms.

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