Venemous Vigor

He remembered the day the crown was placed upon her brow. The power she immediately commanded. The instantaneous praise of those bowing before her. 

Navigating Nostalgia

“When the word ‘Nostalgia’ was coined in the 18th century, it was used to describe a pathology – not so much a sense of lost time, but a severe homesickness.”

-Nicole Krauss

I was born into the fifth generation of my father’s family, in a small valley in Idaho. Nestled at the foot of the Rocky Mountains, I always felt a sense of wonder at the enormous peaks to the north, and the dry desert to the south. I knew our humble five acres like the back of my hand, and the surrounding farmland was my personal playground.

Strangely Stylish Circumstances

Write a new post in response to today’s one-word prompt: Stylish
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     I don’t believe that my mother, self-professed-crafter-extraordinaire, meant me any ill will when she knit the scarf for me. She had woven the neon green and hot pink yarn into a chaotic chain design; my favorite color pallet of my youth, but had abandoned at the age of eight. I didn’t consider myself stylish in any regard, yet I had enough sense to know this was not a scarf I would have chosen for myself. But my mother had worked diligently on the token, and I could not present anything but gratitude. I smiled as purely possible at her and wrapped the homely cover around my shoulders. “Wow! Thanks mom, I love it…”

***    

     I cringed as my mother pulled up to the school. As the vehicle came to a stop, I grabbed my lunch and backpack then paused to give my mom a warm smile.
     “Have a great day, honey.” she smiled back and reached to pat my leg.
     “Thanks, mom, you too.” I reached for the door handle and began to pull it open.
     “Oh, honey!” My mother reached into the backseat and fished out the new scarf she had given to me over the weekend. “Don’t forget this,” she slid it across my shoulders and pulled each end down to the same length then nodded with approval.

Slow Death from Silence

Write a new post in response to today’s one-word prompt: Silence
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It draped her shoulders like a cloak. She wielded it like a blade to sever an appendage. It bent to her will and struck with precision. She had mastered the art of silence. Though he longingly stared at her, willing her lips to part, he knew his attempt was in vain.

The invisible forcefield, impenetrable. His words were wasted, fizzling to dissolve as no response was offered. No, it wasn’t a forcefield; it was a black hole that claimed his confessions. A darkness that he could not understand; a mystery he wished to unravel. 

Heartache Hike

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

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.

Irrational Fear of Exploding Goats

You go to the supermarket to get a watermelon, but they are out of seedless watermelons, so you decide, “I’ll just get one with seeds and deal with it.” But this watermelon contains something more than just seeds.

 

     Virginia grabbed her rear view mirror, angling it so that she could apply a fresh coat of lipstick before entering the grocery store. The motion was nearly second nature, Virginia had mastered the art at a young age after discovering her mother’s out-of-season makeup stash. Pressing her lips against one another, she rubbed them together slightly, spreading the ruby red tint evenly. The last step was her favorite, she lowered her chin and pursed her lips, looking up at the mirror and then presenting a shy grin. Virginia giggled to herself as her reflection conveyed her success.
     Stepping out of her car, she eyed the back of the lot, ensuring that the old, red, Chevy pickup was parked in the usual spot. Reaching down, Virginia shimmied her hips as she pulled her levi mini skirt down to an acceptable public space length. She looked down to make sure she was displaying the correct amount of cleavage, but ended up fastening one more button of her plaid tank-top. There was a fine line between desperation and temptation, and she felt her intuition’s balance never failed her.
     The automatic door squealed open as she approached, in desperate need of oiling maintenance. Aaron’s Market was the only true grocery store in the town of Newton. Residents could make a thirty minute drive to Welling if shopping at a chain outlet was what they desired. But true residents of Newton would never admit to such an action, supporting local was the loud, expected mantra of the town. 

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 ]

     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. 

Made with Love

[Prompt: Write a story about a very special cake ]

    Her grandmother baked the best chocolate chip cookies and when Jeanne, as a young child, asked what made them better than the anyone else’s cookies, her grandmother had chuckled and said it was because she baked them with love. Jeanne took the words to heart and never doubted them. Back then she had loved watching her grandmother hum and sway to a slow dance reserved for the kitchen during meal prep. She was baking with love, Jeanne had thought while keenly watching to learn the secrets of cooking the perfect cookies.
    As Jeanne grew older she found herself emulating the habits of her late grandmother. She would hum to a tune without a name that would fall apart if she tried too hard to concentrate on the notes. Every now and then she would recognize melodies but for the most part it was a mis-mash of music that spoke to her soul and only her subconscious knew all the words. Sometimes she would smile as she cooked, while other times she frowned, but either way she would always hum and lightly sway her hips side to side as if it was the best motion to pair with her busy hands to infuse love into her cooking.

Sally Unlikely

[Prompt: Use these seven words in your story: Smug, substantial, meddle, slink, ethereal, artisanal, convolute ]

     Chalk it up to my smug determination, or just my innate stubbornness, I refused to take a hint from Sally. From the moment I first witnessed her ethereal beauty, her eyes reflecting the licking flames and slim body cloaked in wispy smoke, I had fallen hopelessly in love. She was everything I would have never looked for in a girl. She was a substantial pain in the ass to deal with. She was a beautiful imperfection.