Jayden stood at the living room window and watched the falling snow. It was steady with large fluffy flakes that seemed to settle quickly into a thick blanket. There was already over eight inches on the ground, an accumulation virtually unknown in his region. His boss had phoned about a half an hour before to say that they would be closing the workshop today. Closed, Jayden mused. It had been the first time since his divorce that he had had a weekday off. Since the divorce, flashed through his head. He pondered the circumstances of of it. She had said he was a workaholic and never had time for her anymore. Was she right?Why am I feeling so wound up by a few flakes of snow? I just want to get to work. Is that too much to ask? Jayden checked himself, and took a deep breath, How could such a tranquil scene as falling snow bring on such a blizzard of thoughts?
Donna King was an apologist. No not that type of apology, but rather she a woman who knew how to construct arguments. The partners of Dewey, Cheatem, and Howe, struck a virtual gold-mine when they hired her fresh from some Podunk law school in the Midwest. But now she was proving herself in spades. To say her constructions and syllogisms were complex would be a true understatement, as most of them had more edges than a tiger shark’s smile. A King summation was a thing of be beauty and generally left opposing counsel baffled, and an occasional judge too.
I have purposely added a few clichés to this route to setting up a alternative to Multifaceted.
Peter Carlson stepped lightly from the Paris hotel where he had just had an important business meeting. He tucked a document securely into his inside jacket pocket, and tapped it twice for good measure before hailing a taxi.
The real estate deal he had just completed brought back memories of his first so long ago in New York. He had been a young man then with only his college tuition money to his name, but he risked it all on that first big buy. He had never looked back.
Now he was on his way back home to the Jiffy Lube, of which he was franchise holder. This Paris deal was going to complete his portfolio. He couldn’t wait to hang the deed to the Eiffel Tower next to his certificates for the Brooklyn Bridge, Mount Rushmore, and the Leaning Tower.
Kelly enjoyed search through the lesser used volumes in the stacks. There was something about the “relationship” with a book that hadn’t “conversed” with someone else in decades, if not longer. As she look down a leather bound tome from the shelf she was surprised that a handwritten manuscript fell from its pages. At first she thought she had damaged the book, but it was clear that it had been placed in the volume as a bookmark some years ago. It bore a date over a hundred years old, and while it was “historical,” it was far from valuable for anyone other than its author and the initial recipient. It now spoke to Kelly as well, as she teared up on reading its simple and painful message of love lost. Dated 15 October 1917 and citing its place of composition as Passchendaele, Belgium, it spoke of a young man’s desire to leave the god-forsaken place and to return to “his Daisy’s” side. The letter concluded in a different hand merely stating, “I am so sorry, Peter has fallen.”
My brother and I never saw eye to eye. Whether it be religion, politics, or even sports teams we couldn’t agree. Sometimes it seemed that if I said it’s night, he would say it was day. These divisions continued well after childhood, and it led for us living on opposite coasts and following very different lifestyles. Sometimes I miss him. Not the arguments, and definitely not the occasional fisticuffs, but rather the sense of belonging to someone – being a brother. After all we share the same blood and history. But I know full well that we will never have a relationship even now that we are entering a latter years. Those bones of contention are quite real to this day, and sometimes the great bones of my life feel so heavy. I wish they would lighten, and that I could see my brother again.
dVerse – Prosery: ‘Sometimes the great bones of my life feel so heavy.’ (Spring Azures from the book Wild Geese by Mary Oliver.
Holly and Tim booted up their laptop and prepared for another day of online phonics and fractions. As the computer came to life, there was something unusual on the school’s Google Classroom links. As they went through each of their lesson slots they saw that the connection was down. It seems the entire server had crashed – the Covid lockdown equivalent of a “snow day.”
Captain Ezekiel Talbert mustered his men outside the bastion of Fort Frederick. A war party of French aligned Shawnees had been spied near the Potomac and he and his detachment of the Maryland Forces were going to intercept them before they could get up to any mischief.
His trusty band of volunteers were going to more than enough to deal with the Shawnee threat, after all they were well equipped with the latest Brown Bess muskets from Japan, and most understood the rudiments of Bland’s Manual. Now all he needed was for his sergeant to finish his phone call.
January 14: Flash Fiction Challenge – In 99 words (no more, no less), write a story about dressing up. It can be a child or another character. Be playful or go where the prompt leads!
“The entrance is around here somewhere,” Thimblebud said.
“That’s what you said ten minutes ago,” Niggletwist observed.
“Well it’s not my fault that it snowed,” Thimblebud retorted.
“Yes. But it was your great idea to leave the Fairyhold in the first place. ‘Oh, let’s go slide on the frozen pond. It will be fun,’ you said. Well it wasn’t. It was cold and I got my shoes wet, and now we are lost.”
“Wait, there it is,” Thimblebud said.
“Where?” Niggletwist snapped.
“You mean that rabbit hole?” Niggletwist replied snidely. “This is the last time I am every going out with you again. You have the worst sense of direction of any Pixie I have ever seen.”
“You find it then,” Thimblebud said coldly.
“Well, I um.”
“I thought not,” Thimblebud said. “We will just have to wait with the rabbits till the snow melts.”
And that’s how the Pixies came to live in High Warren.
Damion Weaver was quite the boy racer. He was constantly on the prowl to embarrass others with the power of his engine and his drag racing skills. He would work his way along side of his road rivals at traffic lights and rev his engine to indicate the challenge. He especially enjoyed doing it to “rich” kids in their flash motors or to guys with hot girlfriends in order to bring them down a peg or two.
Damion wasn’t quite prepared for his encounter with Melvin Milksop, however. Damion with the gorgeous Amy Bennett gracing his front seat pulled along side the seemingly unobtrusive Melvin in his twelve-year-old Nissan.
“Watch this,” Damion said with a wink to Amy, and revved his motor.
When the exhaust smoke cleared it was Damion that was left red faced. Little did he know that Melvin had only recently watched Ben-Hur on a dateless Friday night, and had learned a few things about “chariot races.”
It was going to be a difficult operation, but do-able. Staff Sergeant Wheeler had assembled his team, and all things seemed ready to go. Douglas had eyes on the possible exit points on the north of the building, and Hendricks the south. Gomez had the coms, and Wheeler himself, and Chin had mobile pursuit ready if the subject made a quick break for it. Operation Deprive Flight was the first mission the team had carried out in three years, but loyalties are loyalties, and when Wheeler said he needed the best, his team was more than ready to reassemble for him. After all – grounded means grounded and there was no way his sixteen-year-old daughter, Amber was going to that rave.