Sunday Photo Fiction: Cracking Into Place #amwriting #flashfiction


Thanks to Alistair Forbes for hosting SPF.


Credit: Dawn Miller


Danny’s back pulsed and ached. Pain like fire raced through his lower back and centered in his shoulder blades and neck. He had spent the day hauling wood chips for his cabin.

Strolling inside, he sorted through the mail, rolling his shoulders and stretching his back, praying the sharp pains would cease.

Anne peered up from the kitchen stove. “You have all the wood chips hauled into the shed?”

“Yeah, we’re set until summer. I pulled some muscles, though.”

“Hmmm, did you stretch before?”

“It’ll be fine after a hot shower.”

Anne rolled her eyes. “I hope so. You always make fun of my yoga, but it gives me flexibility and stretches my soar muscles. You should try a short video tonight.”

She flipped through the saved videos on the Youtube app on her phone, pausing at ‘Yoga for Back Pain.’ She handed Danny her phone. “Do this video and you’ll feel much better.”

“It’s fine, really.” He kissed Anne’s cheek, setting down her phone.

The next morning Danny attempted to get up, but he couldn’t raise himself into a sitting position, not even a reclined one. Whenever he tried, fiery pain shot through his entire back and shoulders.

Anne gazed at him half-awake, before sitting up. She guided his arms, upper back, and shoulders in ‘yogesque’ movements. The burning pain lessened with a few clicks and snaps as she stretched out his torso.

When his lower back cracked into place, Danny moaned. He sat up, than stood with ease.

Splaying out on her side of the bed, Anne closed her eyes. “Now that your back is good, you can make us both breakfast. I deserve breakfast in bed.”


©Mandibelle16. (2018) All Rights Reserved.

Sunday Photo Fiction: Chasing the Nymph #amwriting #flashfiction #prosepoetry


Thanks to Alistair Forbes for hosting SPF.


Credit: E. A. Wicklund


She was out of breath, a chestnut freckled nymph, tumbling through the woods. As if she were, Diana, running, eluding a square-jawed Apollo, and his torrential bed.

Her legs were short but supple, her body toned, but his strength was so much greater; his limbs thick with muscle earned in battle; height taller, hands quick, fingers nimble — but not such as hers.

She did not tarry, she hurried through the trees; their game played once, and forever. The catch and release continued with the nymph’s harmonious melodies. Her lute trilling, protecting her and luring him, precisely where she desired.

The nymphs laughter was as bells at dawn, signalling he’d caught her, and day turned to dusk as she coyly smiled and left. Her walk triumphant, his laughter all too knowing.

He dreamt of every time he caught her, tossing her up high as their lips melded. They met perpetually in their Grecian eternity, playing catch and release; it never became boring.


©️Mandibelle16. (2017) All Rights Reserved.

Sunday Photo Fiction: If Animals Could Talk #amwriting #flashfiction


Thanks to Alistair Forbes for hosting SPF. Meant to have this out for last week, but I couldn’t edit it in time.


Credit: Alistair Forbes


“Jasper, come here.” Daisy nuzzled against him and he purred. She wagged her tale then let it slump.

“What’s wrong?”

“Same old. I’m not a house pet anymore. The family won’t let me inside.”

“The outside is good. You taught me the family running our animal sanctuary are nice so they must have a good reason wanting you to live outside. Those hunters shot me and would’ve skinned me if the family hadn’t found me first.”

“I like the family, Daisy, they feed me raw meet and sometimes, live rabbit. Also, they let me run in the field and I always return home.”

Daisy leaned against Jasper. “When the family found me I didn’t trust anyone. The human, Greg, threw me out in a garbage bag, in the trash. I chewed my way out and the boy, Matthew, found me. ”

Jasper stretched. “So, what’s the problem. You have Matthew and you have me. We’re all part of our pack.”

“Well, I used to be an indoor dog in a warm house. Sometimes Matthew let’s me inside his room, but he’s not home a lot.”

“I’ve always live outside. It’s better sleeping beneath the stars.”

“Yes, but you’re a cheetah, Jasper. I’m a dog. Matthew said I was a Dachshund. I love snuggling with the family as much as I love snuggling with you, but I’m not used to the cold.”

Jasper laughed. “I forget you’re the size of a small cub. I’ll keep you warm, Daisy. I think the family keeps you outside for me. Even though your sad, I’m glad you’re here so I’m not alone. I even saved you raw meat.”

“Oh, boy!” Daisy almost fainted, salivating as Jasper dropped a raw steak in front of her.


©Mandibelle16.(2017) All Rights Reserved.

Sunday Photo Fiction: Der deutsche Holzschnitzer (The German Woodcarver) #amwriting #flashfiction


Thanks to Alistair Forbes for hosting this week’s SPF.


Credit: © C.E. Ayer


Jacobus was a talented Holtzschnitzer (woodcarver) as his Papa and Opa had been before him. He gazed at the fine ritter (knight) he had geschnitzt (carved) on the remaining panel of set of doors in the St. Mary Magdalene’s Kathedralen (cathedral). He was greatly pleased by his relief die Schnitzereit (carvings) and the subject matter. His Opa would have been proud, he had been the most exceptional Holtzschnitzer of his time.

When Jacobus was four, his Papa taught him everything he knew then, sent him around Europe to train under Meister der Holzschnitzerei (woodcarving masters). At the prime of life, Jacobus was in Paris working on Holzschnitzereien (woodcarvings) for the king of France, schnitzen (carving) reliefs and figures for a generous wage.

Jacobus was even more talented than his Opa had been and enjoyed that the subject matter in many French Kathedralen weren’t so limited due to the Renaissance influence in art. His next project was a die Schnitzereit of Mary Magdalene. Not a relief but a carefully schnitzen (carved) contrapposto* figure with a rounded body, full breasts, and hips.

These were the Holzschnitzereien found in Italian churches and not the old Gothic churches of his homeland in Deutschland. Jacobus grinned as plans for the Mary Magdalene took shape. He grabbed etwas Pergament (some parchment) off a table nearby and began to sketch.


*Contrappasto – “Is an Italian term that means counterpoise. It is used in the visual arts to describe a human figure standing with most of its weight on one foot so that its shoulders and arms twist off-axis from the hips and legs (Wikipedia.com).”


©Mandibelle16. (2018) All Rights Reserved.

#NovemberNotes Day 24/ Sunday Photo Fiction: Poetry – Free Verse – “Faith and Writing” #amwriting #poetry #flashfiction


For November Notes Day 24 the prompt song is “Like the Wind” by Triosence and Sara Gazarek. I’m combining the prompt with Sunday a Photo Fiction held by Alistair Forbes.

I know it’s more than a month since November Notes ended but I only have six prompts left (this one included) and then I can move on to other things and a more regular blogging schedule in regards to prompts.


Credit: Jules Paige


Like the Wind” by Triosence Ft. Sara Gazarek


Writing is like the wind,

Spiralling chimes into motion,

It uplifts the tired soul;

As the wind, inspiration can be touched,

It’s ethereal, invisible;

Yet, you sense it as it flies through you — around you;

You can’t say it doesn’t exist as like many things —

It’s a matter of faith;

Supported by first, seemingly tenuous strings that many attempt to ignore —

To dissuade you from;

But although they maybe tenuous, these slender strings are mighty,

Their stout pillars support belief in your God given abilities.

Somehow, talent and imagination swirl and form into the plausible, the possible —

When you close your eyes and write.

Imagination is full of wonder, beauty, joy, and love of creativity flowing —

Winding, spinning as wind chimes sing a chorus.

Faith is the core of everything —

It’s love of God and belief that He guides us,

The symphony director composing, omniscient;

That such as each instrument and voice,

We all have a purpose.

And when our pens and tablets call us,

It doesn’t matter what it’s called;

Just that we know and trust what is greater than us —

The unseen — both in the art of writing and in the vast celestial.


©Mandibelle16. (2018) All Rights Reserved.

#NovemberNotes Day 21/Sunday Photo Fiction: The End of the Affair #amwriting #flashfiction


Thanks to Alistair Forbes for hosting SPF. I’m combining SPF with November Notes Prompt Day 21 “Great Escape” by Gavin James.


Credit: Alistair Forbes — A Mixed Bag


“Great Escape” by Gavin James


Giiselle shivered, slipping out of bed. It was 7:00 a.m. and Jimmy had been knocking on her front door for a half-an- hour. The knocking continued as she made a strong cup of Irish Breakfast tea. Stop! Just stop knocking, leave me alone!

The knocking ended and the long loud ringing of her doorbell commenced. Giselle swore, unlocking her front door and throwing the screen door open. “What the hell do you want? It’s 7:00 a.m. on a Saturday.”

Jimmy rolled his eyes. “You’re being rude. We need to talk about us, the way we were. Until we talk I can’t sleep, so why should I let you?”

Giselle grabbed her down coat and stepped outside. She zipped it up, burying her hands in her pockets. ” The good old days are gone, Jimmy. We’re not together. I don’t care if you can’t sleep.”

“Gigi, listen. What’s between us is more than attraction. I love you for real, always have.”

“We haven’t been together for a year. This isn’t some mistake we made that we can just laugh about someday. I was the other woman and you had a wife.”

Giselle polked Jimmy’s chest. “You decided to try to work things out with her; you chose Jasmine over me. Our affair was always a delicate game and now it’s over.”

Jimmy groaned, “You were my great escape at a dark time in my life. Jasmine divorced me months ago, I’m not married. We can start again.”

“We’ve been down this road before and I’m done. I forgive you but I can’t forget how much you hurt me.” He laid his hand on Giselle’s shoulder.

She turned gazing into his red-rimmed gray eyes. “You’re not the one for me, Jimmy. I was naive to think a married man like you ever was. It doesn’t matter that you’re divorced now.”


©Mandibelle16.(2017) All Rights Reserved.

#November Notes Day 20/ Sunday Photo Fiction: A Wreck of A Marriage #flashfiction #amwriting #music


For November Notes Day 20 the prompt song is “Wreck of the Day” by Ana Nalick. I’m combining the prompt with Sunday Photo Fiction (SPF). Hosted by Alastair Forbes on November 26, 2017.


Credit: A Mixed Bag – Alastair Forbes


“Wreck of the Day” by Ana Nalick


Tessa had been in a bad mood all day and wished she hadn’t agreed to go sailing with Thomas. He had no idea that she had walked in on him in her own bedroom, not once three years ago, but many times since then — including yesterday.

Tessa had loved Thomas since she was thirteen and had never realized he was a serial-cheater until five-years into their marriage. Then, she’d discovered she couldn’t have children. Signs of Thomas’ frequent mistresses became glaringly apparent thereafter. Jewelry she never received, expensive shoes that weren’t her size, and pieces of expensive and foreign left in their bed.

Each time Tessa had seen him and another women, she stopped loving Thomas a little more. She’d been desperately close to the coffin of hope too many times. Every time she had walked in on him, she got in her BMW and drove as fast as she could away from the wreck of the day. She’d disappear and Thomas never asked where she’d gone.

When they arrived home to the comfort of their home after sailing, Tessa slammed the bedroom door on Thomas’ face.

“Sleep in another room.”

“Tessa, what’s wrong, love?”

She ignored his pleading tone. “Pack your stuff up when I’m at work, you’re moving out. We’re also getting a divorce. You’ve been cheating on me for years and I’ve walked in on you and various women, one too many times.”

Thomas stomped away and Tessa fell into bed. It was finally quiet in her head and her heart felt at peace for the first time in eight years.


“Driving away from the wreck of the day

And the light’s always red in the rear-view

Desperately close to a coffin of hope

I’d cheat destiny just to be near you

If this is giving up, then I’m giving up

If this is giving up, then I’m giving up, giving up

On love, On love

*****

Driving away from the wreck of the day

And I’m thinking ’bout calling on Jesus

‘Cause love doesn’t hurt so I know I’m not falling in love

I’m just falling to pieces

*****

And if this is giving up then I’m giving up

If this is giving up then I’m giving up, giving up

On love, On love

*****

And maybe I’m not up for being a victim of love

When all my resistance will never be distance enough

*****

Driving away from the wreck of the day

And it’s finally quiet in my head

Driving alone, finally on my way home to the comfort of my bed

And if this is giving up, then I’m giving up

If this is giving up, then I’m giving up, giving up

On love, On love.”

*****

— “Wreck of the Day”by Ana Nalick


©Mandibelle16. (2017) All Rights Reserved.

Sunday Photo Fiction: What Does the Fox Say? #amwriting #flashfiction  


Thanks to Alastair Forbes for hosting SPF. 

—-

Credit: Alastair Forbes – A Mixed Bag

——

Yelvis -“What Does the Fox Say.”

——
Geraldine giggled. “What does the fox say, Daddy?”

“Um, I think he barks.”

“Could I be a fox for Halloween?”

Brian shuffled his feet. “If that’s what you want, we can attempt to find a costume for you. You don’t want to be Belle anymore?”

“I like Belle but Elsa’s a better princess. But the best costume is a fox, like in the song.”

“What song?” Brian was confused. 

Geraldine shook her head making a show of sighing. “How can you not know the song. It’s on your iPad Daddy?”

“Mom put it there.”

Geraldine giggled again. She started laughing. “Your just saying that, Dad. Can you make the fox noises again, like in the music video?”

“Err, not here.”

“Yes, here now.”

“Well we’re in the middle of the Halloween costume store. I don’t want to embarrass myself, Ger. Let’s see if we can find your fox costume, okay?”

“No Daddy, sing it. Sing the whole song.”Geraldine’s doe brown eyes began tearing up. 

Brian sighed, flipping to Geraldine’s favorite song on his phone. “Do I have to sing, can’t I just play you the song.”

Geraldine sniffled and shook her head. 

Brian tried to breath deeply. “Okay, here it goes . . .” 

——-

©Mandibelle16. (2016) All Rights Reserved. 

Sunday Photo Fiction: Poem – Italian Sonnet – “Autumn Forever” #amwriting #poetry #flashfiction


Thanks to Alistair Forbes for hosting SPF. 

——-

Credit: Alistair Forbes – A Mixed Bag

——–

Crumpled bits of paper bags, butterscotch, 

Vermilion, ocher, brunette leaves rumpled. 

Gone are days of verdence lush, now muffled —

By decay; pungent scent, Autumn rotting. 

Such beauty, such fear of summer days lost. 

Imagining patio, sangria’s stumble. 

While in the new cold, fingers they fumble. 

Finding right key before cold’s biting frost. 

Radiant decay stay awhile and crunch —

Underfoot; wandering through rivervalleys. 

Temperatures perfect, breezy days fun, 

The crinkle of Autumn’s shedding grande. 

Where the cold and warmth linger sharing grace, 

Fall forever as I meander trails. 

——-

©Mandibelle16. (2016) All Rights Reserved. 

Sunday Photo Fiction/Taleweaver:  The Down Pour #flashfiction #taleweaver #amwriting 


Thanks to Michael of MindLoveMisery’s Menagerie for hosting Tale Weaver #137 on the theme of opening and what that word could mean. Also, thank you to Alistair Forbes for hosting Sunday Photo Fiction September 10, 2017. 

———

Credit: A Mixed Bag – Alistair Forbes

———

Min peered at the downpour outside her front window. The rain added to the river’s violent movements beneath her house. 

When she and her son, Sam had moved here, Min hadn’t thought the river below them was dangerous. She’d believed the quiet river had brought her serenity. It’s gentle babble once opened Min’s mind to dreaming. 

However, later that night the river water was at the bottom of Min’s house. She groaned when water began trickling in over the wood floor and carpets. 

“We have to leave now,” Min told Sam, “The water keeps climbing and if we leave it too long we’ll be trapped on the roof.” 

Sam tried his mom’s cellphone. “The cell towers are down so we can’t even call for help. We shouldn’t have stayed, Mom. We should’ve left days ago.” 

Min rubbed Sam’s shoulder before they both grabbed their pre-packed bags rushing out the front door. They had no choice but to wade through water that was hip deep. They sloshed down the bridge/walkway created between all the house’s built above the river. 

When Min and Sam had reached higher ground away from their neighborhood, they sighed collapsing on cots in a school where some of the city’s refugees had began gathering. The river water had been up to Min and Sam’s neck before they had been able to climb uphill, away from the bridge. 

Thank God they had taken the opportunity to leave when they did. Having a moment to spare Min stepped outside and prayed her thanks beneath the open sky and endless rain. 

——–

©Mandibelle16. (2017) All Rights Reserved.