Animals/Pets, Children/YA/Family, Fiction, Flash Fiction, Memories/Childhood, Music and Performers, My Thoughts, Nature, Sunday Photo Fiction, Writing, Writing Challenges

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


Thanks to Alastair Forbes for hosting SPF. 

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Credit: Alastair Forbes – A Mixed Bag

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Yelvis -“What Does the Fox Say.”

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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. 

Current Events, Flash Fiction, Italian Sonnet - Iambic Pentameter - Octave (abbaabba) - Sestet (cdcdcd), Memories/Childhood, My Thoughts, Nature, Photography/Visual Art, Poetry, Sunday Photo Fiction, Writing, Writing Challenges

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


Thanks to Alistair Forbes for hosting SPF. 

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Credit: Alistair Forbes – A Mixed Bag

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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. 

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©Mandibelle16. (2016) All Rights Reserved. 

Fiction, Flash Fiction, MindLoveMisery's Menagerie, My Thoughts, Nature, Religion/Morality, Sunday Photo Fiction, Tale Weavers Fiction/Poetry, Writing, Writing Challenges

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. 

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Credit: A Mixed Bag – Alistair Forbes

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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. 

Animals/Pets, Books, Children/YA/Family, Fairy Tale Themed, Fiction, Flash Fiction, My Thoughts, Nature, Sunday Photo Fiction, Writing, Writing Challenges

Sunday Photo Fiction: A Touch Too Mad #amwriting #Wonderland #flashfiction


Thanks to Alistair Forbes for hosting SPF on August 27, 2017

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Credit: Dawn M. Miller

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“What’s this new game we’re playing?” Alice brushed back her hair. 

“You’re all out here with teacups balanced on chair legs. What’s going on?”

The White Rabbit checked his pocket watch. “It’s time for tea, right now.”

The March Hare laughed, “Such an interesting game. Good thing the Door Mouse is on hiding in a teapot.”

Alice stomped her foot.”Really, explain yourselves!” 

She heard a maniacal laugh. “Oh, Hatter. There you are. I was getting worried.”

The Mad Hatter bowed, “Yes, my girl, you’re right on time. Now where is your pistol?”

“Pistol? I’m twelve! What do I need a pistol  for?”

“To shoot the teacups and what’s inside them,” said the March Hare.

“This is even crazy for you guys. Wait! What’s inside them?”

The Hatter removed his favorite silk hat. “Oh, you’ll love it! We shrunk them down, put a drop in their tea.”

“What have you done, Hatter? Rabbit, you need to tell me immediately.”

The White Rabbit removed his pocket watch and vest. “We shrank the cards, three hearts, of course.”

The Mad Hatter laughed, “The best part isn’t the cards it’s the Queen.”

“The Queen of hearts?”

“Yes, Alice,” said Hatter. “Do you know what cup she’s in?”

Alice’s eyes grew round. She cringed as the March Hare took his first shot missing. Then the Mad Hatter shot his pistol shattering a tea cup. 

He handed Alice his pistol.”Here you are now. Only two cups left and a fifty- fifty chance you’ll hit the queen.”

Her face went white. Alice starred into the Mad Hatter’s crazed eyes and swallowed. 

When did Wonderland become so insane? 

——–

©Mandibelle16. (2017) All Rights Reserved.

Fiction, Flash Fiction, My Thoughts, Relationship, Sunday Photo Fiction, Writing, Writing Challenges

Sunday Photo Fiction: The Perfect Equation #amwriting #flashfiction 


Thanks to Alistair Forbes for hosting the August 20, 2017 SPF. 

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Credit: A Mixed Bag – Alistair Forbes

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Simon was a scientist working for NASA. He hadn’t thought he’d marry until he saw Nancy. He was walking past her office and the sight of her muttering equations with her hands twisted in her long brown ombré hair made him stop. 

Her skin tingled. From the corner of her eye Nancy saw an attractive dark haired man studying her. She didn’t recognize him. “Can you come back in an hour? I can’t lose my train of thought.” 

Then, she felt a hand on her shoulder.”Here you need to do this.” 

The man pointed out where she was having problems on her laptop screen, astonishing Nancy. She noted his thick navy glasses frames on his angular face. She could also tell he was taller than her. Most of her dates eventually told 6′ 0″ Nancy she was too tall and/or fat. 

She breathed deeply shivering, was this chemistry? “But what about this? I tried what you said, it’s not what I’m missing,” Nancy told the man.  

They argued over her equations for the next three hours. Nancy was to her surprise completely comfortable around him, learning his name was Simon. She didn’t mind how near he’d pulled his chair. 

By 6:00 p.m. Simon realized he’d been so absorbed in Nancy he hadn’t noticed everyone else had gone home. “Nancy, would you let me take you for dinner? I’ve kept you too long, you’re probably starving.” Simon’s thumb grazed her nape. 

“I would love that,” she said. 

Two years later Nancy was pregnant. Simon created the finishing touches to their baby’s Space Ship mobile. He didn’t want his son to hurt himself, by being able to reach the mobile. 

“The nursery’s amazing.” 

He kissed her. “So are you.” 

——-

©Mandibelle16. (2017) All Rights Reserved. 

Children/YA/Family, Fiction, Flash Fiction, Memories/Childhood, My Thoughts, Nature, Sunday Photo Fiction, Writing, Writing Challenges

Sunday Photo Fiction: “Moonshine and YouTube” #amwriting #flashfiction 


Thank you to Alastair Forbes for hosting SPF August 13, 2017.

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Credit: A Mixed Bag – Alastair Forbes

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“Should we tell the police?”

“Tell them what?”

“About the zombie. What was he?”

Hank covered his face with his hands.”Not a zombie, Ted. Just a homeless guy.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, zombies aren’t real. Only on The Walking Dead.” 

“How do you know? Ever seen one? I did.”

“Trust me. You didn’t. This guy was scary but he was human. Angry too, when you ran at him screaming.”

“I would remember doing that.” Ted narrowed his eyes at his friend. 

“Listen, I told you not to drink your Grandpa’s moonshine. One of these days he’s going to notice you’ve been stealing gulps.”

“That’s besides the point. The homeless guy is an actual zombie. The police will believe me, Hank.”

“No, Ted, they won’t. Your ten, they’ll think you’re telling tales.”

“There’s the homeless guy stomping out of the police phone booth, now,” Hank muttered. 

“Let’s get him!”

“I think he called the police. You were badgering him too much.”

“Was I?” 

“Yep, I doubt he was impressed with a drunk kid punching him as he was trying to sleep.”

“Where were you when I was fighting this zombie?”

Hank laughed,”I was filming a video of you for YouTube. You’ve got thousands of views.” 

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©Mandibelle16. (2017) All Rights Reserved. 

Current Events, My Thoughts, Nonfiction, Poetry, Religion/Morality, Rictameter – 2,4,6,8,10,8,6,4,2 – beg/end same, Sunday Photo Fiction, Writing, Writing Challenges

Sunday Photo Fiction: Poetry – Rictameter – “Streets A New” #amwritimg #poetry #flashfiction 


Thanks to Alastair Forbes for hosting SPF.

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Credit: J. Hardy Carroll
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Empty, 

Thoughts with empty —

Dreams; never meant to inflict,

Such pain, no anxiety, hurt —

done unintentionally

Not considering, 

Empty. 

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Bare streets, 

Abandonment, 

No one comes here, danger —

Lurks in sun’s zenith and night’s chill.

Lost lonely souls wander, 

Hopeless; shifty —

Bare streets. 

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Broken, 

Boulevard with —

Dreams in smithereens; pieces —

Of what could’ve been, deserted. 

Littered streets, none tread 

Improvements left, 

Broken.

——

Why fix? 

Somewhere no one —

Ventures? Bring beauty to  —

Dank tenements abandoned? 

Some people still live here, 

Shuffling through, 

Why Fix? 

——-

Broken, 

I can’t hull stones, 

Nor restore past glories, 

I’m no architect with dreams of —

Organic design where the 

Forgotten dwell, blurry —

Eyed and hopeless, 

Broken. 

——

Hope means, 

Skilled developer, 

Notes potential in ruins, 

Will see masked brilliance beneath the —

Treachery; Boulevard —
Where someone sees, 

Hope is. 

——-

Anew, 

I can’t remould, 

Your splintered heart, pristine, 

I can stitch the pieces together, 

So in time, stitches fade,  

Heart heals almost, 

Anew, 

———

©Mamdibelle16. (2017) All Rights Reserved. 

Animals/Pets, Books, Flash Fiction, History, Movie Reviews, My Thoughts, Nature, Sunday Photo Fiction, Writing, Writing Challenges

Sunday Photo Fiction: The Horsemen’s Head #flashfiction #amwriting #SleepyHollow


Thanks to Alastair Forbes for hosting SPF. 

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Credit: A Mixed Bag – Alistair Forbes

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Ichabode Crane was observing the dim forest when he noticed the bald head buried beneath the tree of death. Each morning it was Ichabode’s job to discover what the headless horseman had left behind from his nights decapitating helpless citizens.  

Today he found two headless corpses half-buried. He shivered thinking of the literal trail of blood that often followed the horseman. 

Though Ichabod was a medical doctor, he’d never found any heads attached to the bodies the horseman discarded. His heart pounded and he began to sweat as he clawed the head from the ground with his fingers. 

The hair felt dirty and greasy. The waxen skin was warm and he was sure the head had soulless eyes beneath its lids. While he stared, Ichabod’s hands shook. The blood running from the head’s eyes, suddenly, caught his attention as they began to open of their own accord. 

Coal eyes with pupils as red as poppies, alerted Ichabod this head belonged to the horseman. Ichabod drank from his trusty flask, whiskey and opium to numb him. 

But perhaps he drank too much. When he awoke, the head lay on his lap and Ichabod rested against the horrid tree. The moon exposed him and his opium veil faded. He felt too alert. The head’s mouth fell open revealing carnivorous teeth. 

Soon, the thundering footsteps of the black horse and the armed body of the headless horseman could be heard. He screeched as the horseman took one slice at his neck, but then, Ichabod offered the horseman the head. 

The horseman dropped his sword and went to his knees on the ground. He took the head in his gnarled hands and placed it on his neck. The horseman growled, a sound of rage in a demonic tongue. 

He gazed at Ichabod, “Run, go now. I will spare you for returning my head. Everyone else in Sleepy Hollow will join me in death.” 

Ichabod had never considered himself a coward but he ran anyways, never peering behind him as screams filled the night. 

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©Mandibelle16. (2017) All Rights Reserved.  

Fiction, Friday Music Prompt, MindLoveMisery's Menagerie, Music and Performers, My Thoughts, Religion/Morality, Sunday Photo Fiction, Travel, Writing, Writing Challenges

Friday Music/ Sunday Photo Fiction: Ship to the Stairway #flashfiction #musicchallenge 


Thanks to Alistair Forbes for hosting SPF. Thanks to MindLoveMisery’s Menagerie for this week’s music challenge, “Stairway to Heaven” by Led Zeppelin 

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Credit: A Mixed Bag – Alistair Forbes

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“Stairway to Heaven” – Led Zeppelin 

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“This will get us there, you’re sure?” Avery asked the Captain. Her hands shook and sweat beaded on her forehead. 

” Yes Madam, as I’ve told the other passengers, who are equally as persistent, this will take us to the first step.” 

“The Stairway to Heaven? I can’t believe it. It’s for real, isn’t it?” 

“Well, Madam Avery, that’s what you paid all your money for. This is the only ship that can take you there. We’ll arrive shortly. Ask a flight attendant to give you some pills to calm you down. Soon, you’ll never need medicine again.” 

“But, what’s at the top of the Stairway? Streets filled with glittering gold? No more crying and no more pain?” 

“When we’re there you’ll know. Have faith, Madam.” 

Avery looking pale and feeling dehydrated suddenly fainted. The whole idea of reaching Heaven by space ship seemed unimaginable. 

When she woke up she was lying on a soft bed. There was a gate formed of pure gold and silver. Two regal guards stood nearby. 

“You there, both of you, where is this? I was supposed to be in Heaven I paid a great deal of money to get there, ” Avery said. 

The guards chuckled, “Madam Avery, don’t you know the Stairway and Heaven itself cannot be bought by humans.” 

“But what am I doing here?” 

“Quiet now. You’re in processing, they’re trying to decide about you,” one guard said. 

“Decide what?” 

“If somewhere deep inside you know Heaven was purchased for you long ago. If you know who bought it,” the second guard replied. 

Avery stomped her foot, “I deserve what’s coming to me.” 

The first guard shook his heads,” Wherever you end up, Madam Avery, you can be sure of that.” 

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©Mandibelle16. (2017) All Rights Reserved. 

Fiction, History, My Thoughts, Nonfiction, Poetry, Quadrille - 44 Words, Religion/Morality, Sunday Photo Fiction, Writing, Writing Challenges

Sunday Photo Fiction: Poem – Quadrille – “Condemned” #amwriting #poetry #flashfiction 


Thanks to Alistair Forbes for holding last week’s SPF. 

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Credit: Mike Vore

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Tenement halls, 

Here they —

Breathed; died. 

Rasping voices, 

Calling  ‘Mom.’ 

Struggling, 

One last breath, 

Wheezing, 

Spirits released. 

Polio, Scarlet feaver, 

Consumption, measles, 

Tuberculosis. 

No matter, 

The disease, 

Many breathed, 

Their last. 

Forgotten, lost, 

Sound of silence. 

Condemned to ruins, 
Now the ruins are —

Condemned, 

Tenements called, 

A prison, 

Too late. 

——-

©Mandibelle16. (2017) All Rights Reserved.