Friday Fictioneer: A Step Towards Home #flashfiction #amwriting #fiction


Thank you to Rochelle Wiseoff-Fields for hosting FF.

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Credit: Shaktiki Sharma

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Maryanne frequently found herself on the Greyhound bus travelling here, there, and everywhere. She didn’t understand what triggered the travelling gypsy in her, but she felt when she found what she was searching for, she would finally have a place of her own. She would find a decent job, have a car to drive, and most of all, have people to love in her life. 

As if on que, a stray dog yipped and walked out of the alleyway nearby. While she waited an-hour-and-a-half for the bus to Raleigh, Maryanne decided the dog was indeed homeless and picked her up gently. She brought the startled mut on the bus pulling into the station and named her Betsy. 

She was Maryanne’s first step towards finding a home

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“I Wonder” – Kelly Pickler

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©Mandibelle16. (2016) All Rights Reserved. 

NaPoWriMo: Poem – The Cruelest Month – Ottava Rima – ” November Blows.”


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And now, for our (optional) prompt. In his poem “The Waste Land,” T.S. Eliot famously declared that “April is the cruelest month.” But is it? I’d have thought February. Today I challenge you to write a poem in which you explore what you think is the cruelest month, and why. Perhaps it’s September, because kids have to go back to school. Or January, because the holidays are over and now you’re up to your neck in snow. Or maybe it’s a month most people wouldn’t think of (like April), but which you think of because of something that’s happened in your life. Happy (or, if not happy, not-too-cruel) writing!

Please see NaPoWriMo for more information.

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Typical Darkness and Weather in Alberta in November around 5:00 pm. (www.nj.com)
 

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November, the month cruelest,

All my energy siphoned out.

Sun down 5:00 pm lest,

We let daylight openly flout,

On top of depression for jest,

I’m sure, to have winter blues pout,

I’m wishing for light to shine bright when,

Winter with snow and blizzard send.

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In November tiredness dogs me,

Worse, then other times of the year,

I plee for light so I’ll serene be,

But I’m sent into fog dreary,

Difficult doing what you need.

Each year, a darkened mood I fear.

Beauty shadowed, with winter’s snow,

Winter arriving; sad mood blows.

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©Mandibelle16. (2016) All Rights Reserved.

Writing 101:Day 13 – The Drug House


Prompt: Play with the word count. 

 

http://www.spiritvoyage.com
 
There is a house across the street where the people come back and forth, even at 4:00 a.m. In the day, a black truck sits infront of the house grumbling and rumbling making a horrible noise; the driver probably thinks his truck is cool. It runs forever sitting there, polluting the air.  It could be a house where the rooms are rented out or maybe some couple or family lives there. 

But there are always people arriving, leaving, and smoking. We wonder what else they do in this house. Do they sell drugs there?  Is their clientele the people coming and leaving? It would make sense with all the arrivals and departures, at all times day or night.

 While I wonder, I’m sure that I see a scruffy man on the coach do a line of cocain from a dirty coffee table. In the back people are smoking Marajana, I can smell it, it doesn’t bother me except that in this house it could be a ‘gateway’ drug. I wonder whose life is being ruined by the drugs these people are selling. 

But then again they could just be neighbours and I really haven’t seen anything weird going on; I’m just surmising and imagining the worst. My mind has slid to a place where I’m judging these people and I’m expecting criminal activity. Better shut the curtains.