The End? Part II

She turned and saw his cold stare.  How could it end like this, when they had so much together?  Could this really be happening?  She was mystified, but he never said a word. 

As she thought what she might have done, she was dazed at the possibilities, but none seemed the reason for his reaction: "Maybe it’s just him. I wonder if he will realize this."

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I wrote this for Trifextra Week 35 Writing Challenge where are to to write a 33 word composition which builds on a previous Trifextra entry. For this week's entry, I used my entry for Week 32. The words in italics are my earlier entry.

Your comments are appreciated.

The Bunnies!

Jones was born and raised in Hopwell and was well liked, even though the townfolk thought that he was a little slow. He had a cabbage patch next to his cabin in the woods. Every night, the rabbits would feast on his cabbage and he woke up every morning and saw his ravaged garden.

He was mystified. Indeed, he was naive and utterly blind to the events unfolding while he was asleep!  He wasn't even suspicious when he heard the rabbits talking and making chortling sounds. Despite this obvious truth, he loved the little bunnies and would feed them from whatever was left in his garden.

Mirna, who lived about a half mile down the road from Jones, brought him biscuits and gravy every morning. Jones had no idea, but Mirna had a crush on him.  And every day, Mirna would ask him to dinner.  But Jones would always say, "No, thank you ma'am." He was not exactly sure why he said no, but he was afraid.  Maybe it was the rumors, where it was said that she did some bad things and was sent to a "home".  The newspaper stories were confusing too, but he understood when he read that the judge said:  "You are criminally insane!"

But Mirna, now having been released for some six months, was ready to resume her life.  And so, when she brought the biscuits and gravy to Jones, she wanted to be helpful. She tried to warn him that the rabbits were the ones destroying his cabbage patch.  She suggested a low fence that might keep them away. But Jones would hear none of it; he loved his bunnies.

After his umteenth replanting, one morning, Jones woke up to see his cabbage patch thriving.  He thought, I must have found my green thumb.  As Mirna served the biscuits and gravy, Jones bragged: "I've finally mastered the art of gardening!"...Mirna smiled.

And the bunnies were never seen or heard from again.
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I wrote this for the Trifecta Week 44 Writing Challenge where we are supposed to write a 33-333 word composition using the third definition of the word "blind".

Your comments are appreciated.

Everything

A friend talks about everything and anything; pure joy.
A lover takes you places you never thought you'd go.
And a friend and lover gives this joy and love and is there...forever.
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I wrote this for Trifextra Week 34 Writing Challenge where we are supposed to write about something (or someone) that (who) does three things at the same time.

Your comments are appreciated.

Ritual

I move the hair off your neck
And I slowly run my hand down your back
All the way down to the soles of your feet

I work my way back up your ample body
with my kisses,
stopping at each special place

I never tire of this ritual

and the lovely dance we perform

and the little noises you make

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I wrote this for the Trifecta Week 43 Writing Challenge where we are supposed to write a compositon using the word, "ample", in the context of a person's figure.

Your comments are appreciated.

The Triplets

The triplets, Manfred, Milton and Sue were identical, except that Manfred had a cowlick that swept to the left, whereas, Milton’s swept right. Oh yea, Sue wasn’t identical either; she had no cowlick.

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I wrote this for Trifextra Week 33 where we are supposed to write a 33 word composition using the Rule of Three.

The Pastor: Beyond the Incipit

The pastor had it all:

The church, a mid-rise Tower of Babel

A mansion on the lake

A private jet

A trophy wife

Exotic cars

He had amassed this great fortune through his evangelical teachings. He had imbued his followers with the, once, radical notion that God rewards “believers” with wealth, which he called “prosperity gospel”.

And so, the fall from grace was that much the harder.

Church collections were massive;

the money seemed endless.

But the church had a large mortgage.

Finances were murky.

Questions were asked:

What happened to the money?

The fall was sudden:

Divorce

Depression

Pills

Alcohol

DUI charges

The pastor had his critics.

But his flock was loyal.

He was once high among them and now he was mortal.

And this endeared him to them.

After rehab, the pastor returned to the church.

He announced his sermon:  The Redemption, Restoration and Resurrection.

The sermon was planned as a testament to hope.

His flock was gleeful, their prayers were answered.

There was great anticipation.

There would be inspiration.

Thousands would come to listen.

True to his word, the pastor preached about the path to Redemption:

We all know of the sins of pride, envy and greed.

We must cleanse ourselves of these sins.

We must bury the past.

And look to the future.

We can do this together.

We can succeed.

The Pastor then spoke of the way to Restoration:

Now… we all know the church is just a symbol.

But the church is our foundation.

It is our home.

It is our sanctuary.

We must not allow ourselves and our church to, once again, fall from grace.

And, the Pastor ended with an admonition for the Resurrection:

I need you look deep into your hearts.

We must do this for the church.

Reach down deep into your pockets, as we pass the plate.  

After all, we have the mortgage to pay.

And they gave; and his Resurrection was complete.

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Author’s note: This story was based on newspaper accounts.

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I wrote this for the Trifecta Writing Challenge Week 42, where we are to write a 33-333 word composition using the word, “radical”, in the context of an extreme point of view.

Your comments are appreciated.

The End?

The last strains of sunlight lingered in the corners, grasping every available point of refraction.  She slid her fingertips along the glass wondering if this was all there ever was. Or could be.

She turned and saw his cold stare.  How could it end like this, when they had so much together?  Could this really be happening?  She was mystified, but he never said a word. 

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I wrote this for Trifextra Week 32, where are to write a 33 word follow up to the first 33 words provided above.

As always, comments are appreciated. 

Birthday Declaration!

Today is my &#?/%*th birthday! My wish is to be able to say the number without cringing. I know I'm being silly and this is a phobia I've gotten in my head. It's just that, when I'm not thinking about my age and I hear some story about a &#?/%* something person, I automatically think of this person as being old.

When I think about this logically, I remind myself that I'm only one day older than yesterday and that I have the mental outlook of someone who is, at least, 20 years younger.  And people tell me that I look 10 years younger than I am.  I'm in very good health and have some pretty good old-age genes.  My mother is 89 and my father is 94 and neither of them have any life threatening illnesses.

The irony is that I probably "inherited" this mindset from my father, who, in his younger days, complained about old people: they drive too slow, they're penny pinchers and complain all the time. 

Not that my father needed to drive the point home, but, about 4 years ago, he and my mother moved into an assisted living home. After a month, my father told me, "This place isn't working out for me."  I asked him why, and he said, "I don't like it; there are all old people here!"

As I think about my hang up with age, it's not the absence of youth that bothers me, it's that I'm afraid that people will think I'm old when I tell them my age. So, I guess I should just get over it and come clean. 

So, ok...here goes:  I'm 60 years old today!  Yeah, that wasn't so bad!  "60 is the new 40", right? Ha, I spit in your face Mr. 60! My age doesn't define me!  I'm still cool.

Yes, I feel better now that I've unloaded my fears about getting old.  In fact, it's liberating!

But, hey, if anybody asks, can you just tell them I'm in my fifties? Thanks.

Author's note:  Marie Nicole doesn't know it, but she gave me my first birthday present yesterday in her post entitled:  "Roller Derby: A 3-Word Story, her entry in Trifecta, where she said that you're "never too old" to learn new things.
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I wrote this for the Trifecta Week 41 Writing Challenge, where we are to write a 33-333 word story using the word, "absence", in the context of something which is wanting or lacking.

Writing

In three words, I can sum up everything I've learned about writing:  inspiration-aggravation-manipulation.
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I wrote this for Trifextra Week 31 Writing Challenge.

Your comments are appreciated.