Once upon a time there was a princess who enjoyed long walks beyond the castle walls for the small escapes these forays provided, but because this increasingly concerned her father, the king, who thought it high time she settle down, she knew she needed to make each walk count as if it were her last.
One day the princess stole out and finally sat down on a mossy log beside a lily pad covered bog, just enjoying the bird sounds in the filtered sunlight and the deep bass croaking from the bog, when she became aware of an approaching frog; he spoke first, telling her all about a curse, and how all she had to do was kiss him and then he would be released and she would have a handsome prince with whom to live happily ever after in his castle.
The princess bent down to pick up the frog, then hurled him into the middle of the bog before walking quickly along until she again slowed to enjoy the everyday beauty of the wooded bog.
When the princess noticed another frog that hadn’t yet noticed her, she spoke first, asked the frog if he was cursed, and he answered that he was not, that is he certainly didn’t feel cursed, in fact quite the opposite, he felt blessed everyday that he got to enjoy where he was.
He did tell her that it was good she asked if he was that kind of frog because there was a spell on him that meant that if any human kissed him she would turn into a frog. The frog was appreciative that she was respectful enough to ask his permission before she kissed him, didn’t mind that she took advantage of his spell to escape into another life.
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The word from Denise is “Escape”. Write a Six Sentence Story and link it at her site on Thursday. Check out girlieontheedge to read and write.
It’s not quite business as usual at 
At least this institution serves quickly, she mused, facing her husband across their fast food trays.
Marge leaned down to speak with Ilene through the rolled down window of the El Camino.
“Marge, your she-shed is finished. The waiting is over. Go to your prince.”
Somehow this prompt word, release, prompted me to think of my Ag School Economics instructor’s mantra, “There’s no such thing as a free lunch”, a cautionary truism of hidden costs and effects, of the eventual accounting of any give and take.
By D. Avery
Kevlar vested cops have guns in their hands. We come out, single file, hands over our heads, newscasters already there, microphones in hand, reporting this latest shooting. Videos capture relieved parents’ hands stroking their children’s cheeks. Some parents’ hands flutter to their own wet cheeks. Some of us sit on the ground, heads in our hands, disbelief displaced by our knowing. Some put their hands together in prayer. Some of us stand together clasping hands, grief becoming anger. 