“I am loving everything about this homeschooling, Liz—mostly the fact that it is at your home and your husband is the teacher and that after school pick up includes a patio drink with you.”
“I need a drink after the shock of coming home to my front lawn all torn up; apparently our pupils are planning a butterfly garden as a part of their studies of migration. Oh, and look, here comes a scruffy refugee now on his migratory route through the shrubbery.”
“Um, so the border’s still open; I thought Tommy’s father was going to close it.”
“Not yet, so there’s still hope for our little emigrant.”
“Yes, let’s hope, for though it’s hard to believe, even an ungainly caterpillar has wings to fly.”
The word I heard from Denise at GirlieOntheEdge was “migration”. Then she said, just write Six Sentences. Just six! The prompt led me to write way more than that but here are just six, a sort of a snapshot from a Marlie story in the works. Recall that Marlie and her friend Sofie are getting homeschooled by her work-at-home dad. See the related stories below for more Marlie.
She had little in the way of possessions but had always possessed a keen and curious mind. When do beginnings end and endings begin, she had always wondered.
Her playthings were simple; natural materials, raw elements fired by imagination. She gathered and molded ashes and dust. She sculpted with ice, forged with fire.
What began as child’s play was her life’s work. She had seen many come to their end, seemingly forever. She would not. For as things might end, so might they begin.
She was close. She stood in the ashes. She kept playing with fire.
A 99 word response to Sue Vincent’s Thursday photo prompt. Thank you Sue!
“What’s the word, Bird?” Ilene asked as she returned to her desk without even glancing up at Vinny, who cawed as he slowly spread his arms and stretched his neck before tucking back into his vulture pose on the file cabinet behind her.
“The word I heard was quite absurd.”
“Do tell,” and Ilene spun her office chair around to look up at the gangly youth who used to be notorious for getting sent to the office daily but now appeared randomly and of his own volition to visit with her.
“Ah, Ms. Higginbottom, you know how it is, my living legend status means I’m still a target. That fossil they have teaching geography can’t stand that I got out of her class, still hunts me down in the halls, can’t wait for me to mess up; guess she needs someone like me to be correcting and disciplining, makes her feel all righteous.”
“She probably thinks she’s doing it for your own good, Vinny, she’s a bit of a legend too, in her own mind.”
Here is a second entry for Six Sentence Stories, brought to us by Denise of GirlieOnTheEdge. The prompt word is “legend”. This is Ilene Higginbottom who first met this young man at her job interview HERE, and who helped him out in her role as school administrative assistant HERE. You can get to know Ilene and her friends HERE.
Blue-green veins, raised rivers, gully the topography of work worn hands. Parchment skin, brown stained translucence, is crinkled and cracked. Cast tracks edge pewter seas of fog-strewn eyes. Sinewy lines map a history, mark a long life, deeply etched yet inscrutable, the mystery undecipherable.
Something is torn, there’s a missing piece; the legend to the map is gone. Treasure remains hidden, mysteries unresolved.
The Six Sentence Story prompt word is “legend”. Come Wednesday you can share your six sentence story at the linkup at GirlieOntheEdge.
It’s a haibun Monday at d’Verse, and Frank J. Tassone is serving. On this dubious day of remembrance we are asked to use “indigenous” as our prompt word. Here’s where that prompt led me.
You have displaced me. You have disparaged and disowned me. You have left me behind, left me out, left me for dead.
Now you seek me out, entreat me to take up with you again; beseech me to be your guide. You’re beginning to realize that the knowledge you sought cannot replace my innate wisdom.
No matter where you are, I am native to your place. I am native to you; I am your indigenous self. But somehow you have lost your way. You cry for me, the child you once were.
I cry for you. I have reason to be wary, yet I appear, hopeful you will listen, hopeful I can lead you back.
all lost in conquest
interior landscapes razed
wild voice echoing
She actually won the lottery. Not millions. But thousands, enough to make some changes. She walked through her home, taking stock.
She would have the bathroom totally renovated. She didn’t mind the bedroom, but would get a new mattress. The downstairs floors could use refinishing. Maybe upgrade the appliances, at least get the dishwasher repaired.
She thoughtfully surveyed the living room. Without taking his eyes from the television her husband told her to not even think about replacing his recliner.
That was not what she was thinking of replacing.
An 89 word story for Sammi Cox’s Weekend Writing Prompt #127. The prompt word is “replace”.