FRIDAY FICTION with RONOVAN WRITES Prompt Challenge #19-A Celebration.

See if you can come in at more than a Word Count of 600. Using the prompt ‘A Celebration.’ A celebration doesn’t mean something happy for everyone. (REQUIRED)

DEADLINE – 23:59 EST (New York Time) Wednesday.


Some celebration, he mumbled, glancing around at the mass of people stuffed into his box of an apartment. Who the heck celebrated turning 50? Oh my God, he was 50!

How had he gotten so old, so fast?  Just the other day (or so it felt), he’d held his son in the hospital, awed at the new life balanced precariously in his hands. Jonathon who died at 16, done in by a drunk driver on his first solo. Susan who died of a broken heart after losing her only child.

What the heck did he have to celebrate? Thirty years on a dead-end job? Company’s pension gutted, leaving him nothing on which to retire?  Or maybe the fact he’d have to work until he dropped dead, greeting at Walmart or some such demanding job.

Holding his champagne awkwardly, he smiled, thanking everybody for coming, for his birthday wishes, for the presents piled on the side table, gathered around the uncut ‘Best Wishes’ cake.

Julie, bright-smile faker, stopped beside him.

“Peter,  how wonderful to have reached fifty!  I, myself, haven’t yet hit thirty you understand, but I am sure you feel younger than ever.”

He swallowed a caustic reply, good at his own brand of fakery. “Younger and younger, Julie.”

“I’m sure,” she smirked, kissing his cheek before heading back for more champagne.

So who was paying for this bash?  He sure wasn’t. He’d come home from the Five and Ten to find this mass of people in his apartment. Some close friends, but mostly people from work, people he’d grudge a hello, at work where he was bound to do so, but he’d certainly never socialize with them.

“Presents and cake,” somebody shouted, sounding suspiciously like Ray.

Reluctantly ushered to the table, he looked at the  packages. Did he have to open all these? Had they decided he should have a gift for ever year? Yea, gods.

The phrase brought a real smile. His son had hated those words, moaning every time about how old-fashioned he was, how embarrassing. No wonder he’d said them at least twenty times a day that year.

Paper rustled, each forcing happy words.  “Oh, a new toaster!  I’ve been dying for one in black.”  And, “A red toaster!  How great. Now I can make toast in both rooms.”

And so on. The final gift on the table was an envelope, someone cheap enough to bring nothing but a card. He torn open the envelope.

‘If there is a finite amount of matter in the universe,’ the front read.

He opened the card:

‘How can Olive Garden offer unlimited breadsticks?

The best, Ray.’

A folded paper was clipped to the back of the card.

Looking up, he raised both eyebrows.

“Open the paper,” Ray said, doing the adult pee-pee dance. (No flapping arms).

Unfolding the paper, his eyes rounded in shock.  “Where….?”

Ray grinned.  “Remember that Lotto ticket we purchased?” Smugly added, “We won.” Handed him a magazine folded open.

Shakily, he took the magazine.

“Little cabin in the woods,” Ray grinned. Gods, they both hated that song.

“Little man at the window stood.” He looked down at the magazine.  A For Sale ad, big red SOLD written across the picture;  cabin surrounded by forest, butting up to a sparkling lake.

“No more damn bunnies!” They both shouted.

“Actually,” he conceded happily, “no more damn Walmart!”

With that, the party began.



The quote used on the card was taken from the internet. I was, however, unable to determine who wrote that wonderful line.  It was begging to be used and, alas, I could not resist its siren’s call.

The phrase ‘yea gods’ was taken from my father who embarrassed me endlessly with it during my teen years.






Friday Fictioneers – March 25, 2016

toiletPHOTO PROMPT – © Ted Strutz



They gathered round the toilet, heads bowed, hands clasped before them.

John’s eyes met Tim’s. “This has to be the weirdest thing I’ve ever done.”

“You haven’t been here long,” was the reply.

“We gather here,” Sam said, “to mourn the memory of Sir John Harington, inventor of the flush toilet.”

Magic Marker on the toilet seat pronounced ‘Memorial for Sir John, Master of Crap.’

“All hail Sir John.”

They each sprinkled the pansies with water.

“And,” Sam continued, “freaking father of wealth.” Looked up.  “Let’s go people! Busy. Busy.”

Separating, they headed to their Robertson Plumbing trucks to start the day.


Quote For The Day 3-25-2016

“If the Universe came to an end every time there was some uncertainty about what had happened in it, it would never have got beyond the first picosecond. And many of course don’t. It’s like a human body, you see. A few cuts and bruises here and there don’t hurt it. Not even major surgery if it’s done properly. Paradoxes are just the scar tissue. Time and space heal themselves up around them and people simply remember a version of events which makes as much sense as they require it to make.”
Douglas Adams, Dirk Gently’s Holistic Detective Agency    

Photo 101 -Day Eight: Natural World & Leading Lines

Capture the natural world with your camera: document a moment outside, big or small. From a panorama snapped during your morning hike to a close-up of a leaf in your yard, we invite you to document this wondrous world around us.



Dry Rushes – Chincoteague Island 2016

Quote For The Day 3-22-2016

“And it is clear to Evan, now: the difference between what is and what has been done; the present and the past. He sees that what he does and who he is isn’t based on the past unless he wants it to be… No. That is the past, which has been seen differently through many different eyes and has become hazy and unclear, like a pond when stirred with a stick. Only the present moment is clear and free from prejudice.”
Garth Stein, How Evan Broke His Head and Other Secrets