Sunday Photo Fiction 8-29-2017

13 Dawn Miller 27 August 2017

© Dawn Miller

 “Tea for three?” she asked, fluffing her skirts, giving him a shy smile.

He looked at the three teacups perched on the spindled legs from a table. “What type of tea shall we be having?”

“Earl Grey, of course.”

He watched her dance around, pretending to make tea and pour it into the cups. Done, she handed him a straw with which he pretended to sip at the pretend tea.

“Do you like it here?”

“Oh, yes,” she said. “There is tea and sometimes Mother gives me crumpets.”

“You like crumpets?”

“Oh yes, with butter and raspberry jam!”

“I love raspberry jam.”

She squealed. “I wish Mother had given me some today.”

“I’ll bring some next time I come to visit.”

“Will you come again?”

“Of course. Tea for three is my favorite time of day.”

She began searching for flowers. “I must put them on Mum’s grave this evening. She shall be ever so sorry if I forget.”

He watched for a moment before walking back into the house.

“What do you think, Doc?” Jamison asked.

He looked out the window, at the woman dancing in the field, flowers in her arms. “I think,” he said, “we should all wish to be as happy as her.”

 

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Response – JSW Prompt 7-17-2017 on 8-4-2017

Feel free to join in and respond to the prompt. Please try to keep your response under 300 words. If you reply, I will re-blog your post to my site (sometimes I am slow, but I get there).

Light travels faster than sound.  This is why some people appear bright until they speak ;)

You know the ones. Hot shots in hot suits with million dollar portfolios given to them by their fathers; diamond studded watches, again, given by fathers. Fast-speak their second language. Double tongued, triple tongued, split tongued. I’ve also known some who couldn’t call a pig out of a holler.

Until they open their mouths and out comes this high Barbie voice or some dumb-ass shit even a three-year old knows is crap. Some, I suspect, are secretly insane. Or not so secretly.

He was one of the insane ones so, when the end came, it came fast. Flaming out like a shooting star, hitting the atmosphere and burning away. Never knew what hit him, not for the rest of his life.

Some of us, you know, flash pretty damn bright even after we speak.

And that corner office, it fits me just fine.

 

 

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Response – JSW Prompt 7-29-2017

I know I am way behind on JSW prompts. At least, my responses and re-blogging your responses. July was a busy month and the writing bug just withered away. I know August will be better! So, here’s to a great month of Just Start Writing prompts!

Feel free to join in and respond to the prompt. Please try to keep your response under 300 words. If you reply, I will re-blog your post to my site (sometimes I am slow, but I get there).

You can tell a lot about a womans mood just by her hands. For instance, if they are holding a gun, shes probably angry.

 

Y’d think it would be self-explanatory, but I’ve known some dense ones in my time.  Most of’em, consequently, are sleeping in the dirt. Real restful, that.

A lady holding a gun don’t sit well with me. Ladies are ladies. Guns are not. Nor are they made for ladies, what with their killing ability and all. Course lots of folk disagree, most of them those very ladies.

So that’s how I come to find myself standing at the top of the stairs, hands raised, dark-haired lady pointing her pistol at me. Damn uncomfortable, for sure.

“Thought  i told ya not to come back here!”

“Ah, Rosie, you’d of missed me if I didn’t come back now and again.”

She gave me that look. “I’ll miss ya right to the gave you don’t get outta here.”

“Don’t be so darn mean,” I replied. “I brought ya a bag of penny candies.”

“Penny candies don’t make up for what you did, Jake.”

“It was only once, Rosie, I swear.”

“Swearing in my house now?”

Used to be my house and now it apparently ain’t. Maybe I’m one of them dense ones. Sure didn’t think she’d act this way.

BOOM!

Wood-chips flew up next to my foot.

“Darn, woman!”

BOOM!

“What’cha….” I stumbled back down’em steps and to the door, falling outside. You know it, I got to my feet and ran like the devil was after me. And maybe he was cause that damn woman ran me all the way out-of-town with that pistol.

Least I gotta eat them candies.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Response – JSW Prompt 7-10-2017 on 8-4-2017

Feel free to join in and respond to the prompt. Please try to keep your response under 300 words. If you reply, I will re-blog your post to my site (sometimes I am slow, but I get there).

The watcher. He watches everyday looking down on the world below. no one ever knows he or she is there, buy for some odd reason you look up and see them starring right at you.

 

I remember him standing there, on the top step, lantern in hand, watching. Ever watching. Night after night, as dusk grew across the land until dawn broke. Watching. If I had known how to comfort him, I would have with glad heart, but sometimes when a man is broken nothing will bind him whole.

Day after day. Week after week. Year after year. His stood his lonely vigil, longing into the night. He ate little, slept less, days spent in silence, his counselors and I decision-making in his stead.

Nights I cried, as broken as he. But nobody saw, or knew, of the cracks inside of me. That much I could do for him.

I was a Queen alone, weight wearing heavy on my shoulders as my husband grew more and more a ghost.

A year ago, we buried him. Now I am truly alone. What little life remains in me grows weary. His heartbreak haunts me, knowing there was nothing I could do to salve his soul.

Now, every night, I stand on the top step, lantern in hand, watching. Ever watching. Night after night, as dusk grows across the land until dawn breaks. Watching. Because now, I know the truth.

When a woman is broken nothing can bind her whole.