Question For The Day 7 – Response by Embeecee

Athling2001 has some nifty answers; me?  Not so much.  I realized recently I’m stuck in a rut.   

An on-line friend is going to the U.K. (England, Scotland, Ireland) this summer, and I thought that might be a new thing to try.   

(read more at Question 7)






“He’s the meanest, ugliest, rooster I’ve ever met.”

She looked over. “How many roosters have your met?”

He cleared his throat, embarrassed. She had to ask the single question guaranteed to make him feel a fool. “One.”

Raised eyebrow. Smug look. “His name is Roofus. He likes to get on the roof and crow until he wakes us.”

“Isn’t that what roosters do?”

Another look, the same as before.

“Guess I’d better head out. Work and stuff.”  He headed back to his truck, hand scrubbing his hair. One minute she seemed to like him; the next those moments.

“Wait!” she called, running to catch up.

He turned, braced for more rooster smugness.

“I’m…. sorry, I…” Her eyes traveled over the ramshackled farm. The house needed painting. The barns repairs. Mud driveway. Weeds. Sagging fences.

“I….didn’t want you to… think less of me.”

“Why would I do that?”

“The farm….” She waved an arm. “You’re so…. smart and…well-off… have a nice condo. I’m just… this country girl…. living here.”

He opened his arms. “Come here you. I love you. Where you live doesn’t matter.”

Held her as she silently cried.

God, he loved this girl, rooster and all!


Friday Fictioneers 4-2-2017



He leaned on the railing, watching as the ship was unloaded. Aboard were things he needed, things which might get him killed. They would either find him or not; there was nothing else he could do.

“Have they found anything, sir?”

He glanced back. “Nothing yet.”

“Shall I?”

Van Helsing was out there somewhere. Waiting.

“Take the car and pick up the crate.”

“And you?”

“I’ll meet you at the house.”

“Yes, sir.”

As soon as the sound of the car faded, he moved. Van Helsing would never see him coming.


securityThe challenge for Flash Fiction for the Purposeful Practitioner will open early Wednesday morning, March 22nd. Allow the prompt to take you anywhere you want to go! (Limit your stories to 200 words.)

This challenge is open until 11:00 pm Friday night, March 31st, 2017.

Flash Fiction for the Practical Practitioner

“Another day, another donut,” Claude muttered as he rode the escalator to the ground floor. Springham Mall wasn’t a bad place, but it wasn’t police work. Thirty years a policeman before forced retirement and a job at the freaking mall.

Still, he tried to make the best of it; keep the owners and patrons safe.

At the sound of a shot, he broke into a run, pandemonium of screams leading him to the book signing in front of Walden’s Books. Confusions of patrons scattered every which way.

Calmly, he searched for the shooter, seeing nothing until he bumped into Davies. The policeman stared at him. He stared back.


“It was all lies,” Davies said. “You know it was lies.”

The signing was for a book about police corruption.

“I know. All lies. Give me the gun.”

It hurt to see the crazed panic in the other man’s eyes.

Everything happened too fast. One minute he was talking Davies down. The next, another shot and he was looking at the fallen body of his old partner.

“Another day, another death,” he whispered. “Officer down.”