“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 6-23-2017


“Are we ever going to get on the damned ferry?” John asked.

“Not if you keep swearing.”

“What? Swearing stops traffic?”

“Maybe,” Joe sighed, staring out the windshield at the tail lights ahead, grey sky above. Wishing…. nothing.

They crept closer and closer, finally pulling on and into their designated parking spot.

“I’m going up for a hot dog. Want anything?”

Joe shook his head. There was nothing on board he wanted. Not anymore. Luc was gone. There was no home left.

Following John onto the deck, he stood at the rail, fantasizing about leaping overboard.

Sunday Photo Fiction – June 20th 2017

The idea of Sunday Photo Fiction is to create a story / poem or something using around about 200 words with the photo as a guide.

203 06 June 18th 2017

© A Mixed Bag

He looked up at the eagle, judging time from sun and shadows. Turned to watch the wave of schoolchildren filling the plaza, shrieks and laughter warmer than the day.

“Time,” Diego said into his earpiece.

It wasn’t quite, but he said nothing. Patience was his virtue. Always had been. His weakness, too.

He picked up the courier as he entered the plaza, watching him wind around to the monument in the center. The eagle above. Eternally waiting.

Stepped up beside the man.

“It-it-it’s all here,” the man stuttered,  offering up a small folder.

He raised his eyes to the eagle again, courier’s following, then dropping again.

The eagle sees all.

Message heard, finally, and received.

Taking the folder, he slipped it inside his shirt; turned away, lost in the crowds.

Silence surrounded the courier, cut by the shrieks of children, sharp as knives.

Response JSW Week 6-12-2017

Which is odd because you shouldn’t forget me. We’ve known each other all our lives. More than that, really. Longer, harder, deeper.

I’ll never forget.

But you were never as dedicated as me. Not when I met you. Not when we parted. Not anytime in-between.

Not even as I watch you bleed away……


(Don’t you just hate it when a character comes by, starts to tell a story, then just goes away?)