I saw your prompt come up on the FB newsfeed...I wish my mind worked this way -- you have some great photo prompts here. I might have to snag one sometime to use as a poem prompt! :)
There was this tree that grew at the corner of the house in our back yard. Under my window it grew. It had amazing leaves; broad and fragrant. Shiny on the top; brown bumps underneath, and abundant. I loved that tree.
My father also loved that tree. And apparently, our neighbors did as well. They could be seen coming into our yard and whispering something to my father, who would bring them around to the back of the house near my window. Many times, they traded things. The man next door would get three or four leaves. My father would always get money.
Talk around my street was that the men who came to take a part of our tree would burn the leaves rolled up in papers and breathe the smoke that hung in the air above their heads. It made me laugh when Mr. Jameson burned his bought leaves just beyond our fence, near our tree that grew under my window. It made me very hungry too, but mostly I laughed.
But it stopped being funny when they caught Mr. "J" trying to dig up our plant with the broad leaves from our backyard. They said he had gone a little berserk, ranting about how high he got from breathing the smoke near our fence. I didn't understand why he said that. The tree was only three and a half feet tall. That wasn't very high at all! It was a shame daddy had to shoot him.
Shortly after they had sent my father away when Mr. Jameson died, Mom and Grandpa Morse moved us to the big house on the hill with the money my Father had taken in trade for the leaves. But before we left, Mother had my photograph taken next to the tree. It was a strange picture, indeed. And in his last act before we left our old home, Grandpa burned the tree to the ground. The whole neighborhood was a very happy place to live from that day forward. And very hungry! What an odd tree.
I'm late, I'm late, for a very.... I think she shall be named Alice.
Trapped
It was all an evil plot to driver her mad. She hated all of it; being inside, parading around in a dress, getting pictures taken, old aunts hugging her close, ugh. Being inside though, that was the worst.
Right now there were three boys outside (and one mangy yellow cur of a dog) wondering where she was. They were supposed to be going to the creek today; everything was planned. Jimmy and Bobby were bringing the poles, Sam had the bait and she had the net. If she did not get out of here quick they would leave without her.
Her mother had not told her about this little family get together after church. It had to have been on purpose, knowing she would have snuck off otherwise. Now she was trapped. Father had caught her three times trying to get out a door. Each time he just smiled and headed her back into the gauntlet.
She stood for the picture, even smiled, in the hopes that it would serve as penance and get her released. But it was too late; she had seen them through the window heading down the walk out of town. Bobby had looked back once and the dog kept stopping and sniffing the air, like he was trying to find her.
She settled into the chair in the corner of the room, hoping to be unnoticed. She stared, transfixed, as the room began to change around her. Trees came into focus in the living room and there was a stream where the kitchen was. The door beside the fireplace melted into the garden gate and the sounds of the woods filled her ears.
Her father watched her as she dozed off in the chair, wondering about the playful smile on her sunburned face.
RJ Clarken's first YA novel PENNY WISHES was published by Lilley Press in 2009. She is also the author of a quirky, offbeat collection of humorous poetry, MUGGING FOR THE CAMERA. She lives in NJ with her husband, son and daughter (twins!) and her crazy Cairn terrier.
Casey McCormick is an aspiring YA writer and active blogger. She lives in California with her husband, two young children, and a lazy coonhound named Trever.
Michael Grove is a new addition to Flashy Fiction and will offer his slant on Wednesdays. Welcome aboard Mike!
Walt Wojtanik -- Thursday
Walt Wojtanik's poetry collection WOOD was released in 2011. His second collection, I AM SANTA CLAUS will be released later in 2012. He has written and staged three plays, and is a musician. Walt lives in NY, is married with two daughters.
Hannah Gosselin is a free spirit and beautiful soul blessed with a poet's heart and photographer's eye. She is perpetually inspired by love shared with her husband and their two young sons and is awestruck by beauty in nature. She enjoys indulging in heart-work: writing, dance and visual arts. Hannah was awarded a diploma by the Institute of Children’s Literature located in West Redding, Connecticut, for the successful completion of the course: “Writing for Children and Teenagers,” on April, 19th, 2010.
HANNAH'S BLOG
Deb Markanton -- Saturday
Deb Markanton is an aspiring YA & MG writer currently hard at work coaxing the stories in her head to play on paper. She lives in Los Angeles with her two dogs, Maddy and Mugsie.
Visit her blog to see what bit of nonsense has inspired her today.
De and Laurie -- Sunday Sisters
De Miller Jackson is half of our Sunday team we call "Sunday Sisters". She wanted to be a Poet-Pirate-Princess when she grew up, but is (mostly) happily settling into the role of Mom/Freelance Writer. (Some days that slash cuts deeper than others.) She writes advertising copy, runs gleefully with scissors, plays well with poems…and has also penned a couple of children’s books that need a little magic fairy dust to find illustrator and publisher. You can read her stuff at whimsygizmo.wordpress.com.
Laurie Kolp is the other half of our Sunday tandem. She is a mother of six (including husband and two dogs)and maintains three blogs with numerous publications to her credit which includes most recently Chicken Soup for the Soul: Devotional Stories for Tough Times, The Dead Mule’s School Society of Southern Literature, Christmas Miracles, The Christian Communicator, Skive Magazine. Her poem Infatuation will be published in an upcoming issue of Writer’s Digest Magazine.
I saw your prompt come up on the FB newsfeed...I wish my mind worked this way -- you have some great photo prompts here. I might have to snag one sometime to use as a poem prompt! :)
ReplyDeleteThere was this tree that grew at the corner of the house in our back yard. Under my window it grew. It had amazing leaves; broad and fragrant. Shiny on the top; brown bumps underneath, and abundant. I loved that tree.
ReplyDeleteMy father also loved that tree. And apparently, our neighbors did as well. They could be seen coming into our yard and whispering something to my father, who would bring them around to the back of the house near my window. Many times, they traded things. The man next door would get three or four leaves. My father would always get money.
Talk around my street was that the men who came to take a part of our tree would burn the leaves rolled up in papers and breathe the smoke that hung in the air above their heads. It made me laugh when Mr. Jameson burned his bought leaves just beyond our fence, near our tree that grew under my window. It made me very hungry too, but mostly I laughed.
But it stopped being funny when they caught Mr. "J" trying to dig up our plant with the broad leaves from our backyard. They said he had gone a little berserk, ranting about how high he got from breathing the smoke near our fence. I didn't understand why he said that. The tree was only three and a half feet tall. That wasn't very high at all! It was a shame daddy had to shoot him.
Shortly after they had sent my father away when Mr. Jameson died, Mom and Grandpa Morse moved us to the big house on the hill with the money my Father had taken in trade for the leaves. But before we left, Mother had my photograph taken next to the tree. It was a strange picture, indeed. And in his last act before we left our old home, Grandpa burned the tree to the ground. The whole neighborhood was a very happy place to live from that day forward. And very hungry! What an odd tree.
Walt that's hilarious...
Deleteina
Bwahahaha! Only you, Walt! Guess you found your happy place, eh? ;D
DeleteLove it.
ReplyDeleteYes RJ, taking the high road to nirvana never felt so good.
ReplyDeleteI'm late, I'm late, for a very.... I think she shall be named Alice.
ReplyDeleteTrapped
It was all an evil plot to driver her mad. She hated all of it; being inside, parading around in a dress, getting pictures taken, old aunts hugging her close, ugh. Being inside though, that was the worst.
Right now there were three boys outside (and one mangy yellow cur of a dog) wondering where she was. They were supposed to be going to the creek today; everything was planned. Jimmy and Bobby were bringing the poles, Sam had the bait and she had the net. If she did not get out of here quick they would leave without her.
Her mother had not told her about this little family get together after church. It had to have been on purpose, knowing she would have snuck off otherwise. Now she was trapped. Father had caught her three times trying to get out a door. Each time he just smiled and headed her back into the gauntlet.
She stood for the picture, even smiled, in the hopes that it would serve as penance and get her released. But it was too late; she had seen them through the window heading down the walk out of town. Bobby had looked back once and the dog kept stopping and sniffing the air, like he was trying to find her.
She settled into the chair in the corner of the room, hoping to be unnoticed. She stared, transfixed, as the room began to change around her. Trees came into focus in the living room and there was a stream where the kitchen was. The door beside the fireplace melted into the garden gate and the sounds of the woods filled her ears.
Her father watched her as she dozed off in the chair, wondering about the playful smile on her sunburned face.