Fiction: Storms & Misfortunes

This month's Words for Wednesday prompts are supplied by Charlotte and hosted at River's blog here. This week's words/prompts are: ants, sushi, meeting, miniature, juniper, leaves and/or mushroom, seagull, windy, glass, knit, safe and (above) the image of a dormer window.

Fiction: Storms & Misfortunes
It was death that made Nora Merryweather stopped telling fortunes. When Nora first ascertained she knew things by looking at something as ordinary as a mushroom or a pebble, her aunt, Mary, taught her how to read the world around her. Sometimes knowledge simply entered her mind when she looked at something long enough and other times, she had to wait awhile. Since the age of fourteen, Nora had been telling fortunes by looking at people's belongings but her true talent was knowing when and how someone would die. 
    At eighteen, Nora tried to prevent her aunt's death by keeping her away from water. Instead of drowning trying to save a boy, Mary was crushed by a shopfront sign when she pushed a woman out of the way. The boy she should've saved, died. And the woman who should have died, lived. Fate, it seemed, could not be tricked but could be altered but never to how you wanted – it was a lesson Nora never forgot. Now Nora try to avoid misfortunes that came her way and if someone got saved, it was a happy side effect.
    A few months after her aunt's death, her neighbor, Mrs. Seagull, the woman Mary saved, offered Nora to live at her boarding house rent-free if Nora took care of the housework. Since Nora had nowhere to go after she sold the house to pay for funeral expenses, she accepted Mrs. Seagull's offer.
    Nora had no qualms about living in a boarding house isolated and miles away from civilization. It's why people came for quiet retreats away from the city. Nora didn't mind sleeping in the tiny attic room as she was somewhat miniature, having never grew taller than three feet and eleven inches.
    Not being much of a talker, Nora was a bit annoyed by the boarders' nosiness. If Nora leaves the house unexpectedly, if she misses dinner, if she sidesteps ants, if she avoids sushi, they all wanted to know. Frequently, Nora did the housework without speaking to anyone but she had a meeting or two with the boarders on her way down and up the stairwell but she never say more than necessary.  
    Each day, Nora would peer out the dormer window at the sky and enjoyed the quiet of the early morning. Sometimes, Nora thought life would be peaceful if only she didn't know any misfortunes but then she wouldn't have learned anything without them.

Fiction: A strawberry moon, a fire and a cat

This month's Words for Wednesday prompts are supplied by Charlotte and hosted at River's blog here. This week's prompts are cold, door, fire engine, tree, jacket, sign and/or candle, cup, egg, roses, window, hazy. Optional additional prompt is Charlotte's colour of the month Jade Green.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ 

Fiction: A strawberry moon, a fire and a cat
The fire engine took almost two hours to arrive but Jane Strong didn't fret as she stood outside in the cold. Staying a few feet away, she started to shout the door was unlocked but too late. The firefighters had smashed her front door off its hinges and the three men trampled on it on their way inside with the hose.
    The night air was cool. Jane tucked at the sweater she had hasty put on. It had been a cool June. Most of the townspeople thought Jane had done something to the weather. They believed she was an enchantress. Perhaps it was her use of candles or dressing in black or perhaps owning a black cat. If the wiring in her house didn't often short out, she wouldn't use candles. Dressing in black had been a habit since her teens and why should she change? As for her black cat, she just appeared and made herself at home. Even if none of those reasons existed, the townspeople would find some other reason to believe their own prejudices since they refuse to believe anything she say.
    She looked up at the strawberry moon in the sky. Was it a sign? Henry, her husband, believed in signs and he believed almost everything signified bad luck.
    Her eyes dropped down to the almost petalless pink roses in front of her house. Henry had planted them when they first moved in last year. People thought Jane made the roses grow with her witchcrafts but all she did was took care of them and the apple tree in her backyard. The townspeople often had trouble growing things and they didn't like that Jane could do what they couldn't.
    Someone thrust a paper cup into her hand. There was a boiled egg inside. She glanced up at the middle-age Marvin Hart, the town's newspaper reporter and busybody. "Old Bane said you're welcome to board at his bed and breakfast with a discount," said Hart. Jane wondered why Old Bane would do such a thing when the man was stingy with money. 
    Hart grinned. "Well, I'll be going now. Good evening, Mrs. Strong." Hart tucked his hands into the pockets of his faded leather jacket, made his way to his beat-up, faded jade green truck and drove off into the darkness. She detested the man. When Henry died eleven months ago, Hart interviewed her and then wrote several articles of how she might had poisoned her husband. The townspeople had believed him and avoided her. The three neighbors on the left and right side of her, moved away. Ever since, only her house was occupied in this far part of town. Even when it came out that a brain aneurysm had caused Henry's sudden demise, people still avoided her. Jane had since decided never to speak to Hart nor in front of him. Sometimes she wondered how Hart kept showing up whenever something bad happened, as if he knew they would happen. 
    After the firefighters left without speaking to her but had glanced at her as if she was some strange alien, Jane inspected her house. The lower level had broken windows, smashed objects, messes everywhere and almost everything was soaked. She dropped the paper cup with the egg into the trash bin in the kitchen. She refused to accept anything that man gave her. Upstairs, her bedroom was mostly unaffected though the scent of smoke lingered. 
    "There you are," Jane said, relieved at seeing the black cat lying on her bed but the cat didn't budge. Jane stroked the animal's back and felt no throbbing. The cat wasn't breathing. 
    About three hours ago, when the cat woke Jane after the fire started, Jane had grabbed the sweater hanging on the chair, ran downstairs, called the fire department and ran outside and forgot the cat. She had told the firefighters to look out for the cat but maybe they didn't care to touch her. Most of the townspeople believed black cats were bad luck. 
    Her view became hazy and Jane wiped her tears away. "I'm so sorry, Moody." She brushed her hands over the cat's body. The cat had showed up at her front door ten months ago. Jane had fed her scraps and apple slices thinking she would go away but the cat stayed on. After a time, she allowed the cat inside and started feeding her regularly. The name Moody was stuck in her head and it became the cat's name.
    Moody sprung her eyes opened and meowed. Jane cradled her. "Oh, you silly thing, you scared me."

Fiction: Canoe on the Roof

This month's Words for Wednesday prompts are supplied by Hilary Melton-Butcher and posted at River's blog over here. This week's prompts are: baker, canoe, gable, training, rot and/or lily-livered, provisions, barley, arrow, border. Optional prompt: Charlotte's color of the month Razzmatazz.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Fiction: Canoe on the Roof
Mr. Huckleberry Baker's mind was elsewhere when he climbed the ladder toward the roof of his house. On the front end of his gable roof and sitting on the side of the ridge was a canoe. He hadn't a clue who put it there but he wanted it gone.
    Mr. Baker had little knowledge of roofs so when his left foot sank and created a hole in his roof, he wondered, 'Should it rotted through like that?' It wasn't safe to continue. With his foot bare and a bit tender having to struggle out of the hole, Mr. Baker stood and proceeded back toward the ladder but was hit with dizziness and double vision. He sat down on the ridge and slowly his dizziness faded and his vision cleared. He wasn't lily-livered except when it came to heights which he often forgot about.
    How normal his day had been. This morning, after he ate two toasts with a cup of hot barley tea, he entered his home office and started work. For almost two decades, Mr. Baker wrote manuals for machines and gadgets. He had no training but he knew how things work by studying them. 
    While he was marveling at his masterpiece for a multi-propose blender, the phone rang. Automatically he picked up the receiver and said, "Hello."
    "Hello, Mr. Baker. Do you know you have a canoe on your roof?" Miss Hart was his next door neighbor who was inquisitive about everything.
    Mr. Baker's immediate respond was, 'Do not be ridiculous' but he instead said, "Thank you for letting me know, Miss Hart. I will check it out." He returned to work, had a tuna melt and black coffee for lunch, kept working and didn't remember about it until nearly night. 
    He glanced at the canoe two arms stretch from him. The inside was a pale wood but outside was painted razzmatazz, a word Miss Hart used to describe her favorite bright pink hue. On the side, painted in white was Peace Queen with two, white arrows crossed to make an X between them. Last night, he dreamt about a canoe with those exact words. What did they mean?
    Mr. Baker forgot it all when he tried to get off the roof but as he stood up, dizziness and double vision kept him down. After the fifth try, he gave up. He pictured his funeral with his parents sobbing while beside them his ex-wife laughing and throwing cash into the air. Without changing his will, any provisions he had wanted to make for his parents wouldn't happen if he die today. 
    From up here, he noted all the houses with their lights off. Everyone was probably at the town's ninety-third anniversary party. It must be 7 by now. The party didn't end until after 10. Across from him, the full moon was hanging like a sculpture in the sky. Its beauty made him think of his accumulated ifs and somedays from his forty-three years of living. Why hadn't he taken more chances? Why hadn't he done more? He thought of Miss Hart. Ever since she moved in next door two yeas ago, she had been dropping by or calling to talk about any old thing but he enjoyed her loquacious roaming.
    After a while, Mr. Baker crawled into the canoe. It was a single person vessel with a wooden ottertail paddle. He lifted the paddle and swung it on the right side and then the left. It was almost natural except he had never canoed before. He pictured paddling toward a wide horizon under a bright sky.
    Before he realized, the canoe was shifting and then gliding down the steep roof, past the border of the sculpt hedges that framed his front path and landed on the grassy lawn with him almost spilling out. The paddle had slipped from his hands, slammed against his front windows and put a hole in one of the panes. He patted himself all over and found he was in one piece and chuckled at his good luck.
    "Good evening, Mr. Baker. Isn't it a bit late for a canoe ride?" Miss Hart was staring down at him with a hint of a smile.
    Mr. Baker got out of the canoe with a hand from Miss Hart. "Thank you, Miss Hart. I was just... practicing." He dusted his clothes.
    "Don't you think it's time you call me Betsy?"
    "Betsy, yes. Why don't you call me Berry." He grinned.
    She glanced at the words on the canoe. "Berry, would you believe I used to be known as the Peace Queen?"
    Mr. Baker's grin widened.

Fiction: Gone

This week's optional prompt at Poets and Storytellers United is: a time you surprised yourself. The ending may be a sort of a surprise. I don't know why I went that direction, it just happened. Visit other participants over here.

Fiction: Gone
One hundred feet from the ground, Julia peered down below and then at the man-child beside her. For about half an hour, Ted played games on his phone. 
    Thirteen years ago, Julia was introduced to Ted by common friends at this carnival. Ted thought it was a good idea to ride the rollercoaster to celebrate their engagement but a mechanical failure had stranded them.
    Growing up, Julia had foolishly rebelled on the wrong things and had thought marrying Ted will make up for her mistakes. But ten years of waiting for an engagement had altered her but Ted, he was the same expect the thirty extra pounds.
    It was too late to turn back. Due to his many generosities of lending money to his friends, he earned himself and Julia many debts. When she asked him to get his friends to pay him back, he struck her face, twice. That was the moment she felt like an insect who had been squashed one too many times but still stood in the same place to be squash again and again.
    Slowly, Ted turned away from his phone screen and looked up at her, eyes blinking slowly. He began to hunker down and the phone slipped from his hands and struck against her feet. When she glanced up, Ted was gone but there was a fat fly squatting on the leather seat and it seemed to be gazing at her. Haphazardly, it flew up and away into the dull afternoon sky.
    A sudden drop and the rollercoaster started turning. On the ground, Julia stumbled out of her seat. Clementine, Julia's friend, rushed toward her and said, "I'm glad you're alright. Wasn't Ted with you?"
    Julia shook her head and shrugged. What could she say that didn't sound mad?     
    About nine minutes on the way home with Clementine driving, she exclaimed, "What the heck! That is one chubby fly."
    On the windshield was a fat fly and it seemed to be staring at Julia. Clementine turned on the wipers but the fly didn't move quick enough. A short smear of red was left on the windshield but another swipe and it was gone.

Fiction: The Friends Market

This month's Words for Wednesday prompts are supplied by jabblog and posted at River's blog over here.  This week's prompts are: hand, useful, panic, horse, shape, sharp and/or nuisance, boredom, quizzical, history, warfare, hair and bonus words notification, money, cotton, spray, clock, mug.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Fiction: The Friends Market
Wearing her blue with white clouds pajamas under her pink raincoat and pink rainboots, Jacklyn strolled down the aisles of Old Friends Market. She glanced at her wrist watch: 12:01. She had plenty of time. The market didn't close until 3:03 am.
    Two months of leisure wanders around the market had turned into a daily ritual. Each night, she came and even when she was looking for something particular, she found, it didn't matter. Being here was a haven. Always, there was a strange, frantic elation cruising through her just as she stepped inside the market.
    In the spacious store, Jacklyn passed one or two shoppers. Soft music from the speaker weaved through the air. About two feet away, a man with an orange beard lurched toward a giant bag of candles and threw it into his cart already full of bags of cat food. He gave her a nod as he passed her, leaving an odor that reminded her of high school days.
    It was easy to just drop anything she thought useful into her cart but when Jacklyn checked, it was filled with bags of dog food. She did not panic. It was her habit to buy dog food whenever she came to the market. Her dog, Mickey, was a Harlequin Dane. His appetite was as huge as a horse. Sometimes she wondered why she owned a dog bigger than her but when she looked at him, she stopped wondering. Unlike his kind, Mickey embraced boredom so he was never a nuisance. She had no sharp eye for anything but she had always thought Mickey was worthy even if he practically ate through her money. 
    When she was wrong or made a bad choice, Mickey would give her his quizzical look with one eyebrow raised. If she had Mickey before she met Ted, she might not have gotten married. But even if Mickey had given her that look, perhaps she wouldn't have listened as she was too much into Ted back then. Her marriage had been a constant warfare. They were always fighting and unable to agree on anything. After the divorce six years ago, she was hesitant to get a dog due to her history of short-lived pets but once Mickey was in her life, there was no more doubt.
    She picked up a bottle of shampoo, conditioner and hair spray. It was expensive to own a Great Dane so Jacklyn had to sacrifice a few things such as salon visits. It was madness trying to tame her unruly hair that sometimes grew into a giant bubble shape but she persisted.
    Across from Jacklyn, a tiny woman was placing bags of various pet foods into three carts. A few times, she shook or nodded her head as she peered down the floor here and there with quick glances at the giant, analog clock surrounded by a rooster hanging on the back wall.
    Jacklyn looked away. She picked up a box of cotton balls and a bottle of hand lotion and tossed them into her cart. As she near the next aisle, she read the notification about taking your pets for regular checkups at the vet. Four months ago, the vet found a tumor in Mickey's brain. Had they removed it, he would die but if they didn't he would be in pain all his life so she made the decision. When they gave him the injection, Jacklyn was calm but afterward, she destroyed most of her home furniture.
    She turned into another aisle and paused to smile at a coffee mug with the slogan: Every dog deserves his bone. Turning and going into the next aisle, she picked up three cans of coffee beans. The scent of coffee always perked Mickey up. 
    The padding of feet made her look to her left. There was Mickey walking beside her. He had glints in his dark eyes. She glanced at her wrist watch: 1:03. He was on time as usual. When she dropped a box of popcorn into her cart, Mickey gave her his quizzical look. She took it out and put it back onto the shelf. Moving up and down the aisle, she would glance at Mickey before putting an item in her cart. He either gave her his quizzical look or licked his muzzle for approval.
    After she paid, Jacklyn pushed the cart with her bags of purchases toward the exit's double doors which slid open to the pouring rain outside. Mickey followed her but he stopped just before the doors. She turned to face him. This was where she had to leave him each night. Seeing her Mickey again was a joy but she couldn't take him home no matter how much she wanted to. He only existed in the market now. She lingered, rubbing his ears, giving him kisses before heading out. 
    Walking five steps, she paused and turned around. The doors to the market were closed and the lights were out. Jacklyn dried her eyes, glanced at her wrist watch: 3:04. There was always tomorrow night and the next.

Friday Writings: Tree of Death

I recently found this new blog, Poets and Storytellers United and I thought I try their weekly writing prompts. This week's optional prompt is dead tree, or any other dead tree you’ve seen or imagined. Or by the idea of beauty in death, or last-minute actions that turn out to be important. Or, you may simply ignore the prompt and write anything at all. The word limit is 369 words maximum (excluding title and notes). Visit other participants over here.

Fiction: Tree of Death
He is a common tree and to most humans, he is unseen. And yet, those who are desperate would find him almost by fate. For a long while, he had no name but everyone started calling him Elm and it stuck. Not being an elm, he was appropriately offended but he didn't completely dislike it.
    Every few decades, Elm wakes up in a new place but he is always near a body of water. Currently, he resides beside a beach. The noonday sun only shines on his left side as his other side is blocked by a forty-story hotel. Elm doesn't speculate why this is so. He has learned some things you simply accept as truth.
    For 1,201 days, he hasn't granted a wish to anyone but three days later, a man appears. His eyes are frowning and there is a slow melancholy to his movements. For two hours, he studies Elm before he takes a few steps closer, presses a shaking hand against Elm's trunk and speaks. "I wish to die but nothing too painful, if possible."
    Elm would laugh at the man if he could. How many comes to ask for death but none wants to die in pain? If they want an easy death, Elm would grant them the opposite but not because he is spiteful but because that is what wishing for death does. Many thought death brings peace but it just pauses everything until your next life.
    It doesn't take long and the man experiences every severity of his death.
    It is rare for Elm to ruminate after a death but this man somehow leaves a smudge of sorrow in him. Often, he tries not to think it is life that he takes away even as he grants death. 
    As the wind glides over Elm, and a few leaves fall off his branches, he think of the man and his return. Will he endure the same messes he has left behind? Will he live another unhappy life? Elm sighs but makes no sound. Life would be peaceful if death never reaches him.

Fiction: Yawning Dog

Charlie's daily ritual was to count her dog's yawns and post them on her blog until her house was robbed. The lost of her furniture, bicycle, jewels, cash she had hidden in her closet and even her laptop didn't stress her except for her dog. 
    Seven years ago, after her husband's funeral, Charlie had wandered out alone and ended up in an unfamiliar neighborhood where she encountered two Rottweilers. They chased her and would have attacked her if a black and tan German Shepherd didn't appear. He fought with the Rottweilers until they scurried away. Charlie took the German Shepherd to the vet and got him mended. When no owner came forward after six months, she adopted him. She named him Darcy Bennet after two of her favorite Jane Austen characters. 
    When Charlie discovered Darcy's habit of yawning with his paw over his mouth, she blogged about it. Everyone fell in love with Darcy and his yawns but they also loved how human-like he was – sitting with his front legs up, reading books (his favorite was The Art of Racing in the Rain), sunning himself like he was getting a tan in the backyard and even sleeping on his back.
    With the insurance money, Charlie brought new furnishings and a new laptop but without Darcy, the days dragged on. And without her old laptop, she wasn't able to blog as she didn't remember her password. Using a new email, she tried to get her blog back. How could she gave up seven years of posts that meant so much to her? And besides, her blog didn't just belong to her but to Darcy as well.
    Several weeks after the robbery, in her half empty home office, Charlie fell asleep sitting by the desk with her laptop opened. When she woke up, the screen was showing the dashboard of her blog and in a text file, was her account names and passwords and below that, was her brother's name and the word robbery. Her older brother often thought blogging was unhealthy for Charlie. Perhaps he thought without her laptop and her dog, she would stop blogging and join the real world. 
    Most surprising was Darcy sleeping by her feet. Charlie bended down and lightly stroked the top of his head. He had probably came in through the doggy door in the back of the house. Was it Darcy who got into her blogging account and left the note? He had surprised her before. But all that mattered was, her yawning dog was back. If she was missing something, she was sure it would find her soon. The doorbell rang and Charlie grinned and Darcy, woken, started to yawn.

Fiction: Memory Bus

The memory bus had a silver and white outer shell and a driver decked out in a crisp, gray uniform and gray cap. After studying the bus for a bit, Vincent got on. His heart was thumping so loud he swore everyone heard it. He pressed his chest and released a short breath.
    Once inside, he was immediately transported into ten-year-old Vincy and sitting beside his mother. Dawn's early light filtered in through the many open windows. A shiver ran up Vincent's body. He noted the watch on his right wrist: 8 am, seven more minutes and the accident would occur.
    Two young boys with black izzards on the front of their hoodies were playing games on their phones. After awhile, they took out staple guns and began shooting at each other, moving around the bus and climbing over seats and people. The other passengers complained for them to stop but they kept on, laughing and shouting, sending nails here and there. Staple nails went here and there but one ricocheted off a metal part of a window and drove into Vincent's mother's head who was asleep. Vincy had pulled his mother to his side but the nail had struck her in the head and killed her instantly.
    When the bus screeched to a halt, the boys with their staple guns fled. Alerted by Vincy's shouts, the few passengers started crowding around Vincy and his mother.
    Vincy was transported back outside and standing in front of the bus. This fifth time made it clear — there was no effective way to get an outcome in which his mother lived. The only sure way was to never let the two picaroons to step inside the bus.
    But Vincent could not change the past and even if he was able to do so, it wouldn't alter anything as the memory bus could only run within and did not affect the outside world.
    Vincent exhaled. He got the proof he needed. Now he could finally let go and move on.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

This month's Words for Wednesday's prompts are provided by messymimi over here. This week's prompts are: shell, deck, chest, proof, dawn, effective and/or brabble (a loud, dumb argument), izzard (the letter z) and picaroon (a scoundrel). 

Fiction: Gaol

Her gaol cell may lacked elegant furnishing, privacy or windows and her shower time may be limited to three minutes per day, it was home to Gin. Should the sea-green wall disturbed her senses or her roommate or other inmates made too much noises, Gin had books to keep them out. It didn't bother her that she was likely to spend her geriatric years inside a cell. She had no dreams nor a bucket list to pin hopes on. She craved only a peaceful existence.
    Every now and then, she would contemplate getting out but dismissed it. She had plenty of time to sit and ponder and read books and though she had some regrets, she was mostly contented. The downside was new inmates often wanted to challenge her. She didn't like the spontaneous trips to the infirmary but she relished fighting with people. Before, she was a pacifist but in here, she lost that peculiarity.
    This morning, when she met the board members, she offered a half-hearted plea to let her out. What was out there for her anyway? More work? More time to enjoy the drudgery of a life ruled by others?
    On some gloomy evenings, she still reminisced about her old life as a bodyguard to powerful beings. But that life was over when she broke a mortal rule – she got involved with a human's life. She was foolish to believe the woman was her friend. On a cold morning, the woman brought her a cup of hot chocolate and Gin drank it without thought. Then she woke up in a deserted place surrounded by a field of cops with guns pointing at her. No matter what she did, she couldn't prove she didn't kill the security guard or the bank manager. The woman had disappeared and couldn't be found. But Gin was at fault for not listening to warnings about that particular human. Why they didn't take away her immortality, she was still baffled but she didn't have to worry about dying but her body aged like any living being, only slower.
    In the afternoon, she was pleased to hear she was staying put for another twenty years. As she turned the pages of a newly borrowed book, she smiled.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

This month's Words for Wednesday's prompts are provided by messymimi over here. This week's prompts are: elegant, limited, spontaneous, bother, list, pin and these phrases (which I didn't use) don’t count your chickens before they hatch; par for the course; a piece of cake. And Charlotte's colour of the month is Sea Green.

Fiction: Derangement

The alien ponders why he is here and if he could just disappear. For years, he has lived the life of a lonely, hollow man. Time after time, he has tried to alter his nature but it was as if he was born with a careless prudence.
    The alien finishes his third hot, sweet coffee and curses the system for sending him here. But this is his chosen punishment, his burden. His body is assimilating the numerous brutal and reckless indulgences. When it nears the end, he could leave and go back home. But first, another delicious bun and coffee.
 
This is a drabble, a story in exactly 100 words.

Fiction: The Concoction

This month's Words for Wednesday prompts are supplied by River over here. This week's prompts are: concoction, premises, smoky, genuine, stronger, grease.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Fiction: The Concoction
The sky was a smoky haze when Holland was escorted off the premises with her box of meager office belongings. On her way to the bus stop, she paused for the fifth time, put the box on the ground, looked around, sighed and wondered again why she didn't stick around to fight for her job. She reminded herself she was a good person. Leaving a corrupted workplace was the right thing to do. She smiled, picked up the box and was struck by a shopping cart. She went tumbling to the ground.

Fiction: Spirit in the Typewriter

This month's Words for Wednesday prompts are supplied by River over here. This week's prompts are: chips, herd, clamped, walk, over, cheese.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Fiction: Spirit in the Typewriter
While he was crossing the street, a car slammed into Stanley and left him with a broken leg and some broken fingers. 
    A month later, he resumed his work as a typist. But his fingers clamped up whenever he pressed the typewriter keys. While changing the ribbon, he glanced at the yellow smily sticker on the corner of the typewriter which his wife had stuck there when he first brought it home. She insisted it needed something to cheer him on while he worked. Eight month later, after his writing career failed, she left him for a lawyer. He had tried rubbing it and using solutions but the sticker wouldn't come off.
    He took a break and strolled his neighborhood. But walking with crutches was tiring so he returned home shortly. All three manuscripts had been typed and neatly stacked on his table beside the typewriter. He checked his entire apartment but couldn't figure out how that happened. There was an empty box with Freddy's Pizza Place in his trash but he had not eaten any pizza. But he gave the manuscripts to his clients, got paid and didn't think about it.
    For three months, the manuscripts got done and he never witnessed it. He was sure no one broke into his apartment and he didn't subconsciously typed them. 
    On the fourth month, he stayed by the typewriter with five manuscripts and waited. For two days, he didn't leave the typewriter except to use the bathroom. Then on the third day, he fell asleep and when he woke up in the morning, the five manuscripts were typed and stacked and beside it were an empty box with Freddy's Pizza Place and a coffee mug. 

Fiction: Dreaming of Bowling Under the Sunshine

The train went on a loop and nobody noticed until it went around a fourth time and by then, the fifth loop had started. A scream escaped into the air but no one claimed it. The twenty-something passengers all paused to look at each other as another loop began. 
    A short man ran to one end of the car and a tall man went to the other end but neither were able to open the exit doors. What's even more strange, they were by themselves and not attached to other cars or even the car with the engine that kept the train moving. Everyone stared out the windows at the passing scenery of trees and buildings under the dull winter sun. 
    The passengers' panicky voices rose and fell. In his corner with his shopping cart piled high with stuff, a man wearing many layers of clothing was enjoying a bowl of something soggy soaked in milk. In between bites, he muttered, "Can't stop. Got to keep going til someone makes a wish."
    Just a few feet away, sitting by the window, Jill heard him but she ignored him. She was thinking if she was late to work, she would be fired. But she didn't panic. She was trained by her firefighter grandfather to stay calm during emergencies. If he was here, he would say, "This is a puzzling puzzle. We'll need to figure this out with our brains, not our emotions." 
    It was the wrong morning to stop paying attention to the train. Normally, Jill read her book and trusted the train to get her to her destination. The train had made its usual stops and passengers got on and off but now it was passing all the stops. What are they to do? Back and forth they went on with the loops and nobody had any answers to this strange predicament. So far, Jill counted nineteen loops. She glanced around her. This was no longer the B train - the sign was now a blank orange circle and not only that but all the advertisements all over the car were missing words. 
    The man with the layer clothing was now reading the newspaper. Jill thought to ask him why was he so calm but he would probably answer with something too wild for her to believe. She glanced at her wrist watch: 8:56. She was already late since it took five minutes to walk to the office from the station.
    The train began to speed up. Loop after loop, it went faster. Jill barely felt the velocity and no one tumbled but the scenery through the windows became long blurs. A little boy screamed that he wished to go home. A few people mumbled their assent. 
    The man with the layered clothing put down his papers. He looked around him. "Who else wish to go home?" he said.
    Everyone raised their hands including Jill. But she didn't want to go home and yet, she didn't want to go to work. She wished she could move to an island and bowl under the sunshine. 
    After a few more loops, the train began to slow down and came to a leisure halt. The doors whooshed open. For a moment, no one moved. Then they all rushed out the doors. Two uniform men appeared and directed them from the station while citing that the train was no longer in service.
    Jill got to work ten minutes late but she was just glad she wasn't looping anymore. Was she wrong that the man with the layered clothing had disappeared from the train? She was sure he didn't get out with them.
    In the afternoon, her boss came out of his office and announced the company would be moving to an island and it will occurred in a month. Jill was enjoying the idea of testing the new pins and bowling under the sunshine to worry about getting fired or having her wish come true.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

This month's Words for Wednesday prompts are posted here. This week's prompts are: train, loop, scream, puzzle, bowl.

Fiction: Ghost Aunt

Katie didn't like to clean so she was happy to let Aunt Margo do all the cleaning around her small home. But Margo had no sense of time so she could have the vacuum on at 3 in the morning or 11 at night. But what was worst was, Margo could make things disappear if it didn't please her. Two months ago, Katie's microwave went missing for a week before Margo told her she had given it to Katie's neighbor who needed the appliance since her stove didn't work and she couldn't afford to get it fixed. Katie didn't know how Margo did anything but she always had a good reason so Katie never questioned her actions. Not until Nick.
    Nick, Katie's boyfriend of almost six months, came to her place for dinner. After Katie confessed she wanted to break up with him, he got furious and overthrown the table and then he started pounding on her until she was unconscious. When she woke up, Katie was in the hospital. Her neighbor had called an ambulance. 

Fiction: Postcards from the Afterlife

Dulce Avery was spending too much time at the park, the place he named the long rider, a long stretch of land that took over two hours to walk from start to end. 
    In his forty-six years on earth, Dulce had spent almost all his time in the office and inside stuffy buildings, sitting at meetings and making more plans for more meetings. And now that he is dead, he should be traveling all over the world. But each time he thought to go elsewhere, he came back to the long rider. He preferred being here surrounded by trees, the scent-filled air and the sometimes familiar faces that came and went.
    Not once did he imagine he would get a second chance. His afterlife had certain limits and he couldn't talk to the living but he didn't mind it. He got to do what he never got time for and stay hours lingering at a place or beside someone.
    It was right after his third wife left him that he began to believe in the afterlife. Her death was immediate and sudden and he never got to see her for the last time. But a night after her funeral, he had a dream that she was living her afterlife doing the things she wanted and she assured him she was well. His daughter, Ivy, was only four then and he told her her mother left but she was living her afterlife.

Fiction: The psychic at the park

Will's friend said he would find Miss Rose at the local park just west from the entrance and beside the duck pond. Within moments he spotted the old woman sitting alone on the bench beside the pond. Her short, gray hair was covered with a white winter cap with her electric-rose colored coat standing out among the gray winter landscape. 
    With his hands in his coat pocket, he walked toward her. "Hello Miss Rose," he said, trying to keep his voice low as not to disturb the quietude of the park.
    "Hello Mr. Will," she said, her eyes on the pond. "Sit, please." She patted the space on the bench on her left. On her lap was a small, black leather book
    Will sat down and looked toward the pond. The frozen surface was covered with fallen debris and one of them appeared to be a small, stuffed bear.
    "How did you..." Will's friend said not to be surprised by her knowledge of things she shouldn't have known.
    "Let's begin. If I say marrying Shelia will make you the happiest man on earth, you would marry her but if I say marrying Shelia will make you miserable as hell, you will reject her. So, how should I answer?"
    Will was, again, surprised by her. He swallowed and said, "Truthfully. I need an honest, real answer. Should I marry Shelia?"
    "Then I have to say, Shelia will make you happy but not the happiest on earth and she will make you miserable but not enough for you to regret marrying her."
    He waited. Shouldn't there be more? "That's it?"
    "What? Oh, you want some detailed foresights? Do you want me to tell you will get a black eye the moment you said your vows? Or that you will spend most of your money on car washes? Or that Shelia will hate mud baths but take them anyway? And that on your forty-fifth birthday, you will choke on jelly beans? Or that when your daughter is four, she would duct tape you in your basement and forget you but you would sleep through the days because of the cold medicine you have taken and your wife will call the cops and you will become a missing person for a week before they thought to search the house? Is that the kind of details you want to hear?" She turned to face him. There were a few faint lines on her smooth skin. If she was supposed to be in her early sixties, Will couldn't believe it.
    "I don't know. But those details would be nice to know. Does my future daughter really leave me in the basement and forget me? Do I die on my forty-fifth birthday?"
    Miss Rose chuckled. "I could not say. I made them up. The future comes when it comes, you don't control it. You can only make your decisions and handle the consequences later. But do avoid jelly beans and whatever you do, don't give gift certificates for mud baths as anniversary gifts." She grinned.
    Will couldn't help but smiled. He came to her knowing whatever she would say, he would still marry Shelia because he believed his life was with her. But he hadn't been certain until she spoke. 
    "Mr. Will, I do not know why you came to me when you already know the answer. Now, if you are done here, would you mind leaving? I like to have these early mornings to myself. If you please." She turned back to facing the pond.    
    He nodded. "Thank you, Miss Rose. I hope you have a good morning." He got up and walked away but after awhile, he paused to look back but she wasn't there. He looked around the park but couldn't see her bright colored coat and there was no one around. She must walked really fast, he thought. He shook his head and went on his way and reminded himself to avoid jelly beans.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ 

This month's Words for Wednesday prompts are provided by me. The prompts are posted here. This week's prompts are: black eye, car wash, mud bath, jelly bean, duct tape. And Charlotte's color for February is Electric Rose.

Fiction: The Cupcake Tragedy

This month's Words for Wednesday prompts are provided by Sean Jeating and posted at River's blog over here. This week's prompts are: long, monk, novice, spiritual, time and/or ants, boy, compassion, stream, trapped.

Fiction: The Cupcake Tragedy
Penny Picnickle's mission was to bake 500 cupcakes in different varieties of flavor and design for a place in the Women's Culinarian Society (WCS) to please her would-be mother-in-law. Not long ago, Penny would have dismissed doing such dumb things to please another but this could change her life. She had to go through three baking competitions to become one of eight lucky candidates.
    It took Penny a lot of sleepless pacing, a bit of meditation and a whole lot of tea to make the cupcakes in five days. Thankfully, her cousin Nicky had all the supplies she needed. Sometimes Penny thought he must be a spiritual monk. He never broke into a temper nor had a flicker of ire toward anyone or anything. It was as if he had all the compassion and patience in the world. In the last two days, his calmness kept Penny from freaking out. He also got her the ten trucks to move the cupcakes to the Kinsfolk Hall's massive kitchen.

Fiction: The Night Shift

This month's Words for Wednesday prompts are provided by Sean Jeating and posted at River's blog over here. This week's prompts are: become, emigrate, every, reliable, soonish and/or disunited, joining, million, referendum, vote. I seemed to have missed using one word 'soonish.'
    Last month's (December 2025) prompts were provided by Wisewebwoman and posted at River's blog over here. That week's prompts were: larch, trifle, multiple, poteen (Irish Moonshine) and/or surprise, quiche, flag, crossword.
 
Fiction: The Night Shift
Poppy didn't like the smell of the larch wood of her cubicle but it often kept her awake during the night shifts. Even with fifteen people hidden in their little alcoves, the office was always quiet but with these new, taller and thicker cubicles, the noise were muffled that Poppy had gotten into the habit of listening for sounds of movements to ensure she wasn't alone in the office. 
    Nothing was decided by referendum but by the top boss' wife, Mrs. Walker. She regularly disunited the employees over what she claimed to be trifle changes. Poppy sometimes wondered if joining the company had been a mistake. Her very pessimistic cousin always said no job is reliable no matter how long they had been in business.
    Drinking poteen from her water bottle also helped to keep Poppy awake. Her co-worker, Paul, made the drink from his grandmother's recipe. She had emigrated to the U.S. with nothing but her recipe book of alcoholic drinks - they were used to raise their family from poverty. Paul had said the drink had many health benefits one of which was making you smarter. Drinking the homemade booze didn't make Poppy smarter or drunk since it had little alcohol in it. But it frequently gave her disturbing and surprising daydreams.  

Fiction: Babies, daffodils and maybe airships

This month's Words for Wednesday prompts are provided by Wisewebwoman and posted at River's blog over here. This week's prompts are: daffodils, bluebirds, trench, dentist and/or creek, window, ballroom, mask.

Fiction: Babies, daffodils and maybe airships

Jimmy Bleu was a dentist from New Jersey so he didn't know anything about raising a child. When a woman rang his doorbell, handed him a baby and ran, he chased her for three block but had to stop when the baby peed on him. 
    Two years back when the town dentist retired, Jimmy moved to Bluebird Creek and took over his practice and his house. It had been a good change - less patients, calmer days but he didn't expect a baby. Since his thirtieth birthday, he had wished to be a father but not someone's husband. And somehow his wish was granted.

Fiction: Wishes and Hurricanes

This month's Words for Wednesday prompts are provided by Wisewebwoman and posted at River's blog over here. This week's prompts are: luscious, motel, wheelbarrow, jogging trail and/or suspicion, speedboat, graveyard, iris.

Fiction: Wishes and Hurricanes
For five dollars, the fortune teller will answer one question. Rose Koa asked if she will see her family again. His reply was, "Follow the black cat with bits of white fur on his nose. He will lead you to what you wish for." The charlatan smelled like he hadn't showered nor combed his wild hair and beard with his black, long-sleeve shirt and pants all wrinkled and even the crystal ball between them on the table was dusty and worn and yet, when he spoke those two sentences, his grey eyes had a strange light in them though the single candle barely lit the incense-smelling tent. She left and didn't think much about it.