Monthly Archives: January 2017

Mrs. Dash

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     Suspicious? Yes, she is suspicious and had been for a while. There is that little twinkle in his eye when he smiles, and he smiles more checking a mirror constantly for food stuck in his teeth. The other day he said, “I’m thinking of whiting them.”

     She hears the outside door slam as he bounds up the steps to announce, “I’m home.”

     “I heard you coming.” She replies  and pulls the sheer window cover aside. A most attractive woman is standing in the rain. The young female, wearing  a spaghetti strap dress its fabric absorbing the sudden downpour, is twirling a large black umbrella. She has a Mona Lisa smile and dancer calf’s.

   “Come have a look, this woman has to be freezing and how can she walk in those heels?”

    “Only to make you happy. I have better things to do.” He says hanging  his jacket on a coat hook near the door.

     Together they peer out the water-speckled pane of glass his hands on her shoulders. “That’s Mrs. Dash.”

“Mrs. Dash, as in the salt replacement. You know her?”

“Yea, Mrs. Dash as in replace the salt. I don’t know if she owns the company, but she is your new neighbor.”

. . . . . Seriously Just saying

 

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Photographer: ДмитрийВладимирович

Daily Prompt

     The sunlight filters through the slots in a wooden blind and reveals what was not seen before. The five o’clock sun makes the dust and single strands of blonde hair twinkle on the dark pine floor. There are some pencil shavings and itsy -bitsy pieces of paper She grabs a sweeper from the closet. It is lightweight, less than three pounds, reminds one of a dust-buster but has a long handle and is more powerful. She vacuums intensely conscious of the fading light outlining the evidence. When the sun is gone, her shoulders relax and she sighs. Is a dirt house a crime?

Ten

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“I’ll be back in ten.” He said twenty minutes ago.

She unfolds herself out of the car, waves and rushes inside for coffee and a favorite, crumb cake.

Now she sits at an umbrella table, the too hot to hold cup cooling surrounded by the  Mountains and hugs her tote. Reminds herself; we are in Albuquerque staying at the Holiday Inn or is it the Comfort?

How long does it take to get gas?

She savors the cinnamon crumbs alternated by sips of dark roasted coffee.

After thirty minutes, she does the math. Thirty minutes ago he said, “I’ll be back in ten.” So forty minutes have passed. I’ll phone, and uses voice command to Call Bob, her husband of forth-six years.

His voice mail automatically goes on and she says, “It’s me, where are you?”

Ten more minutes pass.   

In the distance fire sirens screechy, and she thinks, maybe he had a heart attack and tries to recall the car rental company they used at the airport.

She caresses her cell, debates whether to call 911, and deposits her empty cup in a nearby garbage pail. When a car horn honks and he calls, “You’ll never guess what happened.”

 

. . . . Seriously Just Saying

Devastation

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Photo by Adam

Daily Prompt

Chicken Coop Devastation

     The wind howled in anticipation. The chickens squawked necks jerking forward then back pecking at unseen danger, their skinny claws raking the dry brown ground. Molly raised her head, called into the sky; “Lord, Lord save us from devastation.”

     As the wind threatened to raise her skirt high, she lured the chickens inside the coop wondering if it would make a difference; if anything made a difference.

     The lone road leading to the house was empty. Skip probably not on the way back probably headed towards that other woman who brought them havoc.

     Molly knew something was going on from the first “Meet the Teacher” night. Skip had showered, shaved and wore the right fit jeans.  Molly teased him, “You spruced up, feels like we’re going on a date.”

     She knew because his eyes locked with Ms. Jenny’s as they stood in the doorway,     before his hand casually brushed the third grade teacher during a meeting folder exchange.

     She had been vandalized, came upon a locked box previously hidden in the attic floorboards empty, the jewelry and money inside taken by someone she love. Her heart demolished and destroyed.

     The weather alert sounded and Molly tucked herself inside the chicken coop praying, “Lord, Lord save us from devastation.”

. . . . Seriously Just Saying

Big Foot

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Photo by Orkun

Daily Prompt

 

Big Foot

“It was an oversight!” He responds the sole of his shoe crushing the rug binding.

“An oversight? How can you say that?” She answers, drying her hands on a kitchen towel. “You know my concern.  To you it’s silly, but will make a difference.” She monitors her voice and hangs the towel to dry.

“A difference, I’m walking here . . .  in my  house and now need to pay attention to every step I take? A march on Washington makes a difference . . . side-stepping a rug, not so much.”

“Don’t dismiss me. You heard the difference yesterday. Remember? Traffic patterns,  wearing down carpet and it you simply walk on the wood floor we won’t have to replace the living room rug in five years.”

“No I don’t remember, I’ll  be dead in five years, am I not more important than a rug?”

“Of course you’re more important than the carpet, it’s inexpensive. But it’s not only the rug. You don’t listen, disregard what I say, and ignore my feelings.”

He interrupts, “Okay, because I inadvertently walked on the carpet I now don’t care what you think or feel?”

“You could say that. Actions speak louder than words.” Her arms are folded across her chest.

“It was an oversight, I walk crooked and stepped on the carpet when, as you explained, easily could have stayed on the wood floor, call me careless.”

“Did you call me careless when I inadvertently didn’t park the car in the center of the driveway?”

“That is unfair. You know why that is important; the sprinkler system goes on and tarnishes the car’s hubcaps. It wasn’t an oversight that you forgot again and again.”

“There was no rust.”

“ There is no dirt.”

“Yet.”

He looks down at his large size twelve foot and smiles.

 

. . . . Seriously Just Saying