Month: March 2016

peppermint leaves

I had a dream last night. I was little again. I was sitting in the tall grass at my grandparents’ house. The smell of fresh mint in the air, and a gently breeze blowing in my face. My great grandmother was sitting with me. ” Chew the peppermint leaves, and then spit them out!” she said, “They make your mouth tingle!”

With a handful of gooseberries she picked from the branches of the tree that hung over the step rail, and a glass of lemonade my grandmother made for us, we had quite a time. She told me stories, mostly about the hardships she faced as a young woman, left to care for her eleven children when her husband was taken from her at just 50 years old. Tuberculosis took him, and the dreaded disease took one of their younger sons soon afterward.

To this day, whenever I smell the scent of fresh mint, I find myself back at my grandparent’s house, sitting in the tall grass, chewing mint leaves and laughing with my grandmother Josephine.

 

 

seat of choice

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PHOTO PROMPT – © Ted Strutz

Heading to work, Paul realized that he had to use the bathroom. Pulling into a service station, he quickly headed to the restroom. On the way, he met a man exiting the room, tools in hand.

Paul noticed not one but two identical toilets. He used the first one, and upon completion of his business, he attempted to flush.

No handle. In fact, no plumbing.
Apparently the man leaving the room was a plumber, not yet finished installing a new toilet.

Paul left the room quickly, only to meet the same man, on his way to finish installing the toilet.

This little tale of surprise and disgust, is brought to you courtesy of Friday Fictioneers’ photo prompt of the week. Click on the froggy for more stories.

where the water doesn’t run

PHOTO PROMPT © Rochelle Wisoff-Fields
PHOTO PROMPT © Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

There is a lump in the sand
where the water doesn’t run.
Nobody goes there, not the father
and not the son.

A while back
when tempers flared,
a father lost control
and it’s what you see here.

His son, teased and tortured
and then bullied some more;

he took his own life
he couldn’t stand it anymore.

The  dad, confused and hurt
visited the bully one night,
he didn’t want to fight
but they did.

When they finished

there was only one.

Before taking his own life,

he buried the bully beneath the sand.

where the water doesn’t run.

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This sad little tale of bullying and retaliation the frustrations of having your son bullied and feeling helpless,is brought to you by this week’s Friday Fictioneers. I hope you enjoyed the story.