Unsuitable For Your Kind

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(Photo: Kristian Strand on Unsplash)

 

“The best,” the man swept a heavy arm across the offerings.

“And there?” the woman gestured at the shadows.

“Nothing worth your time, Madam.” He looked pointedly at her tailored attire, “Unsuitable for your kind.”

“Nonsense,” she ordered.

He frowned but snapped his fingers. “Silvia!”

The child looked underfed even in comparison to the other orphans.

“Trouble,” he warned. “Used up her chances twice.”

“Or,” the woman smiled, “very insufficiently pre-loved.”

 

 

 

For Sammi’s Weekend Writing Prompt: Pre-loved in 71 words

 

 

Self Employed

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“This is not what we invested all that tuition money for, Robert.”

His mother’s voice remained soft, even pleasant. One may think she was but mildly annoyed.

Rob knew better.

It was the same voice that had sent his boyhood self to the attic without dinner for the slightest infraction. That left a small child to shiver there through endless winter nights. That told his father to retrieve the paddle and “do what needed to be done to make a man of an ungrateful son.”

“I am sorry, Mother,” Rob bowed politely in her direction. Bowed just enough to let her know that he no longer cared nor feared her. “I had made it clear that your plans did not fit mine.”

“Your father expects a partner,” she stated. Ordered.

“That ship had sailed, Mother,” he replied. “I bought the farm. I’ll be my own man. Chart my own course.”

 

 

 

For Crispina’s Crimson’s Creative Challenge

 

 

On The Road Again

 

All those of little faith who did not think he’d go for it!

They must be turning in their graves or keening over walkers. Also the doctors who shook heads at him. The nurses who fussed with his linens as if treating him as an invalid would have him forget that he’s a grown man who had lifted others and carried them first across burning sands and later out of burning buildings.

He always knew that where the rubber meets the road is where he’d meet his maker.

He’d left the Rolex.

The aide can always get another motorcycle.

 

 

For Rochelle’s Friday Fictioneers

Photo prompt © Lisa Fox

 

So Much More

“It is so much more than just a game. It’s our future.” (Molly Wright, age 7).

This is science. This is humanity. This is potential. This is simple. This is profound. This is truth.

A not-even-eight-minutes video can change the future. Watch it. Share it.

 

 

Dew On A Banana Leaf

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(Photo: Ferhat Deniz Fors on Unsplash)

 

“Have you seen her?” Mark thrust his head and shoulders through the open dutch door.

Ella nodded carefully. The light’s angle made the perspiration dotting Mark’s wide forehead look like dew on a banana leaf. How odd.

“And?” he pressed.

“Daphne is fine.”

Mark grunted his impatience. “That’s not what I meant, and you know it!”

Ella sighed in resignation. There will be no escaping the truth, no matter how much it could hurt him. “There’s a glow about her, if you must know.”

Mark sagged.

“And … an engagement ring on her finger.”

 

 

 

For Sammi’s Weekend Writing Prompt of Glow in 94 words

 

When It Died

 

It was a sad day when It died.

They gathered around the carcass. Inert now that the spark of life had left.

It looked abandoned. It looked suddenly old and unintelligent. Younglings who had tiptoed by its parking, suddenly sped by in wheeled exuberance, impervious to the loss.

It was the way it was, perhaps.

The way of time.

Still the closest friends held a sort of vigil. They hummed a monotone of song, in memory of speed’s potential and of what could no longer be ignited.

Then they left. To let It be. Disjointed. Parted. Never to move on.

 

 

 

 

For Rochelle’s Friday Fictioneers

Photo prompt © Ted Strutz