Tag: fiction

Short Fiction, short story

Routines of Love

Lisa Tomey-Zonneveld
macro photography of eyelashes
Photo by Johannes Plenio on Pexels.com

Belinda looked out the window, her red strands stringing her eyes, still crusted with sandman’s presents; This was her routine each and every day, gazing to the lands and wishing for her dreams to come true; Closing her eyes, stating her wishes into prayers, she then bounced up onto her feet and bounced into the nursery, letting her little brother know her presence.

Smiling, squirming, hiccupping from his milk filled belly, Cleveland wiggled his chubby legs in delight from seeing his sister, clearly loving the routine of being greeted by her cheerfulness; Grasping him carefully, Belinda pulled him up and into her arms, hugging him while singing to him her favorite made up song, written especially for him.

“Baby Cleveland, cheery boy, you are my most favorite joy, how I wish to help you grow, always and ever more to know; How I love you, yes I do, and I always will, it’s true; One day when you are grown up, you’ll still be my buttercup, never will you leave my heart, you have been there from the start.”

stack of love wooden blocks
Photo by Ylanite Koppens on Pexels.com

Giggling and pulling her long tresses, Cleveland clearly adored his big sister, enchanted by her blue-green eyes, he poked at them with his chubby fingers, before reaching for his own as if comparing them with his own rich blue orbs; Carrot tops matching, these two were like two peas in a pod, so to speak, but there was one thing for sure, they were also very different; This was one thing that Belinda would be sure about: personalities.

Just down the road, a few houses down, Barton was also up for the day, doing his routine of chores before going to school, knowing his homework was likely suffering, he had routine responsibilities which took him away from book learning; Sure to make up for his father’s own duties, Barton needed to see to it that his mother did not suffer any more than she already seemed to, as her sighs of sadness prevailed; Taking a moment to take his mother some fresh tea, Barton took her hands in his, gazed into her brown eyes, moist from longing, and told her how beautiful she was and how it was going to be another good day, all before Barton gathered up his books and lunch, putting soles to the dirt road, hoping to catch Belinda on the way to school.

Waving goodbye to her mother, Belinda bounced out the door, books and lunch in hand and looking about, hoping to see Barton as he always made her smile; Sure as the sun shone, there he was picking up his step when he eyed her, almost running to her side; “Good morning Belinda,” Barton breathlessly greeted her, “I hope you don’t mind if I carry your books,” And with this, Belinda smiled at Barton, handed him her books and smiled, nudging along with their hands waiting to be held.

photo of pathway surrounded by trees
Photo by Vitaly Vlasov on Pexels.com

…..
This is my Six Sentence Story for this week in response to Denise’s prompt word: Routine

Perhaps you would like to publish a story to this prompt. You can go to Girlie on the Edge and check out the rules of the blog hop. It’s a lot of fun!

Short Fiction, short story

Fishing for Answers

Lisa Tomey-Zonneveld

Alora Grittiths

Photo by Alora Griffiths on Unsplash

Shaking the wrinkles from the old, worn coat, he placed his arms into the sleeves, one by one and proceeded to gather up his fishing gear and head to the river.

Thinking time was what he needed, and that old coat was a necessary part of his life, as he felt the comfort, the familiarity and what he swore was the scent of his daddy’s old pipe tobacco.

Standing at the shore, doing more thinking than fishing, he snagged a few but no real keepers, until finally, right after spotting the most vivid red cardinal, he hooked the biggest fish he had seen in a long time,  maybe even when his daddy was with him many years ago.

“Yes, I understand now, daddy, and I will do just that tonight, see you the next time.”

With a determined gait, he double stepped it back to his place and cleaned up, knowing he needed to have a spit shiny image in order to accomplish his goal.

With her bright red curls shadowing her sparkling blue-green eyes, she smiled the most beautiful, wide smile, all before he took her hand and said, “it’s time for me to talk to your daddy, but first I want to make sure it’s okay with you,” and he knelt to the ground.

 

This is my contribution to the Six Sentence Story for this week where Denise provides us a prompt word each each. This weeks word was “coat.”

Would you like to join and also see what other stories are available to enjoy? Just go to this LINK

Short Fiction

When Crystals Melt

Lisa Tomey-Zonneveld
focus photography of a ignited firewood
Photo by Lum3n.com on Pexels.com

Looking out the crystal covered window, Maizie moved to the fireplace and added what was left of the split logs, wondering where the next would come from. As the house began to warm, she placed the pot over the fire and warmed yesterdays leftover oatmeal, adding a little more water to make it stretch. Chopping up the apples from this year’s harvest, she placed them in the bowls for her family. As each child started waking, stirring slowly, wrapped in tattered quilts, threaded by many mends over many years, Maizie held her arms open and welcome each one to warm them with her love. After each child took their places at the table, they looked to their mother and bowed together. “Dear Lord, it is with whole hearts and welcoming souls that we are most grateful for our many blessings,” And then the door opened, he had returned from his hunt and they would soon know no hunger.

…..

This is in response to the Six Sentence Story prompt: Crystal

Would you like to join in? Go to this LINK and check it out!

 

Short Fiction, short story

The Howler – Six Sentence Story

Lisa Tomey-Zonneveld
animals birds owl fauna
Photo by Skitterphoto on Pexels.com

Howler
An Acrostic
Hershel Henry Spritzer was an academic genius as he scored the highest in his class and was a shoe in to become the valedictorian.

Orange was the least loved color of Constance Spritzer and she would avoid placing this anywhere on her paintings, masterpieces which would hang in only the finest of galleries; it had to do with her heart breaking, ex boyfriend, Jasper Jester, who wore only orange and black striped outfits.

Wondering why his mother expressed discord with his winning of the Orange County Esteemed Scholar Award, Hershel sent her a message with Fergly, his owl, serving as the messenger.

Lingering slowly though the skies, Fergly dipped frequently, not daring to hoot, as he held securely the heavy red envelope in his beak, talons ready to drop and land on Hershel’s windowsill.

Eagerly, Hershel grabbed the envelope from Fergly, but then he stopped, and placed it on the table, feeling anxious because the envelope was not only large, but it was red and it was scooting across the table where it lay, this could only mean one thing.

Ready or not, Hershel knew he needed to open the envelope for fear it might explode and open it he did, easing it as best that he could, noticing some orange paint dripping as he did, but the worse part was the ear piercing, exploding howling all about the meaning of the color of orange (it wasn’t Jasper).

…..
There you have it! This is my Six Sentence Story in response to the weekly prompt “HOWL” and you can participate, as well. Just go to this LINK

poetry, Short Fiction

Briefly Speaking

Lisa Tomey-Zonneveld
cup alcohol drink whiskey
Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

Briefly Speaking

Carrying his father’s worn, leather briefcase, Henry walked into the bar, “Set me up Jock, I need relief,” and off Jock went to fetch Henry’s favorite, on the rocks, and placed a napkin and the drink in front of the sad-looking gentleman, Jock knew all too well, as a regular in the bar, Henry divulged many secrets to his bartender and they were kept well in Jock’s memory bank, although there had been brief moments when he wrote them down, just in case Henry needed to retrieve something in his gray matter, that’s what friends are for, to keep things safe for when you need them and, well, so much more, Jock was that kind of friend, Henry knew this and depended on Jock’s wisdom from time to time, longing for answers to questions left in the dust of Henry’s life, even more nagging at his soul, so that’s why he needed scotch and Jock and the bar and bar mates and his dad’s briefcase, that was where he kept the secrets that only he could share, when he shared them, so that’s what Jock helped him with – keeping secrets – Jock being such a good friend and all.

Jock wrote a story
it was called secrets I know
it was very brief

……

Wednesday Poetry Prompt from Robert Lee Brewer’s Poetic Asides

For today’s prompt, write a brief poem. Sure, the poem itself can be brief (in the sense that it’s very concise). But the poem could be about a brief event. Or it could feature a briefcase or involve a media briefing. As always, take it wherever you wish!