Birthstone Lover

We share the month of March. I want
to make love to my birthstone. Ghostly
reflection of my masculine self. Your eyes
are like pools of aquamarine. Turquoise
tears pour from your irises into my mouth,
cool my throat when you lie on top of me.
Love or lust — I drown in the mist of you.


frapalymo#frapalymo (the German version of NaPoWriMo) is hosted by FrauPaulchen and translated from German into English by Bee at Just Fooling Around With Bee. Today’s prompt is: “ turquoise.”


Our water is manmade
They dig mile-wide
ditches with shovels,
fill it with rain.

Land-locked town
sinks in torrential
downpour. Porous
soil, water flow in

and out, floods
surrounding rivers
that quench thirsty
cities nearby.


frapalymo#frapalymo (the German version of NaPoWriMo) is hosted by FrauPaulchen and translated from German into English by Bee at Just Fooling Around With Bee. Catching up on yesterday’s prompt, which was: “a river poem.”

Coal Ash Spill

“Get out of that water! It’s not safe!” Heather shouts from the porch.

Timmy hops to the front yard, splashing all the way. His pants legs are soaked through to his shins.

Heather runs to the curb and scoops her son up out of the flooded street. She rushes back inside, carries him to the bathroom.

“Mommy, what’s wrong?” Timmy whines.

Heather snatches off his flip flops, runs the hot water in the tub. The steam quickly filled the room, fogging the mirror. She rolls his pants legs up to his knees. “Get in,” she commands.

“But the water’s hot.”

“Do you want to end up like those children in Flint? McCrory doesn’t care about you.”

“I don’t know what you—” Timmy jumps when Heather suddenly slaps her hand down against the side of the tub. The hollow sound echoes.

“Do what I say!”

Timmy quickly climbs in and sits at the end of the tub furthest from the water slowly rising. He draws his knees under his chin, curls his toes as the water approaches.

Heather drops an oatmeal soap bar under the running faucet. She grabs Timmy’s ankle, yanks it down into the water, and scrubs his leg, building bubbles as she goes.

“Mommy, it hurts!”

“That water outside will hurt worse. You stay out of it, you hear me?” She starts on the other leg.

“Yes, Mommy.” Timmy winces. Heather doesn’t stop scrubbing until his skin turns red.


coal_ashSunday Photo Fiction is a weekly challenge for writers to create a 100-200 word story (sorry I went over😦 )using the provided photo prompt. Click the froggy icon to read other stories inspired by the photo and add your own.

Revelations Lost at Sea

The team headed toward the island not sure what they would find when they arrived. 

A race to the buoys anchored in the crystal blue waters just offshore of Miami had turned into two days adrift in the Bermuda Triangle. They’d run out of gas at the end of day one.

Everyone was dehydrated, tempted to drink the water on which they floated, only for the concentration of salt to further dry their tongues.

After vomiting three times into the Atlantic while straddling the back of Ryan’s jet ski, Misha had revealed to Thomas that she was seven weeks pregnant, and he in a fit of anger tackled Ryan into the ocean.

“I know it was you!” he’d shouted, gurgling water. “I’m sterile!”

As they drew nearer to the island, the men abandoned the boats and swam for shore, towing the women behind on one boat while Misha doubled over, praying for food.

“We’ll find help.” Brielle patted her knee. “We’ll feed your little one.”

word count: 150


2014-10-1-bw-beachamLike Sonya over at Only 100 Words, I’ve truly missed Barbara Beacham and her MFtS challenge. So as a way to remember her, I’ve decided to join Sonya and do all the prompts I missed, starting with the first one. 🙂


“Water! They have water!” Linda shrieks. She yanks the dusty lamp from the cardboard box, squeezes it against her gut, and bends over to twist the glass cone from its base. Her stomach rumbles violently, shaking her entire body. She drops the lamp, and it rolls to the attic door, falling through the ceiling.

“Ouch!” Ryan whines from below.

“See if you can open it!” Linda yells, breathing heavily. “Did you find any food?”

“Just moldy bread.”

Linda sighs and crawls back to the ladder. Her hands can barely grip the steps as she descends. When she reaches the bottom, her foot slips, and she collapses into Ryan’s side, causing him to drop the lamp. The glass shatters on the hardwood floor.


“Aw, there was only a few drops in there anyway,” Ryan says. “Enough to make you mad.”

“I don’t know how much longer I can last,” Linda croaks.

Ryan cuffs his hand under her upper arm, grasps her wrist with his other hand and pulls her up. “We’ll try the next house.” He drapes her arm over his shoulder. “Maybe they have Twinkies. Those never go bad.”

word count: 190


rummage Sunday Photo Fiction is a weekly challenge for writers to create a 100-200 word story using the provided photo prompts. Click the froggy icon to read other stories inspired by the photo and add your own.

If Squeezing Was Enough

Pa winds one arm, dives under the rushing wave. I follow the ripples in the water as one foot kicks sporadically and the other glides behind.

Since his stroke, Pa wakes early each morning and swims against the tide to build strength in his left side. Some days he struggles, rising from the sea, hand on heart, coughing up salt water and gasping for air.

Today he’s slipped under twice, but the handprint left on my cheek from the last time I tried to help keeps me planted in front of the window wringing soapy dish water from the sponge.

word count: 100


kitchen-windowFriday Fictioneers is a weekly challenge where you must write a story in 100 words or less using the provided photo prompt as inspiration. Click the froggy icon to ready other stories and add your own.


Jessie shifted all of her weight onto her left leg. She wildly flapped the fan in front of her face, watched the water drip from the sculpted swan’s icy beak and disappear in the turf below. The officer guarding the exhibit was staring at her. He knew what she was thinking.

I just want to lie in front of it, she pleaded with her eyes, have the water drizzle down and saturate my dry tongue, moisten my cracked lips. I won’t break off its head and suck its crown. I won’t lick its frozen feathers. I won’t rip off my clothes and hump its frigid body like that man from the shelter did to Venus.

“Move along, miss.” His lips barely moved. Could he even pull them apart, or was the parched skin adhesive like the back ends of tape.

She rushed from the museum unquenched, the ice sculptures serving as a hopeless temptation. She’d rather burn her feet on the molten asphalt, melt under the ever-approaching sun.

word count: 168


Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers is a weekly challenge where you write a story in 100-150 words (give or take 25 words) using the provided photo prompt as inspiration.

Click on the froggy icon to read other stories and add your own!