Her son took her to see the scorched husk of their old farmhouse one last time. He stood behind her as the salt smell of earthworms soothed her wrinkled skin.
In her eyes, a mud-splattered boy ran through the yard and into the house. “Take off your shoes,” she said.
Tracy Gold is a Fiction MFA candidate at the University of Baltimore. She also works as a marketer, writer, and editor for technology companies. Find her at tracycgold.com.
Rabbits jump around the green grass, soaking up warmth, delighting you. Daffodils are up; robins have returned. You survey this dazzling day with bright eyes.
Without warning, you retreat into your world. “When will it stop snowing?” you wonder out loud. “It’s so cold!”
The Alzheimer’s again… We miss you.
Deborah Davis is a former equities trader. She lives in Richland, Michigan, and enjoys fellowship and encouragement from her kindred spirits in the Richland Writers’ Circle.
Again, leaving the grocery store, to the side of the exit, I see that large cage of big, bouncy, colorful plastic balls.
I want one each time I see them, but my wife and grandkids assure me I’m too old to play with such things anymore.
When did that happen?
Alexander Key teaches high school when absolutely desperate for attention.
“Today I’m a veritable wellspring of joy and enthusiasm! Let’s go make the world a better place!”
“My clothes are all dirty.”
“The rain will wash the ones you’re wearing.”
“I’ll never be younger than I am today.”
“…Wanna stay in and order Chinese?”
This story was based on the prompt “wellspring” at TypeTrigger.
In a movie I saw as a boy, there was a mystical cave hidden behind a waterfall. I remember how eagerly I quested that summer, how I found nothing but slippery rock faces.
Lying here, cold and tired, I sometimes wonder… What would I have found behind the next one?
This story was based on the prompt “waterfall” at TypeTrigger.
“So can any of you tell me the answer to five times seven?” asked Miss Flannerty. “Don’t be shy!”
Billy and Bobby and Suzie played silently with their pencils.
“Kelly, do you know the answer?”
“No,” whispered Kelly.
“That’s ok!” said Miss Flannerty. “It’s the same as my age! Twenty-three!”