In Shastonbury children weep
for want of food and lack of sleep.
They drink the rain and talk to sheep
in the ancient town of Shastonbury.
Shastonbury, I’ve heard tell,
is like a wetter form of Hell.
They rue the clouds and curse the smell,
the shepherd boys of Shastonbury.
“Today I’m a veritable wellspring of joy and enthusiasm! Let’s go make the world a better place!”
“It’s raining.”
“Doesn’t matter.”
“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?”
“Yes, please.”
This story was based on the prompt “wellspring” at TypeTrigger.
My life is like a bowl of oatmeal. It’s bland, grey, and kind of lumpy, only becoming bearable when I pile on the brown sugar.
Unlike the rest, the “brown sugar” part isn’t a metaphor. I crave the stuff constantly, by the bowlful.
Ironically, I’m kind of a bitter person.
This story is based on a title suggested by @cthomlan.
For one summer, we were best of friends. Autumn undid us, something in the changing colours, the changing winds.
We hardly spoke during tenth grade. Then June arrived. I hoped, childishly, that the sunlight would reunite us.
Life may move in cycles, but you never cross the same river twice.
Wouldn’t it be nice
if life
had handlebars?
A simple way to steer;
Something to hold
for balance;
A little bell,
to let people know
we were coming;
And a headlight
to help us see
the road in front of us.
Come to think of it,
how about some brakes?
This story was based on the prompt “handlebar” at TypeTrigger.
I was staring blankly at a dirty old apartment building, wondering whether more people go down fire escapes or up them.
You said, “It happened so suddenly; I found out yesterday,” and I wasn’t sure whether to slip out the back door, or embrace the opportunity to sneak back in.
Life on the river held steamboats, catfish, bluegrass, and plenty of other Tom Sawyerisms, too. But flash floods, sunburns, and Aunt May’s colon-clogging cornbread made life difficult for Franklin Waters.
He solved the third problem by tossing her into the first, but never got a handle on the second one.
Overwhelmed with inexplicable love, she holds her newborn baby to her breast.
She nurtures her child with tender, loving care through the years, through all the joys and challenges.
Even into adulthood, she watches this beautiful life with amazement and wonder, thanking the Creator,
Until this mother’s heart stops beating.
Brenda Thiessen, along with her husband, Harv, lives in Port Colborne, Ontario, where she serves with Operation Mobilization Canada. They have four children – three girls and one boy – and will soon have a son-in-law (and a nephew-in-law: me!).
The life of a pygmy banana is short and sweet.
As buds on the branch, they live with joy, innocence, and enthusiasm.
The growing process is a time of learning and maturation.
Some fall from the branch and freely give of themselves to the grateful wildlife.
Others simply rot.
“There’s so much to do, and so little time to do it all in!”
“That’s the whole point, though! It’s what makes life fun!”
“I never said I wanted fun. Never said I wanted life, either.”
“Don’t be a spoil sport. Eighty years, maybe ninety, and we can go home again.”