Click the pic for the original challenge. Written for Ermilia’s Picture It & Write.
Juan Felipe Guerrero de Ortega, only son of El Primadór, was thirty-six years old when his marriage to Marta Sánchez was announced. Marta was the daughter of Hector and Isabela Sánchez, the most affluent family in Tierra de Pluma. She was just seventeen. The two families announced the arrangement with great pride, as the union would align power and wealth in the governance of the tiny island nation Continue reading
Photo (Snail Porn) by Kathy Skylstad
I had one Barbie in my lifetime. I found her in the back garden when I was about four, and although I wasn’t sure why she was so important, I was sure she was; important enough to keep secret. She was naked, alone, stained with the osmosis of back-yard desertion.
She hadn’t been treated well by her previous owner. She was missing one arm. Half of her hair was chopped off in a most horrid bob Continue reading
Ah-ah-ah… Click the pic for the original challenge. Written for Ermilia’s Picture It & Write.
Photography by mehmeturgut on Deviantart.
I was still five when Disney made the world fall in love with The Little Mermaid all over again. Like many girls, I stood inches in front of my TV set, watching a thing called a VHS video-cassette, and singing, “Ah-ah-ah,” and (according to the video-cassette of me watching my video-cassette) “Doll in its butter, don’ wear its sweater,” and some other silly things my parents still find more amusing than I do.
My inability to understand singing Jamaican crabs aside, I was completely enraptured by that movie. It had everything. It had excitement, music, romance, true love, it had whozits and whatzits galore, and it had one terrible thrill of real danger. Every time I watched it, the Sea Witch stole Ariel’s voice. I believed Ursula could really do that. I believed she had once stolen mine.
I have been accused of some wild fantasies, and I have been Continue reading
A picture Anne included in her diary of how she would wish to look all the time. I loved that this came up in my search.
Late on a Saturday afternoon, shortly before the end of my 8th grade year, I sat alone in my room, scribbling in a diary my mama had just given me. It’s funny, because it was singularly the most important day in my whole life, and I don’t remember which Saturday it was, or even whether it was in May or in June. I could guess at it, but what’s the point?
I’d just got my first sign, which was why my mama bought me the diary. That might be a strange reason, I know, but it’s why. As important as that was to me then – my first sign, not Mama being strange – it wasn’t why that Saturday was so important. It was important because that was Continue reading
Click the pic for the original challenge. Written for Ermilia’s Picture It & Write
Clickety-clack. Clickety-clack. She’s so infuriating. Clickety-clack. Through the day and into the night. Clickety-clack. Clickety-clack. Clickety-clickety-clack-clack-clack.
I’m not crazy. I don’t know why they stuck me in here with her, brain-dead Mary the vegetable and her incessant clicking and clacking. Each sharp tap of her fingernails is like needles in my skull, stabbing and stabbing at my Continue reading
From an etsy.com listing.
Emmet Brosnahan, self-appointed poet laureate of Galway, sat nose to the countertop in a pub of forgotten name on E 91st Street. His head was supported only by an elbow, that being at the other end of a firm grip on a tuft of ruddy hair. Emmet had never actually been to Galway. He grew up near Delvin in Westmeath, which, by Galway accounts, isn’t very close. And it had been a good while since Emmet had written anything poetic.
A stupid grin was twisted about Emmet’s mouth. It was twisted there in one part love, two parts remorse. Continue reading
I once wrote a kind of challenge where I asked my Facebook readers for 5 words and then wrote a story based on the 5 suggested words.
I’m feeling dramatically unchallenged right now.
I will entertain all kinds of stuff in the comments to this post.
They will result Continue reading