Frankie Partington was an explorer. The woods were his world. He saw monsters everywhere. They were his friends. Nobody ever believed his stories.
“Trees don’t talk Frankie”
One summer’s evening his supper lay cooling on the table. His mother knew where he would be.
“Frankie! Dinner!” she cried in the direction of the woods.
Nothing. Half an hour went by. Still nothing. Frankie loved the woods but he also loved his food. This was unusual. Quickly his mother began to panic. His father and their three huskies were dispatched into the trees.
“Frankie! Frankie!” shouted his father. With the light fading he cursed himself for not bringing a torch. That’s when Frankie appeared. Calm. Smiling.
Reunited they headed for home. “Trixie, Lady, Bonnie, come!” Two dogs rushed from between the trees. In the middle distance a pair of eyes watched as the group left. The hushed cries of Bonnie went unnoticed.
During the block transfer an alarmingly sensual cocktail of disinfected floors and freshly cut grass made it feel and smell like a beautiful morning to be alive; she still held onto the hope that it might not yet be her last.
As the straps were tightened and the syringe prepared a phone began to ring.
Through the glass she could see her brother sag into their mother’s arms as the governor replaced the receiver smiling.
These 3sentences are my entry into theTrifextra 71writing challenge
In Greenvale Falls the birth of Jones Hanson was a memorable occasion.
“Disgrace to God!”
Black and white rarely socialised back then. The Hanson wedding had shocked the townsfolk to the soles of their boots.
“It just ain’t right”
A teenage Jones was warned to get realistic.
“You can’t do that”
Governor Jones Hanson served in office for 30 years.
His passing last spring devastated a community which once held him and his family in contempt. A statue in the town park is a lasting memorial to the man and his legacy. An inspiration to anyone who was once told “You can’t do that”.
Ok son you gots 10 minutes. Ain’t spending all day talking to you. Me and the bats got better things to do with our time. Now what is you want? Hurry up son. Hurry up….
….wait, wait! I can stop you there Mister. You wanna know why I live out here? On me own. In a cave. Yeh, yeh I’m the local freak. The hippie who lives with the bats and the bears. What’s yer point son? Ask me summink original if you can…!
Snap to it lad! Cat got yer tongue? Come all the way up here and yer staring at me like I got three heads and five legs. Ah hah. You think I’m a freak too? Ach, past being bothered what anybody thinks. Specially the likes o’ you with yer agendas and focus groupies.
You write what you like son. Sures you were gonna anyway. Away! Scram! Leave me alone. Go ahead. Call me a freak all you want. All them down there can say it too. I ain’t carin none. Wars I fought so you lot could have yer video games, textphones and cable TV. Folks I killed so you could point and laugh at the likes o’ me. Think on that for a minute why don’t you!
Now come on, times up. Get goin’. Oh and son…son! In yer paper, or whatever it is you do, you call me what you like. Have a big laugh. Just don’t call me a coward lad. Don’t you say I ain’t a patriot. Don’t you dare.
This 258 word one sided conversation is my entry into theTrifecta Week 80writing challenge. Apologies in advance to anyone who thinks it’s complete nonsense. Thought it was time to step out of my comfort zone and try something new. Thinking of the word “Freak” brought this character into my brain. I hope some of you might like it!
The ranch stood seemingly alone amidst the vast plains of Bohawk County. The Potemkins over at the saw mill were the closest thing they had to a neighbour. Five year old Millrace Jefferson and his family had only moved here the previous summer. He hated it.
What he hated most of all was not knowing what was going on in the large stone barn.
“Keep out Millrace. This ain’t your concern” he’d be told.
Cogs clanking. Wheels turning. Noise. Strange noises. He could hear it all. He needed to know what was going on. One evening his mother was out. His little brother asleep. This was his chance.
Sneaking across the yard he saw cattle going in. Through a crack in the wall he spotted his father. The cattle were falling to the ground. Bloody carcasses hung from hooks. Millrace was horrified.
He knew his father was a butcher. He didn’t know this is where he made his meat.