She danced with a daring I longed to possess.
She danced as if she owned the stage and everyone in attendance were there to see her.
She danced with freedom, born of innocence and unbridled joy.
She danced with abandonment as if no one watched; yet we were all spellbound.
She danced with grace and spunk; her message loud and clear – look out world here I come.
Written in response to Lillie McFerrin Writes Five Sentence Fiction – This week’s word: Spunk 
A big thanks to Anne Greenawalt from WOW! Women on Writing for reminding us of the array of resources offered by TED, an educational, video resources for writers and for pointing us to a most moving video.
I must say The Danger of the Single Story by Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie was amazing, inspirational, thought-provoking, and a great way to start the day.
I hope you will take the time to watch and absorb the message so eloquently delivered. In the words of Ms.Ngozi Adichie,
“Stories matter; many stories matter.”
Let me know what you think. What has been your single story?
When I began writing my novel, theme was not a conscious part of the early drafts. But, as I wrote the theme naturally evolved.
P.S. Hoffman points out, …”theme will help you find exactly where you need to end your writing, be it fictional, or other.”
This was the last thing Swen said to me, before he jumped off the cliff: “I’m going to do something that you will never forget. Witness me.”
As he fell upon the war band, I watched as a car, covered in spikes, collided with his body. I watched as the explosives fell from his hand, undetonated, and his body impaled on the car’s spear-covered hood.
But Swen died with a smile on his silver-stained lips. And he did not die in vain.
Weeks passed, the brothers were killed, and the fortress fell, but still, I could not rid myself of Swen’s dying words. It was only after the water began to run again, when the sanded bluffs turned from red to green did I fully realize Swen’s message.
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PHOTO PROMPT – © Santoshwriter
Fred stopped pacing and stared out the window. After three straight days of rain, he watched with growing trepidation, as the sun appeared in a blue sky. Every time it rained three days in a row, something bad happened. “Bad things come in threes,” his mom said. This time he prayed she’d be wrong.
He waited for the doctor to emerge from his wife’s hospital room. “Please God, give me a sign.”
A singular leaf caught his attention. Five clinging drops glinted at him as if in Morse code. Rain. Hearing footsteps, he turned. The doctor was smiling.
Friday Fictioneers (hosted by Rochelle)- 100 words or less, inspired by a weekly photo prompt. Check out all the other entries here and be sure to comment.
COW PASTURE CHRONICLES 