Own it, Sweetheart

October 19, 2015October 21, 2016 / Sheila McIntrye Good, Author / 6 Comments

New 100 Word Challenge for Grown Ups: Week 171 prompt: “… I can’t decide when to change…

Ericka sighed, “I hate clothing rules.”

“What are you talking about?” Gretchen said.

“You know, the no white after Day Labor rule. I can’t decide when to change out my clothes. I mean it’s still hot as Hell outside.” She moved to hide a white dress behind her winter wools.

“Wait!” Gretchen jumped up grabbing the dress. “Ericka, this is gorgeous, can I borrow it for Saturday?”

“It’s October, you wouldn’t dare.”

“Oh, but I would, ”she said. Mama always told me, “Gretchen, don’t’ ever just walk into a room, make an entrance. And, no matter what you’re wearing, own it, sweetheart, own it.”

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Death’s Fortune Teller

October 16, 2015October 21, 2016 / Sheila McIntrye Good, Author / 8 Comments

Julia’s Place: 100 Word Challenge for Grown Ups – Week#170 “but she saw”

“Come in, Lovely.”

Madame Esmeralda motioned to the round table in the center of the dark, candlelit room. Sadie didn’t believe in mystics, but the blinking neon lights pulled her like a spider to the fly.

The bejeweled woman reached across the table. Sadie’s hand felt like death in the Madame’s warm hands, her touch light, and soothing. She closed her eyes. The room’s temperature dropped to a chill.

Sadie opened her eyes to deafening silence, but she saw the truth of her fortune and her sin reflected in the dark, penetrating eyes of the Madame.

I’d love to hear your comments. Talk to me. Tell me your story. And as always, you can follow me on Facebook at SheilaMGood, Pinterest, Bloglovin, Twitter@sheilagood, and Contently.

Daddy’s First Day of School

September 1, 2015October 21, 2016 / Sheila McIntrye Good, Author / 4 Comments

100 Word Challenge for Grown Ups – Week#165 –… the alarm went off at 6am…

Courtesy of Pixshark.com

Sam slapped blindly at the annoying sound, silencing it. Just a few more minutes, please. The sun fell across his face and he jolted upright. The clock flashed 8:00 am. “Shit, shit, shit.”

Two little faces stood at the foot of his bed. “You’re not supposed to say shif,” his youngest said.

He rubbed his eyes, “Daddy didn’t mean to say it.”

“You said it fwee times.”

Why didn’t he get up when the alarm went off at 6 am?

“Did we mth school?” his daughter asked.

“No,” he said, ruffling their hair, “just making a grand entrance.”