Dark Cloud Hovering

DAILY PROMPTClouds

She couldn’t remember the last time she noticed the clouds. One day, like a magician’s trick, they disappeared – poof.  She missed the metallic smell of rain and scared didn’t begin to describe what the country was feeling. The first and last words on the radio or news channels were, “The worst drought since …” Blah, blah, blah.

Shit, for that matter, all the heat made it difficult for her to remember the year. Her brain felt as fried as the landscape. Dead shrubs, grass that crumbled into sawdust under your feet, and flowers with their blooms bowed and shriveled was all that was left. A rose is a rose until it’s no more. Damn, that sounded sad.

Sweat beaded on her forehead and trickled down her sides. She slipped on her sunglasses, moved to the curb and raised her hand praying for a cab and the comfort of air-conditioning.

Her hair fluttered across her face in the same instant a gust of wind lifted her skirt, and a breeze tickled her sticky thighs. Wind!

The air turned nippy, and the sky darkened. Removing her sunglasses, she watched the large dark cloud moved overhead and hovered. The whole country had prayed for rain. Maybe, God had heard.

She checked for the small pocket umbrella hiding in the bottom of her bag; it wasn’t there. Why add the weight of something you don’t need to an already bulging bag? Who cares at this point, she’d love the chance to dance in the rain.

The cloud grew darker and expanded. Something about the way it swirled and danced made her shiver and nervous. The electricity in the air was palpable making the hairs on her arms stand at attention. Bouncing on her toes, she scanned the streets for her rescue. Jesus, where were the cabs?

The earth shook with a sudden roar and rumble. The sound was deafening. The wind rushed against her back, pushing her into the street. Flailing against the invisible assault, she dropped her purse and portfolio into the street. Papers flew into the air and scattered. Jesus H Christ!

She scrambled for the pages littering the landscape, grabbing what she could and running after the others as the wind lifted them skyward beyond her reach. Her ragged breath echoed in the middle of an empty street. Fear slithered down her spine like a snake. Everyone was gone. The familiar storefronts blackened as if they’d never existed.

She whirled around searching for anyone. Her heart pounded as she let the last piece of crumbled paper fall from her fist and covered her ears as the dark, angry clouds roared.

The ground shook, knocking her to her knees. She clawed at the pavement and tried to hold on as the darkness of Hell enveloped her, robbed her of oxygen and the rain of a thousand years drowned out her cries. Why me?

I’d love to hear your comments. Talk to me. Tell me your story and look for me on Facebook at SheilaMGood,  PinterestBloglovinTwitter@sheilamgood, Contently, and Instagram.

It’s a Phase

Courtesy of Wikipedia.org

Courtesy of Wikipedia.org

Joan set her coffee cup down to avoid throwing it at her husband, hiding behind the morning newspaper.

“Phase? Are you kidding me? He’s 22 years old. The Mohawk in middle school was a phase. Bouncing around to different sports, was a phase, and I pray to God the tattoos are a phase but,” she glanced at the clock, “sleeping until noon every day is not a phase – it’s laziness.”

John lowered the paper. “You’re too hard on the boy, Joan. You know as well as I do, jobs are scarce right now with the economy the way it is, especially for new graduates.”

“The economy sucks, I agree, but there are jobs available. I see hiring signs on every corner.”

“You want him to work at McDonalds?” He rolled his eyes and resumed reading.

“I want him to get a job. Six months is long enough. When he isn’t sleeping till noon, he’s playing damn video games. Who does that at 22? What happened to all that drive and ambition we saw at the end of the year?”

“He’s depressed. Not getting a job offer during recruitment week, like his buddies, threw him; give him a little time.”

“I’m sorry he didn’t get an offer too, but he can’t mope around the house doing nothing. It’s time he started paying his way.”

“Come on honey; we’ve got the money, give him a break. He just needs a safe place to deal with the disappointment. He’ll come around.”

Safe place? Have you lost your damn mind?”

“No need to shout. I’m two feet away. I can hear you.”

“Then you’re not listening. I have a newsflash for both of you – the world is not always a nice place, nor is it fair. I promised him an education but I sure as hell never promised him a safe place to hide from the big, bad world.”

Joan dumped the rest of her coffee in the sink, picked up the dishcloth and started rubbing the counters with more effort than required. “Safe place, my ass.”

“Excuse me? You’re mumbling.”

Joan threw the cloth into the sink. “John Andrews, I’m surprised at you. We didn’t raise our son to roll up in a damn ball when the going gets tough. You sound like some bleeding heart liberal. Safe place? Are you kidding me?”

John laid the paper aside, walked over and wrapped his arms around her.”No need to be insulting, honey,” he said kissing her hair. “Take a breath and calm down; it’s not good for you to get so upset. You’re right. I’ll talk to him.”

She turned to face him. “He’s a smart young man with a college education. I don’t want him slipping down the rabbit hole thinking the world owes him a living or that any job is beneath him. That’s not how we raised him.”

“Honey, he doesn’t believe that…”

She interrupted, “Then why isn’t he out beating the bushes? We won’t always be around.” Tears started down her cheeks.“I need to know he’s gonna be okay before…”

He pulled her close. “Ssh, don’t think about all that right now, I’ll talk to him.”

At the sound of footsteps, Joan pushed out of her husband’s arms swiping the tears from her face.

“Morning guys.” Their son entered the kitchen smiling.

Joan noticed the lilt in his step and the portfolio tucked under his arm. “Want some breakfast?”

He pulled a travel mug from the cabinet and filled it with coffee.“No thanks, mom; I’m good. I’ll grab something after my job interview, and if it goes the way I think it will,” he winked at his dad, “I might buy you guys dinner.” He reached for the door.“On second thought,” he grabbed a muffin off the sideboard and gave her a quick peck on the cheek. “Love you mom, and don’t worry. I’ve got this.”

 

 

 

 

Stories to Share From the SmokeLong Quarterly

Time to ShareIt’s time to get back on schedule, and one of my favorite things to do is to share stories from other writers.

The selection this week comes from the SmokeLong Quarterly – “an online literary magazine dedicated to flash fiction.”

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An interesting fact about SmokeLong Quarterly is how they came up with the name.

Founded in 2003 by Dave Clapper, the name “Smoke-long” comes from the Chinese – “who noted that reading flash takes the same length of time to smoke a cigarette.” According to the staff, all the work they accept for publication is “precisely a smoke long.”

Never having smoked, the amount of time its takes to smoke a cigarette, is not a time frame familiar to me. So, I’ll stick to word counts. Whichever method you prefer, SmokeLong Quarterly publishes great stories. Here are three of my favorites:

  1. The Tale End by Susan Kim Campbell
  2. Prismatic by Eileen Merriman
  3. Cravat by Rosanne Scott

Interested in submitting to SmokeLong?

They publish flash fiction of 1000 words or less. Never charge a reading fee, and submissions are open 365 days a year. You can check out the guidelines here.

Good luck and let me know what you think about today’s stories. More importantly, let the authors know what you thought – stories are meant to be shared.

I’d love to hear your comments. Talk to me. Tell me your story and look for me on Facebook at SheilaMGood,  PinterestBloglovinTwitter@sheilamgood, and Contently.

Birds of Prey


PHOTO PROMPT © Roger Bultot

Rochelle Wisoff Fields Friday Fictioneers

PHOTO PROMPT © Roger Bultot

 

“Mommy, I’m scared. Where’s Kyle?” Her pouty lips trembled.

Her mother squeezed her daughter’s hand. “I don’t know.”

Kyle’s little sister sniffled. “I tried to find him, honest.”

“I know you did, sweetheart.”

“He’s better at hide-n-seek than I am.” Tears rolled down the child’s cheeks. “I want to go home.”

“Me too.” The woman knelt beside her daughter and pointed. “See all the birds?”

“Uh-huh.”

“They can see for miles.” Her breath caught – a bird of prey circled nearby.

The child’s eyes widened. “Are they looking for Kyle too?”

Kyle’s mother uttered a silent prayer for her son. “Maybe.”

 

I’d love to hear your comments. Talk to me. Tell me your story and look for me on Facebook at SheilaMGood,  PinterestBloglovinTwitter@sheilamgood, and Contently.