Who’s Your Daddy?

902a00ec-c7cf-471f-bd76-3bd7e123ed97-e1560825503509.jpeg“Who’s your daddy?” Bill said, smiling.

“Seriously?” Leah said. “I’m doing everything I can to stay calm. You’re such a misogynist, Bill. When are you going to realize that men and women are equal? We are not here for your pleasure. You’re no better than a horny rabbit, for crissake.”

“Didn’t you read your Bible, Leah? God created Eve to, um, service Adam,” Bill said. “Women were put here for man’s amusement.”

“Oh my God, you are the most insincere man I have ever encountered,” Leah exclaimed. “If you’re lucky, a stiff breeze will come along and flow between your ears and clear that perverted mist from your brain.”

“You are such a militant feminist, Leah,” Bill said. “Let me give you some free advice. There’s no scientific evidence to support your feminist notion that women and men are physical or emotional equals.”

“Thanks for the gratis advice, which is worth the price I paid,” Leah said. “But since it appears that you’re going to sustain this male chauvinistic attitude, I’m outta here.”


Since I took the day off from blogging yesterday, I combined yesterday’s prompts and today’s. Word of the Day Challenge (daddy & equal), The Daily Spur (calm & support), Ragtag Daily Prompt (rabbit & breeze), Your Daily Word Prompt (insincere & sustain), and Fandango’s One-Word Challenge (gratis & mist).

Share Your World — Have a Heart

SYW

Happy Monday, everyone. Melanie, at Sparks from a Combustible Mind, has once again gifted us with her Share Your World questions. So let’s see what she came up with.

If you were suddenly injured or died, are your bedside table drawers ready for someone else to go through them? If you care to share, what’s the most unusual item someone might find, that might be potentially embarrassing?

If I’m dead, why would I care what anyone found in my bedside table? And if I’m injured, we’ll, there’s nothing to be embarrassed about except maybe all of the useless junk that’s in there. It’s mostly filled with stuff like an old iPad 3 that I haven’t used in years, some old, obsolete  iPhone/iPad charging cables, a bottle of Advil in case I wake up in the middle of the night with a wicked headache, some random keys to unknown locks, extra shirt collar stays, some loose change, an extra sleep mask for my eyes, a case that my glasses came in. It’s essentially my bedside junk drawer.2FAF7147-F09B-443D-AE2C-8FC0CBA9397F

What keeps you going?  (However you might interpret that is correct.)

My beating heart.4F2EFDA3-612B-40D1-BE22-20A5E6EC949E

Share a photo or a sentence about ‘your favorite thing(s).’

2ACA5FA6-A345-4D12-A2E8-26A1BC1B95F5

At the end of  the song “Everybody Hurts” by R.E.M.,  where did they all go?

To see a doctor?


What are you grateful for right now?

I’m grateful to everybody on WordPress who wished me a happy Father’s Day yesterday when I took the day off from blogging. I did have a very fine Father’s Day and I appreciate all of the well wishes.

Finish the Story — The Locomotive Part Two

D45474DB-EBEA-4CB4-B530-2AD91A18B43C.jpegTeresa, The Haunted Wordsmith, has started another intriguing fictional tale and tossed it over to me. Now I’m supposed to post the part of the story that she wrote, add to the story, and tag another person to continue the story.

So here is how Teresa got things started:

Every summer since Charlie turned six was spent on Grandpa’s Iowa farm. Charlie loved to run through the fields chasing butterflies and spent his nights laying on the cool grass watching the fireflies and Milky Way. Life was perfect until the train arrived.

“I don’t believe it,” Grandpa said, shaking his head. “Are you sure?”

Frank, a family friend from the other side of town, nodded. “Saw it myself two nights ago out by Cooper’s Ridge.”

Grandpa pulled his old handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his brow. “What are we going to do? We can’t let it happen again. Charlie… I can’t… I won’t.”

“What’s the matter, Grandpa?” Charlie walked into the kitchen when he heard his name.

Grandpa’s face turned white as he grabbed Charlie by the shoulders and shook him. “Don’t you ever get on that train. You hear me, boy? No matter what he says, or what you see happening inside, you never get on that train.”

Charlie was terrified by Grandpa’s expression and could only muster a whimper.

“I’m going to let you go,” Grandpa said, hugging Charlie as tears streamed down his face. “He’s not going to get another one.”

Later that night, as Charlie laid in bed and imagined the mysterious train that had terrified his Grandpa, he heard a whistle in the distance. Slipping on his shoes and bathrobe, Charlie stood at his window and watched as a train appeared through the night’s mist and blew its whistle again. Charlie rubbed his eyes and gulped.

“Wow.”

“You get out of here,” Grandpa shouted as he ran out the front door carrying his rifle. He fired twice and screamed at the train. “You can’t have him! You can’t!”

A well-dressed man stepped into the doorway of the train, looked at Charlie in the window, and said, …


And here’s my contribution,

“Boy, you come over here. Don’t make me come and get you, Charlie.”

Charlie was conflicted. He remembered his Grandpa’s warning to him to never get on that train. But the man calling out to him looked so dapper and debonair, just like those men in the fancy magazines his mother would look at back at home. And inside the train he saw other kids playing and partying, having what seemed like a lot of fun. And where was Grandpa?

“Charlie,” the man called out once again. “It’s time to go. You need to come out here and join us on the train before we leave for the next stop.”

“I need to get dressed,” Charlie called out to the man, stalling for time as he tried to figure out what to do.

“No, come as you are, Charlie, you’re fine,” the man called out. “Your Grandpa is already on board and we have new clothes for you here.”

Charlie grabbed his stuffed teddy bear and slowly walked out of the house and approached the train. The well-dressed man had a broad, welcoming smile on his face and held out a hand of encouragement to Charlie as he neared the train.

“Come on, boy,” the man said, his hand still reaching out to Charlie. Charlie was still hesitant as he thought about Grandpa’s warning, but he couldn’t resist the draw of the man and the train. Charlie reached up and grabbed the man’s hand and was gently assisted onto the train.

“Welcome to the Soul Train, Charlie,” the man said. “Go inside and meet the other children.”

“Where’s Granda? Where does this train go?” Charlie asked.

“Relax, Charlie,” the man said, his smile now appearing more sinister than welcoming. “We’re headed straight to ….”


Let’s see where Michael takes us with this one.

Image credit: DarkWorkX

Fandango’s Flash Fiction Challenge #18

FFFCWelcome to “Fandango’s Flash Fiction Challenge.” Each week I will be posting a photo I grab off the internet and challenge bloggers to write a relatively short flash fiction piece inspired by the photo. While there are no definitive style or word limits, I suggest trying to keep your posts to under 300 words.

I want to sincerely thank everyone who has participated in these challenges so far. Your posts have been very creative. I hope this week’s image will also generate some great posts as well.

So now it’s time for my eighteenth weekly Fandango’s Flash Fiction Challenge. The image below is from Nik MacMillan@unsplash.com.E039E20B-1225-47A1-ACA2-3F302E74CEFAIf this picture inspires you and you wish to participate, please write your post, use the tag #FFFC, and link back to this post.

The issue with pingbacks not showing up seems to have been resolved, but you might check to confirm that your pingback is there. If not, please manually add your link in the comments.

Please take a few minutes to read some of the other responses to this photo challenge. And most important, have fun.

FOWC with Fandango — Mist

FOWCWelcome to June 17, 2019 and to Fandango’s One-Word Challenge (aka, FOWC). It’s designed to fill the void after WordPress bailed on its daily one-word prompt.

I will be posting each day’s word just after midnight Pacific Time (US).

Today’s word is “mist.”

Write a post using that word. It can be prose, poetry, fiction, non-fiction. It can be any length. It can be just a picture or a drawing if you want. No holds barred, so to speak.

Once you are done, tag your post with #FOWC and create a pingback to this post if you are on WordPress. Or you can simply include a link to your post in the comments.

The issue with pingbacks not showing up seems to have been resolved, but you might check to confirm that your pingback is there. If not, please manually add your link in the comments.

And be sure to read the posts of other bloggers who respond to this prompt. You will marvel at their creativity.