“Hey you, what are you doing in that field in your underwear?” the woman yelled at the young man.
“I’m foraging for mushrooms, lady,” he answered, as if doing so in one’s boxers was not at all unusual. “It’s hot and I love the feel of the breeze on my, um, privates. It gives me a sense of freedom. At least I’m not naked.”
A hungry look graced the woman’s face. “Drop those boxers and I might just give you a hand.”
Written for Sammi Cox’s Weekend Writing Prompt, where the word is “forage.”Also for the Mindlovemisery’s Menagerie Sunday Writing Prompt, where the word is “Freedom.” Also for these daily prompts: Fandango’s One-Word Challenge (underwear) and The Daily Spur (love).
“Are you kidding me?” she said. “It makes a world of difference. It’s as if you want to imprison me when all I want is to be free.”
“But if you leave me, it will break my heart,” he said.
“Oh, I’m sure that tart of a receptionist you’ve been running around with behind my back will help mend your broken heart quite nicely.”
Written for Linda G. Hill’s Stream of Consciousness Saturday prompt, where the the word is “difference.” Also for the the Mindlovemisery’s Menagerie Saturday Mix prompt, where the opposing forces are “imprison/free” and “break/mend.”
The fire marshall knocked on Caryn’s front door. When she opened it, he handed her a small cardboard box. “I’m sorry for you loss, Miss Kavanaugh,” he said. “I know it’s not much, but this is all we could salvage from your parents’ home.
Indeed, it definitely wasn’t much. There was her father’s old 35 mm camera, a tiny toy globe he kept on his desk, a blank tape from his portable dictating recorder, and a Matchbook model of an old VW bus that he told her was just like the one he had when he was in college. Strangely, there were three watercolor paintings by her mother that her father must have kept in his desk.
Caryn took each of the salvaged items out of the box and laid them out on the marble floor of the foyer in her house. She looked down at the strange assortment at her feet. She couldn’t wrap her head around how this small collection of random items was all that remained of her parents’ lives. Sure, she had her memories, but their lives, their home, and all of their other possessions were gone.
Her eyes welled up and guilt overwhelmed her. She had planned to have their 120 year old house updated with new wiring and plumbing last year, but her parents, who were in their seventies, resisted. They didn’t want to have strangers working inside their home during the pandemic. But now that they had both received their second vaccination last week, they finally agreed to let her bring in an electrician and a plumber.
Caryn meant to make arrangements last week, but she just didn’t get around to it. She’d waited this long, what would another week or two matter? Now, after everything was destroyed by the fire caused by an electrical short, it was too late, and all that remained were those seven random items spread out at her feet.
Written for the Mindlovemisery’s Menagerie Photo Challenge. Photo credit: fotografierende on Pexels.com.
When I saw that the Sunday Writing Prompt from Mindlovemisery’s Menagerie was the three senses and that we were asked to “choose either sight, sound, or smell, and write a memory it triggers in you,” I could think of only two things.
The first was the Edvard Munch painting, “The Smell of Death,” shown above. Munch was a Norwegian painter, graphic artist, and printmaker. His best known work, “The Scream,” (below) has become one of the iconic images of world art.“The Smell of Death” is one of Munch’s lesser known works. I can’t recall where or when I first saw it, but it made an impression on me and the word “smell” occasionally brings that painting to mind.
The other memory the word “smell” conjures up is the Lynyrd Skynyrd song, “That Smell.” Since I posted details about the song this past December in response to one of Jim Adams’ Song Lyric Sunday prompts, I’m only going to post the video of the song below. If you’re interested in learning more about that song, including the lyrics, click here.
And no, I’m not obsessed with or even fascinating by the smell of death. I’m just, as the prompt asks, writing about memories the word “smell” triggered.
She stared up at the late evening sky, trying to contemplate her own future. She couldn’t believe that the two of them, after all these years, had finally reached the end of the road. To him is was all a game, and she had been a willing player, turning a blind eye to the abuse. She kept thinking that this was a phase he was going through, and her method of dealing with it was to believe that it was something that would pass as he matured. And because of that, she treated him, and their relationship, with kid gloves. He’s only human, she figured.
But after a night out guzzling beer after beer with his idiot friends, he would come home and there would be hell to pay. How many times would she let him hit her before she would balk?
She finally got the courage to leave him. Now she was alone for the first time in a long time, but she wasn’t feeling lonely. She was feeling free, and as she watched the stars and the sliver of the moon above her, she had a sense of purity, and some optimism. She was getting a fresh start.
Written for Sadje’s What Do You See? prompt. Photo credit: Jasmin Chew @ Unsplash. Also for Mindlovemisery’s Menagerie Sunday Writing Prompt, where the theme is “the end of the road.” And for these daily prompts: The Daily Spur (game/beer), Fandango’s One-Word Challenge (method/figure), MMA Storytime (gloves), Ragtag Daily Prompt (human), Word of the Day Challenge (hit/purity), and Your Daily Word Prompt (balk).