Day after day, the man on the hill slowly walks alone with his walking staff in hand. Nobody knows who he is, or why he walks the hill day in and day out. He walks there all day long until the sun goes down, watching as the world spins around and around.
Most of the townsfolk refer to him as the fool on the hill. Some of them have tried to talk to him, but he never listens to them and he never has an answer to their questions. In fact, he never even seems to notice them. He just smiles with what they call his foolish grin. Hence, nobody wants to join him.
He knows that they don’t like him and they really don’t want to know him. They think he is just a fool with his head in the clouds. But he doesn’t care about them. He actually feels sorry for those townsfolk, who live their hectic lives without making the time to explore nature and to appreciate all that it has to offer.
They may think of him as the fool on the hill, but in his heart, he knows that they are the real fools.
Written for this week’s Thursday Photo Prompt from Sue Vincent.
Gregg heard the sound of the helicopter flying overhead. He looked up and saw hundreds of pieces of paper floating down from the whirlybird. He reached out and picked one of the fluttering leaflets out of the air before it came to rest on the ground.
After reading it, he dropped the leaflet and stood there almost petrified. Whatever hope anyone had for a peaceful transfer of power was surely lost with this news. Carrying an armful of leaflets, Gregg ran back to the small rural community. He needed to make sure the townsfolk knew what was about to happen. He was sure that everyone in town shared the sentiment expressed in the leaflets.
After all, this was coal country and they had voted overwhelmingly for the president, who had promised to restore their jobs and to bring back prosperity to their ghost towns.
But his promises went unfulfilled and his once-faithful supporters felt betrayed. The coal mines never reopened and the towns around them and the men who worked them continued to suffer. They had long ago burned their MAGA hats and dropped their naïve support for the lying bastard who gave them hope but only delivered more misery.
The leaflets from the resistance movement warned the townsfolk that, despite losing the 2020 election “bigly,” the president still refused to recognize the results, calling the election rigged and claiming that the results were illegitimate because of the votes of illegal immigrants who had flooded through the porous southern border due to Democrats not funding his wall.
Instead, he called upon his MAGA-faithful in the red states to take up arms against the “liberal elitists” and to fight to the death to preserve his power.
The leaflets warned the townsfolk that the MAGA militia was heading their way and to be prepared to fight them in the battle to protect our constitution and to preserve our democracy.
This little glimpse into America’s future uses the following daily prompts: Ragtag Daily Prompt (leaflet), Fandango’s One-Word Challenge (petrified), Word of the Day Challenge (hope), and Your Daily Word Prompt (sentiment).
Marvin pictured his wife Martha and her close knit group of lady friends seated around the white wrought iron table at her weekly book club teas.
He smiled, knowing that, rather than talking about books, they spent their time gossiping about the latest news of the townsfolk. The juicier the scandal the more boisterous their voices.
Martha loved her weekly teas and now, months after her passing, Marvin just couldn’t bring himself to pack up and store his wife’s beloved garden set.
Instead, he would take his coffee out to the yard and sit at her table remembering his Martha.
Written for this week’s Friday Fictioneers prompt from Rochelle Wisoff-Fields. Photo credit: Fatima Fakier Deria.
All Zack needed to earn some money was his late father’s wheelbarrow and to hire himself out. He posted hand-printed signs on trees and poles throughout the town advertising his wheelbarrow hauling service. “Will haul anything for anybody” his flyers said. The townsfolk responded, hiring him for all kinds of hauling jobs.
He was happy to have a job at all. It wasn’t a very pleasant job. It was a backbreaking job, a thankless job. But a job nonetheless. And that made Zack about as happy as someone who made a living hauling all kinds of shit in a wheelbarrow could be.
One day a somewhat shady-looking guy told Zack he need to have something hauled. He told Zack to follow him, which Zack readily did. The man pointed to a large, heavy, oblong sack and assisted Zack loading it into the wheelbarrow. Then he told Zack where to take it, which happened to be a large hole dug into the ground deep into the woods. He instructed Zack to dump the sack into the hole, which Zack did.
Then the man pointed a pistol at Zack, saying, “Sorry, pal, but you’re a loose end.”
Witten for today’s Sunday Photo Fiction prompt. Image credit: Dawn M. Miller.