Not a Pup Anymore

This week’s Friday Flash Fiction post is my take on the photo prompt provided by Madison Woods. Visit her website    http://madisonwoods.wordpress.com/  and find links to other Friday Flash Fiction stories from authors around the globe.  Please post the link to your story with your comment. 

Not a Pup Anymore

I may be getting a few gray hairs, but I still like to run with the big dogs now and then. Problem is, the aches and pains catch up with me and the next day I can’t even lick myself.

At my age, the rising cost of dog food and veterinary visits become a real concern. Who’s going to look out for my needs?

Then I heard about the American Association of Retired Canines. AARC membership entitles me to discounts on flea collars, rabies shots, even hotel* stays.

If you’re a mature pet visit their web site, or call 1-800-Old-Dogs and check out AARC. You’ll howl with delight.

*(when traveling with a human)

From Under the Bridge

Today’s Friday Flash Fiction post is my take on the photo prompt provided by Madison Woods. Visit her website    http://madisonwoods.wordpress.com/  and find links to other Friday Flash Fiction stories from authors around the globe.  Please post the link to your story with your comment.

From Under the Bridge

I was assigned to this bridge by the union in 1935, immediately after completion by the WPA. In those days, foot traffic and children on bicycles kept me pretty busy. In fact, had it not been for our union contract requiring mandatory breaks and lunches, it would have been non-stop.

The hardest part of my job is living up to people’s expectation. The hair, make-up, and uniform have to be perfect if you want people to take you seriously when demanding the toll.

The availability of automobiles has eliminated a lot of our jobs. When is Obama going to extend unemployment benefits to trolls?

Today’s Friday Flash Fiction post is my take on the photo prompt provided by Madison Woods. Visit her website    http://madisonwoods.wordpress.com/  and find links to other Friday Flash Fiction stories from authors around the globe.  Please post the link to your story with your comment.

 

Evidence

Detective Whitfield fanned out the tiny packets on the conference room table.

“These are the calling cards of the Hard Candy Killer. The homicides are committed on holidays. Each kill is marked with a half-eaten candy in a color or flavor relating to that particular holiday. St. Patrick’s Day is in two weeks. Keep a sharp eye for suspicious characters with green Lifesavers, mints, or clover-shaped cough drops.”

“Sooner or later these guys always screw up,” said Sergeant Doss.

“Remember the Soft Candy Killer?

We never would have caught him if he hadn’t bought Ex-lax by mistake.”

 

Today’s Friday Flash Fiction post is my take on the photo prompt provided by Madison Woods. Visit her website    http://madisonwoods.wordpress.com/  and find links to other Friday Flash Fiction stories from authors around the globe.  Please post the link to your story with your comment.

Casting Call

“Hey, look at this,” said Cara

Rochelle hopped across the gray stones toward the cavern’s mouth. “Looks like sticks, stones, and bird bones to me,” she replied.

“But look at how they’re arranged. I bet it’s some sort of cryptic message. In the old days, fortune tellers used stuff like this to predict the future.”

“Really,” said Rochelle sarcastically. “Let me give it a try. The bones say ‘men will encircle you, shouting chants, and casting lots for your clothing’”

“That’s ridiculous.” Cara raked the blonde hair behind her ears. “Let’s go. I have an audition at the Pink Pussycat at five.”

Grandma's Rock

Today’s Friday Flash Fiction post is my take on the photo prompt provided by Madison Woods. Visit her website    http://madisonwoods.wordpress.com/  and find links to other Friday Flash Fiction stories from authors around the globe.

Grandma’s Rock

It wasn’t far from the little cabin. The once well-worn path, now overgrown with greenbriars and honeysuckle, just a faint memory.  Ears strained to capture the harmonious melody of water trickling over stones, I picked my way through underbrush.

There, beneath a slight opening in the trees, was Grandma’s rock.  Solid and unchanged by the ravages of time and technology, the large curvaceous stone could be imagined as a love seat or daybed.

Decorated with patches of moss, lichen, and a smattering of dried leaves—a living memorial to the calluses on Grandma’s knees from washing diapers in the stream.

Happy VD

Here's a little poem I wrote a few years ago.

Cupid

Although he may be naked

This little imp with wings

Always keeps his knee up

So you won’t see his thing

With his trusty bow and arrow

He’s ready to attack

And turn an unsuspecting woman

Into a raging nymphomaniac

So if you’d like to celebrate

A Happy Valentine’s Day

Put on some romantic music

And a skimpy negligee

And when you’re passion is heating up

And your vision blurred by lust

Remember poor old Cupid

And give him some for us!

On the Way Down

Today’s Friday Flash Fiction post is my take on the photo prompt provided by Madison Woods. Visit her website    http://madisonwoods.wordpress.com/  and find links to other Friday Flash Fiction stories from authors around the globe.

On the Way Down

Uh, oh. This is gonna hurt.

Slapped in the face by that sad realization that there’s no way I can catch myself. Mother earth is fast approaching.  

Arms flailing, cries of desperation pierce the forest in a long, deep moan of slow motion agony. I close my eyes and brace for the inevitable. My nose plows a furrow in the moldy loam beneath the leaves. Instinctively, I look around to see if anyone saw me fall.

What caused me to trip? All I can find is a broken mushroom. No greenbriar, no grapevine, not even an Indian powder-puff.

Stupid mushroom!