Tag Archives: fiction

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Write A Story With Me – A Collaborative Story Contribution

Come join the fun!

But then, Sian had lost the fear of awkwardness within a tenday of her Recall. Within two, she had begun to learn – although she had had to be very careful, in those early days before she’d known enough to move without being seen…

That had taken nearly a full turning of Argot around its sun – a length of time she had once thought almost infinite. Now, though, she had circled so many planets that the only time that mattered anymore was that the Establishment demanded of her, and the flow of her own life. No planet could determine time for her, now.

She slipped through the honeycombed lattices of the Establishment Revisionist Division, within the hollow shell of the Leganthe asteroid, seen but unnoticed. She’d become something like those fairies Yoran claimed to hate so – if someone wasn’t paying close attention, they simply looked past her.

It was the same in the shuttle bays. No one asked for her credential chits; no one stopped her as she leapt nimbly up into the embrace of her cockpit, no one demanded clearance or a flight plan.

She had, despite her rebellion, despite the poor showing in school, always loved learning, so long as she could make what she learned a seamless part of her life.

Now, she would use that learning – to play along with the Establishment. To stop Yoran, and expose Bethany as a Locus, once she had proof and not only rumor. And, if she could, to free Marci from that empty life, and show her all the wonders other worlds offered….

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Storyteller Writing Challenge – First Effort

Achingly lovely and evocative....letting it sit here for a while......to work itself into my soul!

For this week’s picture prompt, tell us what is evoked by this image.
Where is it? What story tumbles from your imagination?
Who’s looking over at the winged woman? Who and what is she?
Are you human, demon, bird? Is she?
You decide.

Sarjyn and the Kingdom of Man Above

She had been told, as all the women among the Soarers had been, that the Kingdom of Man Above contained marvels such as they had never seen; the chance for love and passion such as they, in their narrower, baser lives, could never know with the men of their own kind…..

Sarjyn had never found her life or the men she shared company with lacking, but it was not given for any Soarer to refuse the Summons, once it had been made.

And so she had gone, as she was expected to, as she had always been told she must, when her time came.

Up past the place where the clouds separated her from the welcome embrace of the harboring earth, to the heavy dwelling place made by the Men Above.

Above the clouds, it looked very different, without the glitter the sun and moon cast upon it from below, giving it a glistening and otherworldly framework made, perhaps, of air and clouds.

But here, above, with nothing to shield it, it – hunkered, squat and ugly, a brooding thing of damp and slimy stone. Within, rather than the loveliness of arching and open skies for their flying, there were only chambers above, made for men to take their pleasurings, and large bare rooms below, where the women of the Soarers were kept, in rows of beds stacked four high, all staring without seeingl and tended by the shrunken, twisted, gray-skinned females who must be native here.

The lines that connected them to the central well from which the imitur potion dripped had been nearly invisible. Her eyes had not caught them in time, and, were it not for the scent, which she could never forget, she would be as hollowed and desolate as the others -

The others -

No.   She could not think on that further. That way lie pain that might sever her from her senses. Later, she would feel what must be felt, but there was nothing to be done for those tens  or perhaps hundreds of thousands of Soarer women, slowly dying, their wings molting and useless as they were consumed by the imitur and the alien children who had been seeded within their trembling and insensate bodies.

But she – she had not simply entered at the main, imposingly arched gate, as the others must have.  Among the Soarers, Sarjyn was known for the torrent of her questions, and the drive she had for answers.

No, she instead made herself as insubstantial as the mist, in the way the Huntleader had helped her to feel within herself, so very long ago, now….and found a likely crack to slip through, so that she could watch without being noticed….

And she had seen the women,  some who had once been friends, or lovers, or both, and recognized the scent of the poison that had nearly extinguished all life below, when she was but a child….

Sarjyn slipped away, remained the fog until she was past where she could be reached, and, only then, shed the Spiritform and arched herself into a plummeting flight, away from the horrors above, and back to the joys and peace of life amongst the trees, the fields, and the lower skies anchored still to the earth, to warn her people, so that no more would journey to the Kingdom of Man Above, and a life that was far worse than death.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
 
THE Other PROMPT

TIMED WORD ASSOCIATION: Treacle, Bloated, Yesterday.Write whatever springs to mind from these three words, in 3 minutes: No cheating or editing! Lets see what happens.

Choose from these genre: 
Fantasy, Horror, Romance (or a combination)
As always, poetry or prose is fine for either prompt-type.
Your word count must range within 20 – 700 please.

*****************************************************************

Treacle

Yesterday, it all became too much,  and I had to do something – anything, else I might implode into the same nothingness I always see in so many of the eyes here.

The treacle they insist on feeding us in this bloated monster they call a school is deadening us, little by little,  piece  by piece, making us over in its own soulless vision, churning us out like  we were products on an assembly line, and nothing more.

No more.  The assembly line is broken beyond all repairing -

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Write1 Sub1 March Check-in…..

I am getting to this a little late, because I began the Blogging From A-Z April Challenge on April 1, and my second round of ROW80 on April 2.

Today is a catchup and learning day, so I thought it was a good time to roll out this update……

Write 1:

I have written several pieces of flash fiction and poetry this month.
Here’s the rundown.

Submit 1:

I submitted more than one piece, as well, this month.  It was out of my comfort zone, but I did it in small burts, one step at a time.

  • I submitted a flash erotica piece, “Twice-Coupled” to Clean Sheets Magazine.  It was rejected several days later.
  • I submitted a poem, “Le Reve des Etoiles”, to Black Heart Magazine.  I expect to hear in a few weeks.

I also had an essay accepted for publishing on the Tiny Buddha blog.  I know it isn’t fiction, but it’s a big thing for me. and I am excited!  =)

I will have more to report next month! =) 

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Spock – A Most Logical Character

One logical guy; one emotional guy - delightful synergy!

This post was written for The Lightning and the Lightning Bug‘s  Flicker of Inspiration Blog Hop.

I had seen him around a few times, ever since I was maybe 7 or so, and I knew his voice, in other contexts. He was like a neighbor I whose face, car, and house I recognized, but about whom I knew nothing of consequence.

Except that that voice could draw me from anywhere, when I heard it, and it spoke things I couldn’t yet understand to my wounded soul.

Scientist, musician, explorer, Shakespeare fan......layers and levels.

Until I was 13, and my best friend, after much attempted persuasion, pressed a book into my hand and said, “Just read the first story, before you refuse to read more.”  I had a long tradition of fiercely resisting things she was certain I would enjoy.

The story was “Spock’s Brain“, the James Blish novelization of the original Star Trek episode.

I read it, and I was hooked. Deeply and passionately in love with with a fictional half-Vulcan who managed, even with his brain severed from his body, to solve the problem of (however improbably), getting it back where it belonged.

The Essence of Cool.

I have never gotten over that passion. I love Spock, and I always will.

The relationship, however one-sided it may be, has grown with me, and the teenage lust has given way to a deep and abiding – well, I guess the appropriate word would be fascination.

Because of Spock, I learned that I could be smart and still be fallible. I could have integrity of self. I could live according to my internal compass rather than rely on external factors to define my life for me. I learned that I could sacrifice myself for the greater good – and that I could hope that, on occasion, others might think my well-being was the greater good, even when logic didn’t agree.

"Remember"...a mindmeld before logical self-sacrifice.

I learned that one can be stronger, but does not need to use their strength to bully or force others. I began to see that sometimes there is a gift in silence, and in the subtle shifts of expression.

It was from Spock that I first learned that there was a possibility of mastering my emotions, or at least of not being so utterly ruled by them as everyone around me seemed to be. In time, I became able to step back within myself, breathe, and attend to my  feeling more of the time, allowing  me to take necessary or desired action with less reactivity, at least most of the time.

Spock, revisited in 2009......

I learned that while there are things worth killing and dying for, and a time when only force can act as defense, striving for understanding and compassion  generally avoids coming to such dire straits.

I learned that passion is uncontrollable, sometimes, and must simply be given in to, and allowed to run its natural course.

I learned that there are always possibilities, and most of the trick in seeing them is recognizing that fact.

Spockish fun!

I cut my writing teeth on Spock, creating terrible plots and merrily defiling characters, logic, and even possibility, all in an erotic quest for my Vulcan, and largely conducted in high school classrooms, or on the bed in my unhappily shared bedroom –  a vital escape that kept my mind from stultifying, and disengaged me from at least some potential sibling conflict.

I know that fan fiction is frowned upon in serious circles -

And yet I know that a rich and vital world has sprung up in my life over the nearly 3 decades I have shared with Spock, and I know that, without him, I would not have this remarkable world for my subconscious to play in.

It took a while, but Spock integrated his conflicting instincts....and so can I.

I would not be leading the life that I am, because Spock showed me the way to courage.  I would not have the husband I have, because it was Spock who first showed me how to risk taking a flying leap off the deep end of logic, when that was needed.

I would not write as well as I do, for it was in reading back and seeing how badly I had corrupted the character I love more than any other, that I began to learn to never force my stories to comply to my ideas, but rather to be a faithful observer and narrator of those stories, without interfering in them.

Live Long and Prosper.

There are always possibilities.

And, with Spock tucked firmly and logically into my soul, I will continue to find them, and live them.

Click here for the link!

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500 Words On….”The Unpredictability of the Fallow Land…”

500 Words On…..“The Unpredictability of the Fallow Land“

~The unpredictability of the fallow land, left to wonder on its own, never failed to send her into fits of grins every year as July ducked her shoulder to the fortunes.~

How silly the whole business of planting seemed to her, the waiting, the backbending effort that so seldom seemed to carry any joy or delight for those who toiled at it.

How very different from life in the Huntlands.

And how very impoverished, to make one’s living from changing the nature of Aletris, stabbing at her, digging those damnable furrows into her skin; scarring her.

So the empty fields delighted her as they lay, and as the grass and weeds grew up in them, and the small wild things that were good to eat and challenging to Hunt returned to the little hollows and pockets the farmers never noticed….

And yet, out there, in the Huntlands, was food aplenty, without any need to alter Aletris – it was the food that was freely offered, but only to those who knew how to procure it. Food to Hunt, food to forage, food that filled all the needs of her body and her soul in ways this food, grown in the wounds of Aletris, could never do.

She wondered, once again, if there was some way to tell the Untribed, to encourage them to change their way of life, to live fully in peace with Aletris, and honor sima garo utterly, knowing that enough food was provided, without these efforts to be certain of it by damaging the planet herself.

Efforts which were, still, despite all their fanciful imaginings, dependent upon Aletris, and her nature.

No one could direct a planet; no one could force food from Aletris if she did not choose to offer it, and there would be an end to how much she would provide, if forced too often ….

She thought to mention it to Konii, and once she did, but Konii only looked at her with her purple and dreaming eyes, as though the words were in some other tongue – Tacivaarii, perhaps, and she could not understand – and then she had turned back to her Books….

She had wanted to tell Rachyl, because she thought that Rachyl would understand, and be able to help her know what was the best thing to say to the others. Rachyl was a healer, and worked with the natural plants, the sensates, the healing herbs, and the minerals. She valued the balance of nature in ways that most Untribed did not, and she also understood the world she lived in…

But, just when she thought she would, Rachyl had gotten herself with child – of a Tribed man, no less, which would infuriate Mother if she learned of it – and was all aglow and absorbed in the child to come, and the life she hoped to create, one that would span both worlds.

So Jeniah contented herself in honoring the furrows in her own way, in the long hours spent lying upon them, sunning herself, waiting, and taking, through her skills and as Aletris intended, her meals from the wounded place, and hoping it would offer some small healing.

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ROW80 Goals Update – “Entering the Final Rapids”

 

Things are speeding up…..

Jim is mostly up and about.  He’s got another three weeks before he is OK to go back to work, and he can’t drive until he can make a fist with his broken right hand.  He can’t close it fully yet, but he’s exercising it, now, which he couldn’t do with the splint on.

We’re getting out and about more, and making plans for our travel season.

I’m beginning to rediscover my energy, and the house is slowly getting tidier….

And I am in a concentrated quest for the rapids, in this last week of ROWing……

Round of Words 80 Goals – Round 1, 2012:

I will complete the rough draft of my unfinished NaNoWriMo novel, Chameleon’s Dish.

  • I am 15,956 words into Chapter 22, “The Play’s the Thing”  Yes, I know that’s a lot of words for one chapter……I’m thinking it’s two chapters, or maybe even three.
  • I now have a fairly good idea about where things go from here to the conclusion.
  • It still looks like about 25 chapters with an epilogue.
  • These characters continue to astonish me with the things they do, and the story still seems to be flowing smoothly from wherever it is inside me….

I will submit at least four pieces, queries, or proposals to for-pay markets.

  • I have reread and resumed writing the piece originally begun for Morgan Dragonwillow‘s  Teen Fantasy  Fiction Contest.
  • I currently have 916 words in the rough draft.
  • I will be researching the flash fiction markets list I found last week, and submitting either “Twice-Coupled” or my erotic flash poem, hopefully before Sunday.
  • That will complete this goal.
  • In other news, my Tiny Buddha submission  was ACCEPTED!!!!   It will be about two months before it appears on the site, but that is perfectly all right with me! =)

I will update, keep current on a weekly basis, and add writing samples to my Facebook Writer Page, and I will update, edit, and post to both of my regular blogs on at least a weekly basis.

  • I have continued to post to my page, in the form of links, updates, and comments.
  • I have 49 fans for the page, and I am planning a surprise for when I reach 50.
  • I have not posted to The Unfettered Life…a little behind with it, at the moment.
  • I have not posted here since Sunday’s update.
  • I have edited and improved several posts on this blog; there will be more details later in this post.

I will write at least one book review,  and a rough draft of a letter to my father-in-law.

  • I am in the process of fleshing out the bulleted points I wrote out last week.
  • Once that is done, I will be using the fleshed out list as the framework for the letter.
  • I’m feeling the urge to be done with this, so I believe I’ll be wanting  to spend more  time on this as I wrap up other goals.

I will edit, revise where necessary,  and properly categorize all posts in this blog.

I will input one of my writing notebooks into Penzu, and clip all materials I would like to pursue further.
  • I am on page 106 of 141.
  • I’m still learning a great deal about myself and my history from this reading.
  • I’m still finding things of value.
  • A novel idea (not anything I’m ready to articulate, but the seeds of a story) has sprung from these.
  • I still hope to clip these passages, but may not get to that until Round 2.
So that’s what I’ve done, and a bit of what I’m planning for the next few days.  I feel I am close to meeting most of my goals, and all of them are within reach.I’m in a forward-momentum plunge, now –  plying the rapids, rather than gliding across deep and reflecting pools.

There will be time for reflecting once I have completed these goals……till then, I might not be around much….

Please give some encouragement to the other ROWers who are also entering their final rapids……..

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Second Challenge – Platform Building Campaign….

Second Campaigner Challenge

Do one or more of the following:

Write a pitch/logline for a book based on the prompts (less than 100 words)

Write a short story/flash fiction piece of less than 200 words based on the prompts

Write a poem with a twist using the prompts as inspiration (in less than 200 words)

Write a story/poem in five sentences, each sentence based on one of the prompts

Write a poem/flash fiction piece (in less than 200 words) about the water pear *without* using the words “pear”, “spoon”, or “droplet”.

For added difficulty/challenge:

Complete at least three of the above activities and tie them all together with a common theme (feel free to either state the theme in your post or leave us to guess what it might be)

Write in a genre that is not your own

Ask Challenge entrants to critique your writing. After the Challenge closes, you may wish to re-post your revised piece(s), and I’ll include a Linky List at the bottom of this post for those wishing more feedback on their revisions (note: revised entries will not be judged, so please label clearly your original post and your revisions. Please do not offer critique unless someone asks for it, as per the usual blogging conventions. If you do ask for critique, make sure you ask for it clearly so people know you want it, and please be prepared to receive feedback that may not be 100% glowing. If you are a critiquer, please be tactful and courteous, and remember to provide positives as well as negatives.)

I would very much appreciate critiques, please! =)
The Prompts:

Two people are sitting together under the remains of a concrete bridge. Their backs are against a rusted bridge support. One person’s leg is cut. The other person has wet hair.



  • Write a pitch/logline for a book based on the prompts (less than 100 words) -

No Ordinary Magic  (96 Words)

 Too often, our modern world of technological marvels seem almost magical. And still we demand more, and more. Are we so jaded and numb that we miss the moments of true and simple magic in our own lives?

Come open your soul as we delve into the rare magic in everyday moments such as kicking a ball across a bridge on a bright cold day; artistic play with water and light; the moment just past striving; or an instant of mutual interest.

To the attentive, all of life is sparkling, extraordinary magic!

  • Write a short story/flash fiction piece of less than 200 words based on the prompts.

Facets (191 words)

I wait, and watch, as time grows short. Passersby, all in a hurry, seem not to see me at all.

They won’t allow themselves to slow to the pace of breath, of life, of magic.

A small boy bounces, kicks, and chases his ball across the bridge, snuggled in a jacket this crisp, waning afternoon. Skipping, random rhythm; soft scrape of feet on smooth stone…

A young woman in a suit, posture tense, repeatedly plays a video of a pear conjured of prismatic water droplets. Her expression is flat. She checks her phone, then again.

Little knot of children, shirtless and rumpled and dark in the sun. All squat and stare, their intensity clear and unmoving. Fascination for small simple gifts in a patch of earth….

The laptop shifts to dancing line art. Frantic texting. Lovely patterns, lovely autumn park, met by indifference.

A girl sits beneath the crumbling old bridge with a dripping cut on her leg, a boy with wet hair beside her, his arms uplifted, then, sparkling glittering arc down to her finger. Waterdrop rainbows, joyful embrace, impassioned kiss…

Time grows short.  Enchantment, wisdom  - life…

  • Write a poem with a twist using the prompts as inspiration (in less than 200 words).

Enchanted Vision (  119 words)

Park bench, late afternoon.

Crisp September light.

 Little boy bouncing ball on wide stone bridge.

 Soft scraping of feet,

 Quick, laughing breath.

 Young woman with laptop and cell phone.

 Conjured waterfruit and dancing lines.

 Wonder and beauty on her screen.

 Rapid-tense texts; frustration-sharp sighs.

 Three shirtless children squat studying patch of dirt.

 Motionless, silent, intent on this instant.

 Attending the gift of the earth and life.

 Under the bridge, a pair of young lovers.

 Scratch-broken leg, wet hair clings to scalp

 He scoops the pond, lifts the prize,

 Adorns her finger…..

They melt together as air finally ends

 No one notices my soundless pleading.

 I know the magic of life at last

 In the instant I die.

  • Write a story/poem in five sentences, each sentence based on one of the prompts.

Instants in Time 

Sunlight, shadow, sea, square tiles, and columned railings become the playground of a small boy in a long red coat, following joy in the form of a bouncing ball. A young, dark-haired woman with a bleeding leg sits under the old concrete bridge; a young man sits beside her, hair and clothes dripping unnoticed as he slips the diamond ring upon her shaking finger. Beside me on the bench, my neighbor’s laptop shows the birth and death of a water pear, again and again, and she ignores it, texting frenetically and breathing in short, sharp sighs. Three little children, shirtless and dark and seemingly not bothered by the cooling breezes, explore the patch of dirt between them with motionless attentiveness. As my last breath ends, the hot dog still lodged in my airway, a lovely digital sculpture shifts gracefully across the screen, and, above the sounds of her texting, I hear the woman complaining that her time is up.

  • Write a poem/flash fiction piece (in less than 200 words) about the water pear *without* using the words “pear”, “spoon”, or “droplet”.

Fruit of Life (145 words)

I stare in wonder at the digital legerdemain on the laptop screen. I try to imagine how the conjuring was done; what miracles of science, math, art, and programming were involved in the glorious fruit, seemingly formed of water and delicately, impossibly balanced. Who conceived of such an elegant and lovely mirage, and how? Was it brought to virtual life as an act of personal passion, or with the calculation of a team with a product to hawk?

Then, I am captured by the pure leaping joy of it, the ethereal beauty of the instant when it, as though from nothing, clings to the shape in a shimmering dance of life – life suspended, to end in the next heartbeat, before this breath is expelled….

The form collapsed, in iridescent spray – a wordless lesson in the momentary nature of all life.

***************
I completed the entire challenge, including the increased difficulty option, and, as stated above, I welcome criticism!

Follow the other Platform Building Campaigners!


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Write1 Sub1 Monthly Challenge – February Update

Image

It’s time for the second monthly update of my progress in the Write 1 Sub1 Monthly Challenge.  

This Ray Bradburry-inspired writing challenge is fairly self-explanatory.  The goal for the monthly challenge  (there’s also a weekly challenge for the extremely intrepid and productive type!) is to write one work of fiction or poetry each month, and to submit one work of fiction or poetry each month.

It can be the same piece, as Bradbury did it, or separate pieces.

Write 1: I didn’t have any trouble with this part….

  • On February 4, I wrote and posted 43 Weeks, a photo-prompted piece of flash fiction.
  • On February 11, I wrote and posted The Last House, another photo-prompted flash fiction piece.  I really felt this one, and it received many positive comments.
  • On February 19, I wrote and posted A Hawk From a Handsaw, a Trifextra Challenge. I always wanted Hamlet and Ophelia to have a happier ending –  or just the chance to follow their hearts, and so I gave them one.
  • I worked, intermittently, on a piece of flash erotica, eventually named “Twice-Coupled“.
English: Mignon Nevada as "Ophelia",...

Image via Wikipedia

I might have written more, but my husband was in a life-threatening motorcycle accident the same night I finished my Trifextra piece.  He spent 10 days in the hospital before a Leap Day release, and life is just now settling back into some more regular rhythms as we all adjust to being together, again…..
Sub 1:  This part is still the more challenging, for me.  Writing things to give away free suits me well.  Writing things and asking for specific types of recognition triggers a lot of ingrained patterns set in childhood.  I’m aware of it, and learning, by proceeding in tiny increments, to take that plunge.  This month, if I had not had the challenge, I would likely have put off any effort at submitting…..
  • I  completed, revised, and polished “Twice-Coupled”, the flash erotica piece mentioned above. Just under the wire, on February 29, I celebrated Jim’s return home by submitting it to Clean Sheets.
  • At this writing, I have not yet heard back from the publication.

So, there you have it….may second month, and I managed to complete the challenge and then some….and I am looking forward to even more activity, this month!

Check out some of the other Write 1 Sub 1 participants!

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Friday Flash Fiction (on Friday, Even!)

vacation travel photos - The Restaurant "The Rock" in Zanzibar, Tanzania

The Last House 

Written By Shan Jeniah Burton Copyright 2012

We lay tangled together on an airbed covered in beach towels, in the exact middle of the white-sand floor.  Our hands dance over familiar but endlessly intriguing terrain, hungry for exploration, as the warm noon breezes waft through the window openings, carrying the scent of the ocean filtered through the pomegranate and olive trees, and the scents of dinner being cooked away down in the village.

The birds are quiet except for slight rustlings and chatterings that echo our love murmurings.

We eat pomegranate and crusty bread, sopping and licking the juice from lips and hands and letting the moment drift into gentle lovemaking.  We never look away from each other, even as the waves crash over and through us, catalclysmic, shattering us, remaking us….

We are one as we’ve never been, and our damp, warm bodies move as though making the loveliest music…

We’re  still whispering to each other as the sun sets, painting the sky and the sea with the colors of our love, achingly lovely, sending beams across our skins.

We fall asleep together when the first stars come into view, our breath flowing to a single rhythm.

When I awaken, it is  dark, and he has died, surrounded by peace and beauty and my love, just as we intended.

Original Friday Flash Fiction post from LS Engler.

Original Photo  from Five- Minute Getaway.

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Flashin’ on Saturday!

I wanted to do a flash on Friday, but life kind of got away from me.  I could play the “I have a head cold” card, but, really, life does tend to get ahead of me.  We move at a slower pace, here, flowing along, or, sometimes, a frenetic one, filled with breathless motion.

This picture reminded me of our years in Yellowstone, and our attempt to dislodge a very stubborn (turns out, rightly so) Jeremiah from his really snug womb…..

Although, with him, the Old Road didn’t work at all (nor did castor oil (twice!), assorted foul-smelling tinctures, miles upon miles of walking, the sandwich from The Pickle Barrel in Bozeman, which was supposed to be a fail-safe labor starter, but wasn’t), or the other, more private, methods we tried…..but those aren’t part of this story.

Click to visit the original post

43 Weeks

Written By Shan Jeniah Burton

I check once more to be certain that the seat belt isn’t riding too far up my absurdly swollen abdomen, then , again, massage the rib that has been in stabbing agony since about week 6 of this pregancy….

Jim holds his foot on the clutch of out little Toyota pickup, and says, “Are you sure you don’t just want to eat hot peppers?”

“Shut up and drive,”  I say, and try to enjoy the storms circling Electric Peak, and the soft, tossing sunlight on the burgeoning green of the hills and winding switchbacks of  Yellowstone‘s Old Road.

43 weeks, 43 weeks, sang the bouncing tires as my back screamed accompaniment, feeling like Steven Tyler sounds.  

That’s when my water broke, soaking the seat beneath me, and, in the next breath, the searing, rippling pain of the first contraction…..

Eventually, that boy needed to be surgically extricated, all ten pounds, 2 ounces  and 22 and a half inches of him…….

Same boy, 10 years later.......

The original Friday Flash Fiction  post I drew from…… with thanks to L.S. Enger!

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