Grandmas Goulash

When had the change occurred? Sheila couldn't really say. It was more a gradual shift, than a precise moment. Subtle changes in his behavior. A little less attentive. A little less willing to please. Finally, outright defiance of her wishes. Still, she'd never dreamed it would come to this. One moment he was dicing vegetables. The next, he was pursuing her with the knife. She struggles, but soon abandons hope. As she succumbs to the psycho robot, she wistfully remembers simpler days and the harmless blue screen of death. Three Word Wednesday . is a meme that challenges writers to create something using three selected words. This week's words are gradual , precise and abandon . Click on the link to view other entries or submit your own.

The moment is at hand. Although she is not the first to travel here, it doesn't lessen the fear. She takes a step, gathers her courage and looks down. She cannot ignore the message, screaming in glaring red numbers from her scale. Oh to live in a weightless world. Three Word Wednesday . is a meme that challenges writers to create something using three selected words. This week's words are ignore, fear and weightless. Click on the link to view other entries or submit your own.

You'll never find your contact in this grass. We're going back to the convention. I'm not giving up my chance for the Best Dressed award. Microfiction Monday offers a new image each week and a challenge to write a story of 140 characters or less. Click on the image to see other entries. Why not try your own?

Warm day, soft breeze. White clouds, cerulean sky. Flowers' scent, nature's hum. Mellow wine, sharp cheese, sweet fruit, fresh honey. Lovers savor the day, the food, each other. Intensified hum. Pure black, vibrant yellow. No escape. Honey theft revenged. Three Word Wednesday . is a meme that challenges writers to create something using three selected words. This week's words are escape, hum and vibrant. Click on the link to view other entries or submit your own.

The sun was warm that June day. Surely there was no need to wear a hooded jacket to ward off the cold. It's purpose was concealment and who could have guessed what was hidden beneath? He walked silently through the peaceful woods. He seemed oblivious to the twittering birds or the paddling of the beaver's tail. Emerging at the back of the house, he crept quietly towards it. No need to pick the lock. The door had been conveniently left open. The house kept his secret. No sound shattered the neighborhood's tranquility as he quickly finished his work. His crime was perfect. No one would ever know. The detective thought otherwise, as he quickly followed a trail of blood to the assassin. The criminal was a wally. Only an amateur would neglect to wipe the cleaver before placing it back inside his jacket. Nessa at the Chrysalis Stage is hosting a new meme called Tales on Tuesday . This week's theme is Leave It To Beaver. Hope you'll head on over an...

What capricious god controls her mind and denies access to the vital location? I can do this. I CAN do this. She concentrates and tries again. She fails once more. Bystanders watch hope ebb from her face. Wait! Use The Force. She closes her eyes and clears her mind. Her hand reaches out. It hovers, then moves in a random pattern. She opens her eyes. It has failed her. "Hey, lady. People are waiting. You can't negotiate with those things." She backs away, avoiding the eyes of the crowd. Easier to look down at the evidence of her rejection. Invalid PIN. Invalid PIN. Invalid PIN. Three Word Wednesday . is a meme that challenges writers to create something using three selected words. This week's words are ebb, negotiate and random. Click on the link to view other entries or submit your own.

Mary Smith hurried past her mother and headed to her bedroom. It was the easiest way to avoid questions about her day. Not to mention the freshly baked cookies. Bad enough that she was plain, she didn't need to be fat too. Her day had not been good. Like her life, it had been average. Average grades, average looks, average friends. What would you expect when a clerk named Jane Brown married Bob Smith, auto parts associate? Just what they had. A small rented bungalow in a tired neighborhood. Homemade clothes. Vacation trips to the local beach. And an average child named Mary. Why not Tiffany or Crystal or Jewel? Girls with those names lived differently. Homes resembling small mansions. Designer clothes. European vacations. Looks, brains, popularity. As if some leprechaun had sprinkled them with enchanted gold dust. Why couldn't she be a golden girl? . Suddenly inspired, she grabbed a blank pad of paper and stretched out on her bed. I, Mary Smith, hereby change my name t...

"Grandma, your house is so old and creepy. Do evil spirits live here?" Jenny tried to sound nonchalant, but her voice trembled. Her younger brother, Will, was quick to join in. "I don't want to sleep overnight, Grandma. I'm scared." "This is an old house and sometimes it makes a lot of strange sounds. But nothing evil has ever happened here, children. Grampa and I had a lot of fun here over the years though. Did you ever eat popcorn made in a fireplace?" "Can we Grandma?" Grandma breathed a quiet sigh of relief. Their parents were out of town, so going home was not an option. Turn on some cartoons, feed them some popcorn and distract those vivid imaginations. Soon they'd be relaxed and ready for bed. "Grandma! Something is crawling up the wall." "That's just a shadow, Will. See the plant that's hanging over there? It's casting it's shadow on the wall. Watch, we can make shadows...

Where could it be? Not behind the daybed nor in the storage area beneath. Not anywhere on the high bookshelves. Two small kitchen cabinets yield nothing but dishes. The tiny studio's single closet is the only remaining possibility. Trembling with apprehension, she approaches the narrow door. Tentatively, she touches the door handle, then quickly pulls back. She has heard stories. And she believes them. Struggling to control her terror, she approaches again and flings it open. How silly! There's nothing to fear here. Just floor to ceiling shelves, filled with the accumulation of ten years. The search might take a bit, but nothing to fear at all. Be methodical. Start at the bottom and work up. Begin with that large box. Stuck. Try again. Ah, here it comes. Avalanche. Tottering shelves hurl their contents. A large brass trophy jettisons from the pinnacle towards her head. Blackness. Endless blackness. It's what they'd predicted, but it's ...

I grew up in northern Vermont where snow was almost a constant.  Spring waited until May, followed by a brief summer and briefer fall.  By October, snow regained it's rule. Roads that were snow-blocked for days and drifts as high as power lines were common parts of that winter experience.  Some  loved it.  They strapped on their skis or climbed onto their snowmobiles and went out to enjoy their winter wonderland. I hated that white stuff.  I had no interest in winter hobbies.  I hated wading through it, shoveling through it, driving through it.  I don't claim to be a fast learner.  I spent most of my first half-century coping with it, accepting it.  Until the November day when I climbed on a plane headed for Georgia.   The world was white and the temperature was 6F, when we took off.  Two hours later, I arrived to fall leaves and temperatures in the 60's.   Sure I'd known it was warmer ...