Na Na Na Na Na Na Na Na: Bad Date!

troy-nikolic-210975-unsplash

“Good morning, sir.”

“Eeeuurrrgh. Alfred?”

“You seem out of sorts. There is, however, a pressing issue which may require your attention.”

“Errr -what? Attention?” Sploosh! ….”Why am I wet?”

“Well, sir, the cave seems to be experiencing an excess amount of water.”

“It’s a cave, Alfred. It has water. …Probably not this much.”

“Precisely, sir.”

“We’ve got to get out! What happened?”

“Do you recall that female companion you entertained last week?

“…No.”

“Saturday?”

…..

“Charity dinner?”

“The blonde?”

“Precisely, sir!”

“Well?”

“I believe, after the young lady stayed the night, that she left the faucet running.”

 

Carrot Ranch Flash Fiction
unsplash-logoTroy Nikolic

Swings in Spring

Swing

Bright, springtime rays smiled upon the two children as they ran down the Tonaquint Park path. Nature wrapped them in a warm blanket, exulting in her final release from winter’s grip.

“Can’t catch me!” Jack teased. He giggled -downright, giddy giggling– as his sister tore after him through the desert foliage.

She was laughing as well; couldn’t help laughing, beneath a cobalt sky and chirping birds.

They discovered the just-emptied swings. Jack scooted right on and Jill followed suit. Their toes found sendoff grips, their legs pumped them heavenward, and their outstretched fingers flew aerodynamic arcs through blue.

 

Carrot Ranch Flash Fiction

unsplash-logoMyles Tan

Following Dreams

I wake after little sleep. Only hours ago, I walked the lonely aisles populated by night dwellers. “You look how I feel,” the cashier had said, voicing my thoughts before I’d worked out how to speak.

Today’s my child’s birthday. Mentally, I list what needs completion: cleaning, baking, decorating, dinner, church, children.

Husband stretches and wraps an arm around me. “I’ve got to go,” he coos. “Choir rehearsal this morning.” Surprised, I check my calendar.

Someone has posted a quote about making life what you will. Follow your dreams.

I rise groggily from the bed. A busy day awaits.

 

Carrot Ranch Flash Fiction

Mud to Tyrants

“Ready. Aim. Fire!” Thomas yelled exuberantly. He released three carefully-crafted mud balls skyward. They flew from his shovel toward the cardboard clubhouse, landing in wet splat, splunk, splats on the ground.

Daniel popped open a window to survey the results. “Some attack, Thomas!” He jeered.

Another smiling head joined Daniel’s through the jagged cut-out. “Yeah,” James teased. “Wanna move closer, baby?”

They laughed in good sport, then yelled and ducked inside as Thomas dropped his shovel and ran at them. Their door was pushed against its hinge with the force of the nine-year-old boy.

Daniel wriggled out the opening. He rose and watched Thomas and James roll about, trying to pin each other. Their errant wrestling crashed against a wall; the whole house threatened to collapse.

“Hello, boys,” a regal voice cooed.

Distracted mid-warning, Daniel turned. There stood Candy Barnes, in all her glory. He recognized her pink outfit from yesterday’s tea party; one they had been stopped from invading by a watchful mother.

“Go away, Candy,” he answered. Turning, he yelled, “Knock it off. It’s breaking!” A howl sounded from inside. A triumphant Thomas soon sauntered out. James followed, pretending a limp. They both stopped, staring.

James recovered first. “Whadda you want, Candy cane?”

She pouted. Flipping her feather boa over a puffy shoulder, she answered, “I merely came to survey my kingdom.”

All three boys began arguing. “Your kingdom?” “It’s our land.” “No one wants girls.” She ignored them, adjusted her crown, and raised her chin.

Inspiration struck Daniel. “Hey Thomas,” he said, “How are you at moving targets?”

Thomas retrieved his shovel and a leftover mud ball. Turning to Candy, he replied, “Let’s find out.”

A few seconds later, the commoners had the undeniable pleasure of watching a shrieking monarch hurriedly exiting their forest.

Carrot Mistake

Carrot Cake

There it sits, upon a plate:
It may be cake, but it’s cake I hate.

Who was first to see a root
And put it where one should mix a fruit?

Raisins do not count this time
Since they’ve barely made my list of “likes.”

If your cake needs added sweets,
Try not adding dirty veggie treats.

“I see your point,” you might say,
“But my recipe makes doubters sway.”

“I especi’lly aim to please,
“By whipping a frosting of cream cheese.”

Citing that was a mistake;
Carrots, raisins, cream cheese: baked
Are the ingredients that take my cake.

 

Carrot Ranch Flash Fiction Challenge.

unsplash-logoJoseph Gonzalez

Escape

If I had a hundred mathematically-large-enough

balloons

I’d cram the strings together

in a woven vest and rise higher

higher

through rain-gilded cloudscape.

I’d subsist on vapors, or maybe on sunrise ambrosia –

till atmospheric pressure (or somesuch scientific phenomenon)

popped just one

balloon.

Then I’d drop more rapidly than I rose:

the most obsequious, impotent adherent to Gravity and his unalterable law.

But really, I have to admit

-as I revisit clouds and ambrosia rays and treetops drawing nearer-

I was never free

and soon

I am right back where I started,

amidst 99 deflated spheres of red.

 

Carrot Ranch Flash Fiction Challenge.

Everlore

Once within a forest clearing, whilst I sought my heart some cheering,
With num’rous sorts of very unhealthy choc’late treats I most adore –
While I wandered, knapsack-snacking, dropping errant candy-wrapping,
I thought I heard a quiet flapping, flapping from the forest floor.
“‘Tis no predator,” I whispered, “wrapping from the forest floor –
Only garbage; an eyesore.”

Then came hum’rous Fate permitting; sending to me, most unwitting,
The view of who had made the flapping, from the littered forest floor:
Eager girl scout sitting, beaming, as I jumped up, scared and screaming –
I’m out of words; there is no more.

 

Carrot Ranch Flash Fiction Challenge.

Moonlit Magic

Astrael held his breath tightly, lightly. From opposite the clearing, his fine-tuned ears made out the slight shhhh of ground foliage against itself.

He heard it over the soft babbling of the small stream. He sensed it amongst nighttime warblings of crickets and insomniac fairy chatter.

Full moon skylight pulled free of the clouds, sending winking water reflections from the circled group of trees. He pulled farther behind the ferns and now-sparkling trunk which concealed him.

Just then, she came. Majestically, silently, carefully into the open space stepped the unicorn.

Just as silently and carefully, Astrael raised his bow.

Unicorn
Image courtesy of Pixabay.

Carrot Ranch Flash Fiction Challenge.

Young Love

Rock Valentine

Tanner felt nervous.

He hugged his robot Valentine’s box tightly. Mom had helped him paint it yellow last night, and he had added sparkly stickers and funny eyes. Inside were cards for all the boys and girls in class.

Tanner looked at all the boys and girls in his class, safely, from the doorway.

“Well, hello, Tanner!” Mrs. Foreman called. “Come on in!” He could see her waving from her desk.

He held his box closer.

“It’s all right,” his teacher said. She stood and walked over to him. Bending, she looked at his eyes. “Would you like some help?”

Some of the children glanced over, including Ella. Tanner’s mom had helped him make a special card for Ella last night, too. It was a pink heart that said, “I love you.”

Mrs. Foreman smiled. “I’ll walk with you,” she offered. Together, they went to his seat. He set the yellow robot on his desk.

“All right, class!” Mrs. Foreman clapped. “Time to hand out Valentine’s!”

Quickly, the children pulled out all their cards. They began happily filling each other’s boxes.

Tanner pulled out the pink heart. As soon as no one was looking, he dropped it into Ella’s unicorn mailbox.

He still felt nervous, but also happy. He hoped she would like it.

 

(Entry for Susanna Leonard Hill’s Valentiny Contest.)

Plantae uel Animalia

Forget me not
(Picture from Memory Foundation.)

If you were to assign a flower to my childhood personality, you might search among the less-desirable weeds. I wouldn’t have minded; I’d have stuck my prickly, unwanted self even further into your business.

My grandmother, however, was a soft-spoken, kind-thinking sort. I never heard her raise her voice nor speak insult. She was more like the gently-swaying field flowers of springtime, shyly smiling to a beckoning sun.

While people greeted my coming akin to a dandelion outbreak, we all recall my grandmother’s mischievous blue eyes with forget-me-nots.

At least dandelions are my son’s favorite.

Dandelions

Carrot Ranch Flash Fiction Challenge.