Your three words, my little story Rosita’s words-oil, water & feelings

Fridays have been Rose’s favorite day for years, not necessarily the mornings, because of work. She enjoyed her work, but she liked fishing on the weekends with her daughters, Lilly and Daisy, more. Her weekend began as soon as she got off work on Friday and ended early Monday morning, when they returned home. On Thursday nights they packed their bags, groceries and camping gear into the SUV, thus making their Friday morning ritual the same as any other week day morning. After work though, she picked up the girls from school and immediately took the hour long trip to the WATER. Lilly longed for the view of the distant tree line as they left the city, because she knew she would soon be fishing.

 

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A store called, ‘Paul’s Fishery’, sat on the edge of the dense forest, which was half way to their favorite camp site. Paul sold bait and tackle in the convenient store on the left side of his building and had a butcher, seafood and deli counter on the right. Two hundred feet through the back door and past one of his open air dining areas was his fishery, where he raised and sold Minos, clams and shrimp, to name a few. Past that was his stable, where he had horses, goats, chickens and other livestock.

 

Rose stopped by the fishery every Friday evening at 6 pm like clockwork, because she had a standing dinner reservation under a backyard canopy with Paul. While they ate and flirted, the kids munched on candy and chips at the stable with the animals. Over the years they grew to have certain FEELINGS for each other, but were careful to keep them under wraps because of her children. Every weekend he offered her a job and she always politely declined with a smile, hug and kiss on the cheek.

 

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They left Paul’s and headed deep into the woods to their secret spot near the creek. Once there, the first thing Rose and Lilly did was cast a few lines to see what the fish were biting on. Daisy loved bug hunting, so she gathered wood for the fire while rummaging for caterpillars, worms and other free bait. After twenty minutes they set up camp, placed the poles for the overnight fishing and prepared for nightfall. Lilly always started the fire and stayed up most of the night reading and fishing by the firelight, while Rose and Daisy soon fell asleep listening to nature’s music by the water’s edge.

 

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They’ve been coming here for years, and the kids didn’t realize it, but when their dad died, Rose needed to supplement her finances, so she learned to catch, clean and sale fish. This was fun quality time with the girls and helped with bills too. Monday came too soon and as they were packing up, Rose noticed and a puddle of OIL under her SUV. She knew nothing about cars, so the fear that it might not be something simple, hit her quickly. Thoughts of: What if she needed another engine-or car? Where would that money come from? That would be a lot of fish or maybe she would need a second job. When she thought of a second job she thought of Paul, so she stopped at Paul’s on the way home for some oil and a hug.

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How ya like my hat? Cowgirl hat

How ya like my hat?
Cowgirl hat

One of my passions is going to yard sales, thrift stores and flea markets, but years ago I moved into a smaller home, that means most of my yard sailing is for fun – not for need or want. It’s also good quality time if I’m with with a friend, family or lady friend.

Typically what you do at yard sales, is casually pick an item up and ask, how much. If it’s a dollar, I’ll probably get it otherwise I wouldn’t have picked it up in the first place. If they say five dollars I will normally put it down and move on, while not looking at them.

George and I were out all morning and haven’t found anything of value yet. Well, he did get an eight milometer nut driver to complete his set. Then, as soon as I saw it, I knew I wanted a picture of me wearing it. I could tell from a distance that it was in ratty shape and figured it would be cheap. I was inching towards the hat, when I noticed a lady at the other end of the tables doing the same. Somehow I knew she wanted it too. At first we were the same distance from the hat, so I started to move a little quicker than normal. She moved quicker though and was within yards of it, but I was closer to the lady collecting the money, so I asked, “How much for the hat?”

The proprietor said, “Two dollars.”

I said, “Sold.” And quickly handed her the money, then reached over grabbed the hat and put it on my head.

I didn’t know there was such a thing as a Cowgirl Hat, till the lady suitor told me, “You know that hat is for a girl, right?”

I said, “No way! What makes it a girls hat?”

She said, “Let me show you.” As she reached for it, while it was still on my head.

“No way!” I grabbed it by the sides, pulling it down tight and curled it up even more than it already was.

She said, “Three, four, okay five dollars, and that’s it!” She said all this, while my friend George took some pictures of me wearing the hat.

 

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From the yard sale, we went to the Charlotte Hall Veterans Home, where I had some photos hanging in an art show. She followed us and while George and I were in the hallway looking at the photos, she walked around the corner and offered me ten dollars. I realized all I really wanted was some photos of the hat for this story, so I told her, “Here it’s yours for free, if you take some pictures of me with my photos.”

She said, “Great, which ones are yours?” She took several shots of me standing next to my photography, then we started talking about them.

 

 

During that time, I told her, “I buy hats for cheap, then write stories about them.”

“What do you do with the hats after?”

“I normally give them to someone, like you. It worked out perfect, because I especially wanted these pictures with this hat.”

I gave her my card, just before she sauntered down the hallway and out the door, then she stuck her head back in and said, “I’ll take all the hats, that you don’t want. I’ll even meet you and take the photos for your stories.”

“Okay, call me.”

Well we ended up dating, married and divorced. It’s so sad, because now she doesn’t chase me anymore.

Your three words, my little story Lopez’s words, hero, doom & lunch

Your three words, my little story

Lopez’s words, hero, doom & lunch

 

Cathy’s day started much like any other day ̶serving breakfast at the Porter House with Justine cooking and Lucy complaining, as she normally does. This morning Cathy was the only waitress, for some unknown reason Jodi didn’t call for a ride. Even though this shift opens the dinner, they get off at noon, so they’re known as the LUNCH Crew. They wondered why Jodi didn’t call, so after lunch the crew went to her house to check on her.

 

Saturday’s on Beemer Street was known for its hustle and bustle, kids playing, grass being cut and neighbors talking across the fences. This overcast Saturday was different though, other than the lunch trio, the only other person in the neighborhood was the mail man. Jodi’s front door was locked, so Lucy went to the back door and found it broken down, not broken in, but it was laying on the kitchen floor. She didn’t dare go in, and on her way back to the front yard, she noticed windows broke at the neighbor’s house. It was way too eerie, houses broken into, lack of activity, and of course no Jodi. Lucy was quick to call the police and complain.

 

Shortly after one cop got there, several more arrived and taped off the whole street. After taking their statements, they were ushered off the site. Cathy went home and didn’t see Justin and Lucy till they picked her up later that evening. They felt a night out was in order and might wipe out some of the scenes from earlier in the day, so they headed to ‘Taylor’s’, for some music, pool and alcohol. However, the bar was desolate just like Beemer Street. The bartender and two other patrons were the only people there besides the lunch crew. It was a little too early to get drunk, but that’s what they wanted to do.

 

No one came in the bar till the sun went down, and that was a stranger who was seductively hypnotic, and was dressed to the nines, excluding the blood that saturated the front of his suit. Our little town of Beemerville had few strangers and when it did, gossip went around quickly, especially about a blood soaked visitor like him. He walked in the front door and two female strangers came through the back, they also had a very erotic attraction about them. Lucy was immediately mesmerized by spooky front door stranger-she wasn’t complaining at all, and that didn’t sit right with Justin. As the stranger walked to Lucy, Justin stepped between them. The stranger back handed Justin so hard he went flying through the front window and landed in the street. The other patrons didn’t stand a chance, they were quickly ravaged by the blood sucking couple that came in through the back. Shortly after Lucy went limp at the end of the vampire’s fangs, the bartender fired his shotgun at the male vampire and Cathy swiftly jumped through the broken window. Lucy fell to the floor and within seconds the bartender was drained of all life too.

 

Horrid screams filled the night air as Cathy grabbed Justin and ran to the nearest alley. As they cowered behind a dumpster for hours she convinced him that the strangers were vampires, they didn’t have the strength or bravery to move a muscle. As gloom and DOOM fell over the little town, Justin grabbed a broken beer bottle for defense, until Cathy handed him a broken piece of wood from a nearby pallet. He thought, “Duh what am I thinking, vampires?” Neither one of them have ever been in a fight before, especially against blood thirsty vampires, so the thought of ramming a stick into the heart of a moving body was beyond comprehension. At dawn it got suspiciously quiet. That’s when they remembered the sun and vampires don’t mix, so after the sun came up they slowly stepped out into the street. Both of them wished they had fought, but they realized that the sun was the HERO, now every day starts with a hero.

The dog hit us

My short story below, is about 1,200 words, so you probably wont finish it quickly. It’s an interesting story though, and if you do read it to the end, please tell me if you think it’s fact or fiction.

 

The Dog Hit Us

We were driving north on route 381, when a dog ran into the side of Joe’s Ford Pinto. I know, you’re thinking, “What?” Let me explain. It happened late one night in the early 1970’s. Several hours before this strange incident occurred, my friend Joe and I dropped a hit of acid a piece. It must have been pretty good, because eight hours later we were still going strong.

Driving while intoxicated is something that has been frowned a pone for years, but it was something that I either did or was a part of until 1989. I wasn’t driving this time, and Joe was on a mission. He enjoyed driving and wanted to do some donuts in neighboring yards. I don’t think they were enemies, I think it was just something he wanted to do. The first several yards went off without a hitch, three donuts apiece, then it was Sergeant Smith’s yard. When Joe did donuts, it wasn’t just one, he went round and round till he thought the yard had enough. The Sergeant’s yard was no different, although there was a hitch this time. The car stalled out in the process of the third Smith donut. I was already nervous, because I had no choice of three donuts, two donuts or any at all. I would rather enjoy the acid without going round and round tearing up someone’s front yard.

About the fourth time Joe tried to start the car, the front porch light came on. No matter how scared I was, I was able to turn slightly to the right and peer over my shoulder toward the house. In the shadow of the dimly lit porch, I saw a figure with a long cylindrical item extended from his right arm. This form was standing at the edge of some steps that led down to the front yard. I couldn’t be sure, but it was likely that this person was the serge. The imaginary suggested that it was a shotgun hanging from his hand, so I ducked below the back of the seat. About that time the car started and off we went with grass and dirt flying everywhere. I looked at Joe and his return look was accompanied with a loud scream of triumph.

We were heading in the direction of 381, but since Joe was from the area, back road trips were something that always took place. I’m not talking about the typical blacktop back roads, because we were already on them. This was a farming region and one farm would typically lead to another farm, way back in the fields. We ended up driving from an area called, ‘Dog Patch’ to an area near a country store called ‘The Little Store.’ From there we headed north on 381, in the direction of Washington D.C. When we were doing the donuts, I knew we were going as fast as that little Pinto could go. I knew this, because I could feel it in my chest. However, at that point I think we were going the speed limit, but we figured out later that when we were driving much slower than that. The next part of the story will explain why I think this.

The slow pace of the gravel roads calmed me down from the near heart attack of the donuts. However, I was still immersed in a strong trip. Route 381 is not an interstate or highway, it was a single lane black top road with houses on both sides, and sometimes the houses are pretty close to the road. We already out ran a few dogs, that were trying to catch our hubcaps, but then it happened, a dog caught us. Yep, this dog ran into the driver side of the car, we noticed later that it hit us hard enough to dent the driver door. From the point of contact we traveled no further than thirty feet. Since the dog was able to catch us and we were able to stop within thirty feet, we figured we were driving really slow in a fifty mile an hour speed zone.

It was around four o’clock in the morning, when we stopped, turned around, and then parked on the broken white line in the middle of the road. We sat there frozen, while facing the dog for what felt like hours, but I’m sure it was only a few minutes. The dog was also laying on the broken white line, and as if it was planned there wasn’t a car in sight. I can’t remember if the radio was ever on that night, but at that moment there wasn’t a sound in the world except for my heart beat.

Neither of us wanted to be there, we certainly didn’t want to look at a dead dog in the middle of the road. It was an immediate downer and the trip was over. Amid the looming fear we decided to pull the dog out of the road. Without looking at each other we both reached for the door handles at the same time and stepped outside of the car at the same time, only to walk no further than the front of it. I was feeling terrible that we had something to do with the death of this poor animal and I’m sure Joe was too. We looked at each other as if on cue, then stepped toward the lifeless dog. I started to feel the effects of the drug again, maybe the fresh air and the uncertainty of the situation restored the stimuli that I didn’t really want at this time. Joe was on the left of the dog and I was ten feet away on the right of it. We slowly stepped toward the horror that we both shared. I inched closer to what I knew would be an ongoing nightmare for years to come.

Neither one of us were taking charge of the situation. Without a word said, we knew Joe would grab the front legs and I would grab the back ones. As we started to bend over and remove the dog, it jumped up and darted into the darkness toward a house on Joe’s side of the road. When this happened we both jumped back, I fell flat on my butt and Joe stumbled but somehow stayed on his feet. I was stunned as we both wandered back to the front of the car, before we got back in the car we turned around and noticed some vapor rising from a pile of poop and a splash of pee that the dog left in the middle of the road.

There were still no cars coming or bystanders from the nearby houses, so we took our time getting back in the car. I looked at Joe and said, “At least we didn’t kill it”.

Joe said, “All we did was scare the shit out of it.”

‘fact or fiction’