Prompt by: Prompts of Resilience

Pigeon Prompt: 100 words based on the picture

“Coo,” the pigeon urged as the shadows came down from above.

“Watch your step mama,” said Sonny.

“How many steps are there?”

“Too many. We’ve got to hurry.”

“I am hurrying,” replied his mama, taking one step at a time.

The pigeon ruffled his feathers.

“There they are!” screamed a voice from the top step.

“Quicker mama,” said Sonny.

The shadow rushed down the steps. The pigeon fluttered his wings about the man’s head.

Sonny and his mama scooted into the taxi safely.

“Free at last,” said Sonny’s mama as the taxi drove away. The pigeon escaped to the roof where it settled to preen its feathers.

Prompt by: Caro’s Writing Perspectives: One Hundred-Word Wonders

Prompt: SINNERS

Anissa Kensington stood transfixed by the scene revealing itself in slow motion. Elegance refined. Soft warm hues inviting a mind to wander across landscapes. Words caressing the soul, deeply touching places that rarely are touched. Questions raised and answered with subtle intonations that are joyous and invigorating, inviting moans of pleasure from a softening, alert awareness.

Anissa turned her head with deliberate intention seeking a secondary view, creating a fresh understanding that rose to the occasion. Her mind crackled with the excited insights her eyes were inhaling.

“If I am a sinner, I am willing to sin again for this.”

Prompt by: Writer pilgrim Substack: Writing Prompt 163

Prompt: Picture Prompt

A 100 word story

Photo by:Writer Pilgrim by So Elite: blingnotbling.substack.com

Perched in the flower bed he towered over the agora. Winter and summer he watched as purchase and transgression occurred with equal animity. Mute in his protestations of the intrigues that surrounded him Seth spent days lauding over the events hoping to see improvement but ultimately eyeing unsatisfying words and behaviours. Over the years he quietly faded, acquiring a rusty attitude before succumbing to the degradations of all who enter the final phase of their careers, the knowledge they performed well only to be replaced by evermore youthful workers.

“It seems,” he lamented, “that our efforts fall on deaf ears.”

Joni Mitchell had intended to attend Woodstock in 1969 but an appearance on the highly influential Dick Cavett Show had her manager suggesting that there might not be a way to get her back from the festival in time for the show. This led her to watch what she could of the coverage on television and to hear first hand from Crosby, Stills and Nash about the event. Later in 1969 she performed the song for the first time. Joni’s version was the b side of The Big Yellow Taxi. The songs rose to #3 on the influential CHUM chart. CSN and Y adapted it in early 1970 making a classic rock song that went to #1 for 2 weeks on Toronto’s CHUM chart in May of that year. Also in 1970 Matthews Southern Comfort adapted the song which went to #4 on the CHUM chart in April 1971.

Prompt from: Stories from the Jukebox

Prompt by: Bill Ferguson

Prompt #35: Woodstock by Joni Mitchell

Cletus looked up from where he was chopping firewood. The noisy rustling sound of someone clomping heavily through the forest had caught his attention. He carefully thumped his ax into the log he was chopping and sat down on the stump. He had found patience since he learned to live out in the woods. He might need it now.

“Cletus!” yelled a strong voice from in the woods. “At last.”

Cletus strained his eyes. “Robert?”

“I am here,” exclaimed Robert as he stepped out of the dense woods into the clearing. Cletus’ house and barn stood off to one side. “I found you at last.”

”Robert, what are you doing here?”

“I came to see my old friend,” explained Robert. “It’s been too long.” His eyes hinted at other questions.

“No,” said Cletus.

“No,” repeated Robert, puzzled. “You haven’t heard what I am going to say.”

“Robert, I don’t need to hear it. When I moved here I gave up the game.”

“How have you been, Cletus?”

Cleus looked at Robert who was once a close friend.

“So this is where you live now,” continued Robert as he tried to make a connection. “It’s a long way through the woods.” He shook off the tangles on his clothing as he looked around the clearing spying a small barn, a modest house and a chicken coop.

“Since you are here, would you like some coffee?”

“I would love it,” replied Robert as they walked to the small fire pit. Cletus picked up a coffee cup and blew into it before pouring coffee and handing it to Robert.

Robert had eyed the process and felt wary of the coffee. “Like the boy scouts you are always prepared.”

“I just drink a lot of coffee.” Cletus regarded Robert. “I have forgotten my manners. Please have a seat,’ he said, indicating a stump by the fire. “How have you been Robert?”

“Quite busy. I’m still travelling the circuit. I have my own band now,” replied Robert with a touch of pride.

“Do you now?” asked Cletus. “You always liked playing in a band,” he observed.

“Nothing like connectivity to fire the creative juices. How about you? What have you been up to?” Robert felt itchy with the small talk but the game had to be played.

“As you can see I cleared the forest and built up my paradise here. Just over there beyond the trees I have a rather large garden that keeps me well supplied for the winter. I am mostly off grid. I do have some solar power panels to provide the juice I need to run my refrigerator, water pump, heat pump, and freezer. Past that, living the life!” he said with a smile.

“You really took that going back to the land and set your soul free stuff seriously.”

Cletus smiled. “As you know I didn’t want to become a cog that was turning to someone else’s tune anymore. All the business was too much.”

“You are still getting your royalty cheques.”

“They have allowed me to live the life I chose.”

Robert barked a little laugh. “No phone. No internet. Nothing much from the mid 20th century on. I couldn’t live like this.”

“Robert, what brought you all the way out here to see me. You are so far from your comfort level that I am intrigued.”

“You said no earlier.”

“It was a reflex. I am protective of my peace and my life as it is where I live.”

“Do you still play?”

“I have my old acoustic guitar. I don’t practice but I do play from time to time. Old habits die hard.”

Robert looked eagerly at Cletus. “Do you still write?”

“From time to time. I still enjoy it.” He started singing

Illumination
Corruption
And diving diving diving diving
Diving down to pick up on every shiny thing

“As I said, the business aspect is an issue but singing and writing I still enjoy.”

“Black Crow by Joni. Good tune. Your voice is still amazing.“

“It’s nice to know that someone else enjoys it. Robert, true knowledge lies in embracing the “in-between,” the illusions, and the acceptance of both gains and losses that come with experience and wisdom. I have done this therefore I am here where I belong.

“The boys want to reform the band.”

“Do they now?” returned Clerus with a twinkle in his eyes. “Why? We had our time. It was time to move on when I left.”

“Our old songs are popular once again. It would be fun to tour for a bit and revisit our old times. Maybe even put an album together. Your songs would create interest.”

Cletus stood up. “Thank you Robert but no. I’ve looked at it from many sides. I just don’t need that aspect of it anymore.” Just then a butterfly landed on his arm.

Robert looked up through the trees before looking back at Cletus. “No bomber jet planes riding shotgun in the sky? You could sing Woodstock again.”

“I never did like our version. It was too much like CSNY and not enough like Matthews Southern Comfort. That has the real feeling of Woodstock.”

Robert regarded his old friend with care. He had known that the mission would end like this but the boys in the band had asked him to try. “You won’t change your mind?”

Cletus walked over to where Robert was standing and shook his hand. “No. I am firm on that point. Next time you visit, wear more appropriate clothing. It won’t get destroyed on your journey through the woods.” They both looked down at Robert’s expensive dress shoes as he wiggled a foot clearing muck off it.

“You are inviting me back?” With shock Robert thought, “This is a first.”

“You’re as quick as ever Robert. You are welcome back anytime. And because I am feeling magnanimous you can bring the band with you. It will be like old times for a couple of days. It is the best I can do.”

Robert smiled and waved as he started off.

Cletus watched Robert disappear into the woods. He picked up his coffee cup, and took a swig, Setting it back down he let his voice ring out.

We are stardust
We are golden
And we've got to get ourselves
Back to the garden

Cletus smiled. A visit would be good.

Songs written by Joni Mitchell referenced

Woodstock

Black Crows

Both Sides Now

Prompt by: Woman Rising

Prompt: Heaven : Fun story for Tuesday, the Rodney Dangerfield of the week.

Ring Ring.

“Hello”

“Call from heaven. Will you accept the charges?”

Connie looked at her phone as she moved it away from her ear. “One would think they are beyond collect calls,” she rumbled. “Yes,” she said enthusiastically. “I wonder who is calling.”

“Hi Connie,” said a high voice. “It’s me, Bob Hope. My calendar is so empty it asked me for career advice. Hang on Connie,” there was some shuffling in the background.

“Hi Connie, this is God, “ said a raspy old voice that sounded suspiciously like George Burns. “I’m here with Jack Benny.”

“Now cut that out George. I haven’t come all this way to let someone else introduce me.”

“Honk,”

“Was that…” started Connie.

“I’d a like some tutti frutti ice cream,”

“Honk.”

“Make that two.”

Connie settled back in her chair.

“A wig, tan spray, the truth.” There was a knowing pause. “Words you won’t hear from the President’s mouth.” A cymbal crashed in the background.

“Now cut that out.”

Connie sighed. “Is there not enough of an audience up there?” she wondered before she hung up on the conversation.

Prompt by: Writer pilgrim Substack: Writing Prompt 162

Picture Prompt

Photo by:Writer Pilgrim by So Elite: blingnotbling.substack.com

Sam woke up wondering what he was wearing. Black spandex from top to bottom. A pair of well worn clogs adorned his feet. Something frilly he didn’t recognize on his head. He lifted his head from its resting spot and quickly returned it to its original position. There it remained until the dizziness stopped. He shuffled his head slowly to take a look around the room. Sam quickly shut his eyes and took a deep breath. He looked at the room again. It only reinforced that it looked like a tornado hit it. There were clothes everywhere. Food boxes, package wrapping, alcoholic leftovers and people. There were people strewn about the room like it was an old fashioned sleep in. Some in clothes. Some out of clothes. He wondered what he had gotten up to. Sam shook his head slowly trying to avoid the pounding headache before he rose to swaying to his feet. He looked around in disgust as he walked to the door and opened it only to have his eyes attacked by searing sunlight. He reached back inside the door and rescued a pair of sunglasses that were dangling from a curtain tie back. He stepped out on the porch and took in the view. The yard was just as littered as the inside of the house. Sam groaned loudly.

“Hey Sam,” called a voice from the other side of the fence. “Wasn’t that a party!” it exclaimed before heading off somewhere.

Sam took one small step. “First thing I need to do is determine where I am,” he said as he walked to the gate avoiding the mess and the overflowing refuse container..

A couple of wolf whistles later Sam recognized the bridge across the water. “Home here I come,” he thought glumly. Getting there was going to be the death of him. He took a step before sitting down on the park bench. He closed his eyes and drifted off to sleep.

Song referenced

Wasn’t That A Party by the Irish Rovers

Prompt by: Turtles of Alchemy: A Turtle Prompt

Prompt: Touched by the Sun

PROMPT: Touched by the Sun

Write us a story of calm in the storm. Freedom from fear. Love shining through.

“A single act of kindness throws out roots in all directions, and the roots spring up and make new trees.” – Amelia Earhart

He opened his door and looked out at the masses. It always amazed him that people camped out on his doorstep.

“Welcome to my house,” he intoned in his determined voice. “Thank you for all that you have done today.”

John turned to the staff of his restaurant and signalled that they were to expect guests. He turned and walked out the door to greet people on the sidewalk.

The first person stepped forward. “Thank you John from the bottom of my heart. You have inspired me to turn my life around.”

“Thank you for your contribution,” John said as he lifted the bag the gentleman was offering. “It is nice of you to credit me for turning your life around but it was within you the whole time.”

“Without you it would still be hidden. Thank you.” The man walked towards the door of the restaurant.

A young woman rushed up to John with her baby. “Can you bless him? Please. You have to bless him.”

John smiled and said in a soothing voice, “I am neither a minister or a priest. Your child was blessed the moment he was placed in your arms for the first time. Your blessing is enough to help him grow in this world.” He smiled his best smile as he peeked under the blankets to see a smiling face looking up at him.

“Thank you for all you do,” she murmured in awed tones as she moved towards the restaurant doors.

And so it went for the rest of the day. John smiled, glad handed, talked and received blessings as people donated objects for those less fortunate. Conversations were held that uplifted many. John looked around often only to see more people gathering than had ever been there before..

As he was about to close the doors to his restaurant for the night a minister slowly moved his way up the stairs.

“Father,” John said, “please come in.” He held the door open as the Minister entered. They went to a table in the restaurant. The staff was preparing for the next day.

“How can I help you Father?” John inquired.

The Minister looked at John. “My parishioners talk about you often. I thought I would come to meet you. I have watched you all day, greeting people, some who never enter your restaurant. Having discussions that lifted spirits.”

John smiled. “They are all potential customers, Father.”

The Minister returned the smile. “They are more than that John.”

“What do you mean?”

“They see in you the qualities that brought Jesus the crowds that surrounded him when he spoke. A quiet understanding. A listening ear. Someone who is respected. Someone whose advice is sought. Wisdom is gained from your sharing.”

“That is nice, Father but I am but a humble man. I do what I feel is necessary in a nonreligious way.”

“You collect goods for charity. You listen and encourage. You provide food. You do good work.”

“Thank you Father. I do the best I can to help everyone.”

“That is all that could be asked of you.” The Minister looked at John with a knowing smile. “Your crowds are growing. More are seeking your attention. You are attracting crowds that concern the authorities.”

“I recognize the concerns and am taking steps. I do not wish to inconvenience my neighbours.”

“Be careful John,” said the Minister as he stood. “It always starts this way. Before too long the tide will turn.” with that final statement he turned and walked towards the exit.

John sat back in his chair and rubbed his eyes.

“Trouble my love?”

He looked up at his wife. “We may need a vacation. Time away from here to think about our futures.”

“Thinking about our future is a prudent idea,” she replied.

John smiled knowing whatever the solution was, they would figure it out together.

Prompt by: Woman Rising

Week #1 Flash Writing Prompt: The Dream

Write a 500-ish-word story. Any genre.

Thunder crashed over head and sent the dog scooting under the desk where he quivered.

“That’s a good place for him,” stated Marcia as she picked up her glass of wine. “He’s been basically useless since Mike left.”

Cindy paused with her wine glass poised over her mouth before pulling it back and setting it on the table. “Mike is gone?”

Marica looked over the rim as she drained her glass. “More?” she inquired as Cindy held her glass out. “Yes,” Marcia said rather huffily. “He is gone. I had to tell him to go his own way. I had enough of his pettiness, his rudeness and most certainly his…..”

“Playing games, His macho ideas, his…”

“Let’s not bash the guy too much. Let’s say it was too lonely being with him. Been down that way once. Okay, been down that way twice. Never going back again.” They laughed loudly.

When did this happen?” inquired a wide eyed Cindy.

“When we were down at Silver Springs trying to make up for the last fight. He had bought me a chain. At that point I turned to him and said I don’t need no sugar daddy. I need a man who cares about me and is into me. “

“Good for you,” replied Cindy. “You don’t need your illusions of love shattered by anyone.” They listened as the wind blew in the night. Cindy spoke to break the silence. “You’ve got to think about the times to come. Forget him. He is second hand news.”

Marica looked over at Cindy. “He sent me this note.”

“I wish you all the love in the world”

“Nice thought,” said Marcia, “but it’s too late. I don’t believe in miracles. He’s not going to change. He’s gone his own way. I can’t stop my life. I have to move on.”

Cindy looked at Marcia with large eyes. “So you are over him. He’s not coming back into your life?”

Marcia glanced over at Cindy, taking a good look. “You are a good friend Cindy. Thank you for listening.”

“My love’s got nothing to do. I am here for you.”

Marcia refilled their wine glasses. “We need to talk.”

Songs referenced.

Rumours by Fleetwood Mac:

Second Hand News

Dreams

Never Going Back Again

Don’t Stop

Go Your Own Way

Songbird

The Chain

You Make Loving Fun

I Don’t Want to Know

Oh Daddy

Gold Dust Woman

Silver Springs

Announcing Free Writing Challenge: Micro of the Month

Prompt: The Fool: Write a 300 word story

Sunny rubbed her eyes gently and yawned as she walked unsteadily to the front window. She was not a morning person. It always took her a while to pull in all of her senses and become at one with who she was. Sunny stretched in the morning sun feeling the warmth rejuvenate her body. Slowly her eyes focused out the window. She gasped.

“You have got to be kidding me!” she stated with a growing alarm as she went from sleepy to fully awake in nanoseconds.

Quickly she made her way to the front door, undoing the multiple locks and rushing down the stairs. She quickly looked over the yard as she made her way to the road to take in the view fully.

“36 penguins,” she said with little mirth. “There are 36 penguins stuck on stakes in my yard.”

“Do you like them?” she heard from the steps where her partner stood smiling from ear to ear before he noticed the look on her face. “What’s wrong?”

Sunny stormed past him into the house. He followed her puzzled at her reaction.

“Is this some kind of April Fool’s joke?” she demanded.

“No,” he said with some caution. Red flags were screaming at him. “I thought it would be a cute way to celebrate your birthday.”

Sunny blinked. “It’s my birthday?”

“April first. You are no April fools joke,” he murmured as he embraced her. “Happy Birthday. I guess you missed the sign on the lawn.”

“I feel like such a fool,” she replied. “How could I forget my birthday?”

Prompt by: Writer pilgrim Substack

Writing Prompt 161: Prompt Station

Picture Prompt

Photo by:Writer Pilgrim by So Elite: blingnotbling.substack.com

Geoffrey stood back in contemplation as he considered his wall of fame. He had conceived it years ago in acknowledgement of people who he admired for strengths they brought to their field of work.

“I like how they saw things differently and influenced my life,” he said with pride as he looked down at his latest acquisition. It hadn’t been easy to obtain yet he felt that this latest addition was one he could add with confidence.

“Mackenzie Scott,” he said as he looked at the signed picture. “You didn’t have to give away billions of dollars to help people but you did in a world where riches often are used to obtain more wealth. Welcome to my wall.”

Picture prompt:

Photo by:Writer Pilgrim by So Elite: blingnotbling.substack.com

“Daddy, can I have one?” inquired seven year old Sara as she stood looking at the ballerina’s hanging from strings in the store window.

Her father stopped long enough to glance in their direction. “Why would you want crap like that?” he replied.

“I am going to be a dancer,” said Sara. “I like the one pretty in pink. I think she looks like me.” She looked at her father and could see he was wavering. “Please daddy.”

“Oh alright,” he said in a faux dejected voice before heading into the store.

Later that night Sara sat the ballerina on her nightstand. “Good night my pretty ballerina.” She thought quietly. “I need to come up with the perfect name for you. I will have to give it some thought.” She turned out the light and rolled over. Before long her breathing quieted.

The ballerina looked over at Sara. “My name is Svetlana.” Svetlana looked over towards the door. “I am crap am I?” She jumped down from the table landing perfectly on the floor. “We shall see about that.”

Caro has some of the best prompts!

Prompt by: Caro’s Writing Perspectives: One Hundred-Word Wonders

Prompt: SOME LIKE IT HOT; DO THE RIGHT THING.

100 words

The door opened and the battle began. Pushing from either side. Warm coat? Shorts and a tee shirt? Bathing suit? Sunscreen or a hat and gloves? Boots or sandals? A hand goes up to protect the eyes from the glare. Minor adjustments or full on participation?

“Make a decision! In or out!” the kids yelled.

Paralyzed, Gavin’s eyes cleared as he looked out the door. He felt slightly aggrieved. The end of March was never sure which season it stood in. Indecision wreaked havoc. Gavin wished it would make up its mind.

Some like it hot. Some like it not.

Writing Prompt: Week 3 - Doorways

Today’s Prompt: Open a door to somewhere familiar

Photo by: Vlada Karpovich - Photography

Iris stood on the bridge over the river. It had been many years since she had stood here with the water flowing quickly under her feet. Coming home was supposed to be beneficial for the soul. She sure hoped that was true. Iris had her doubts.

Iris turned from her view of the lake and looked up the ancient street.

“Not much has changed in the last twenty years,” she observed. Jim’s Pizza Parlour sat smiling with its picture window, the aromatic smells pouring out the door and taking over the sidewalk cafe. The Chocolate Shoppe that was just before the 1920’s theatre called out her name as it had many times in her youth. She quickly passed the door while her heart yearned for the ice cream floats from her past.

Iris walked on up the street taking in the sites as childhood memories flooded back. The Apothecary. The clothing store where her mother had bought her prom dress. She stopped and looked in the window of Sam’s Place with its formica counter and plastic chairs and wondered if the food was still as terrific. If she had time she would check it out later. Iris sighed.

“So many memories.”

With one last look at the restaurant she continued on. Next was the jewelry store where there was a purchase that changed her life. She moved on quickly, shoving that memory aside.

Iris slowed her pace for the last 50 yards. Even at this pace she reached her destination rather quickly. Iris looked at the whimsical display outside the door and smiled remembering the time she almost sold it before having her sale reined in.

“A permanent fixture is not for sale!”

She glanced through the window to see the new items that decorated the place.

“These might even look good in my backyard,” she mused. Iris had her hand on the door handle when she quickly removed it. Her nerves touched her making the reason for her visit home come into question. She looked up as a figure came to the door and pushed it open.

“What are you doing here?” came from a crisp demanding voice. “I thought I would never see you again.”

“I came to see you mom.”

“Me? Why would you come to see me? You made your choice.”

“Mom, I didn’t make a choice. You made a decision.” They looked at each other warily. “Can I come in?”

Her mother ran through a gamut of emotions before answering in staccato bursts. “Alright. Come in.” She turned and walked away from the door leaving Iris to open it again and enter the store.

“I like what you have done with the place.”

“Are you being sarcastic? I never did like sarcasm.”

“No mom. No sarcasm. Simply a compliment. Your store looks really nice. You have maintained the old feel and done wonders with the new decorations. Your displays are much better than I remember you having.”

Her mother regarded Iris sharply. “Well. Thank you. I guess. So tell me why you have returned after all these years. It’s not like we are close or anything.”

Iris knew the next words would be the beginning or the end. “Mom, I have heard that you are ill.”

Her mother’s hawk-like eyes zoomed in taking in every feature of Iris. “I don’t know where you would have heard that.”

“You and I may not talk but I still have people here who like me.”

“I like you. I just never understood you.”

Iris took a step back looking at her mother with eyes of wonder. Her mother swiped her hand behind her for a stool and sat down. “I am ill,” she admitted with a touch of regret. “And it is nice to have you here. I’ve been thinking about you.”

Iris’ eyes opened a bit wider. “Such a quick change,” Iris said to herself. “Mom, neither of us are getting any younger. Your 80th birthday is coming up.”

“Nice of you to remember.” She looked a bit stricken. “Sorry.”

“We both need to work through this. You are alone.”

“I am not alone.”

“I am your only living relative.”

Her mother thought about it for a minute. “I will concede your point.”

“I know this is a shock having me here, in your store when you thought you would never see me again. But deep in my heart I have always loved you. Much like you feel about me I never really understood you. I have taken the first step by being here. Since you are ill, maybe we can work something out.”

The door opened and a customer walked in. Iris’s mother stood up.

“I would like to have dinner with you and see if we could make up for the past and start something new. I think at this time in our lives it may be for the best.”

Her mother’s eyes followed the customers. “Sam’s at 7 pm. Don’t be late,” she said as she walked over to the customer.

Iris smiled. “It is going to be a lot of work but at least it is a start,” she said as she walked out the door.

Her mother had positioned herself to watch Iris as she left the store. “I wonder,” she said to herself. “It may be time to move on.” She turned to the customer. “How may I help you today?”

Writing Prompt 159

Prompt Station

Photo by:Writer Pilgrim by So Elite: blingnotbling.substack.com

“Avril, look.”

Avril glanced out the window at where her co-worker was pointing. An elderly man wearing a spring jacket with a scarf was walking down the boulevard. Avril frowned as she noticed he was leaning heavily on his cane.

“A little more every year,” she sighed. She noticed him perk up a little bit as he approached the table near the entrance to the patio in front of the bistro.

He stopped to have a sip of the water and peruse the newspaper Avril had left on the table.

Avril picked up the plate with a sticky bun on it and pushed through the doorway. Sam Jones looked up from his engagement with the sports section.

“Good morning Avril.”

“Good morning Sam. Nice to have you back.” She set the plate on the table.

“It’s nice to be back. This winter was a long one.” He glanced at the sticky bun. “You didn’t have to do this but it is nice.” Sam settled himself on a chair.

Avril beamed a smile as she set a napkin down. “I have to honour tradition. Every year when the spring rolls around we see you again.”

“I am grateful. Spring allows me to resume my trips around the neighbourhood.”

“Anything new in the newspaper?”

Sam laughed. “The world seems to be in sane hands here. Elsewhere? Not so much.” He took a bite of the bun.

“How are things in your world?”

Sam looked up midbite and set the bun back down. “I have some bad news. Olivia has passed away.”

“Oh no!” exclaimed Avril.

“It’s sad but we move on.”

“How old?”

“Eleven.”

“A little young for a cat.”

“We had some good times. She was the sparkle in my life. She was still playful right up to the end.” Sam took a bite of the bun.

“Are you getting a new cat?”

Sam smiled. “I am getting a little old for a new pet.” He took the last bite of the bun and wiped his face. “Well I must be going,” Sam stated as he rose from his chair. “It has been nice talking to you. Thank you for honouring tradition. There’s too little of that these days.“ He reached for the water and took a sip. Setting the glass down he turned to Avril, “Good to see you again.”

As he straightened up Avril stepped forward and gave Sam a hug. “And you. Look after yourself Sam,” she whispered.

Sam steadied himself on his cane as she released him. “Always. I’ll see you tomorrow,” he said cheerfully as he glided out of the patio entrance.

“He’s looking good for a late octogenarian,” she mused. “Always a bright spot in my day.” She gave some thought to tomorrow. “After 20 years it may be time to add something new to the daily routine. The sticky bun was a nice addition.” She watched as Sam turned the corner and headed home. “Maybe a fruit cup? Maybe something else.” Avril picked up the items on the table and walked back into the bistro. “It sure was nice to see him again.”

Prompt from: Stories from the Jukebox

Prompt by: Chris B. Writes

Prompt #32: Peace Somehow by Avi Kaplan

The infighting around Soren was taking its toll on the Board members.

The coffee guy entered the room and observed as he delivered coffee quietly, competently to each member.

“We need to sell!” yelled one voice much louder than the others.

“Sell? That’s absurd. We don’t have enough information.”

“Reports out of Tokyo indicate the market is crumbling.”

“They aren’t reliable.”

“You just want to take the money and run!”

And so it went on and on until the Board members sat in exhaustion.

“Soren, what do you think?”

Soren sat steadily looking out the window as he had for most of the meeting. A quiet ensued until it didn’t.

“What is he doing?”

“Why is he just sitting there?”

The voices around the Boardroom were loud and anxious.

“Can’t he see we are in crisis here?”

“Soren? Soren!”

“That’s great. Just great,” said another member.

The coffee guy stood beside Soren looking at the rest of the Board. His voice spoke with calm reverence as a reminder to himself in response to what was happening.

“Man attains peace by abandoning all desires and moving about without longing.”

“What did you say?” asked a belligerent Board member.

The coffee guy reached out and placed a flask of green tea beside Soren’s cup.

“Thank you,” said Soren with his quiet voice reflecting the calm intensity of his words.

“What did he say?”

“What was the purpose of that?”

Soren turned and picked the flask pouring some green tea. Replacing the flask on the table he took a sip from the cup before setting it down. The coffee guy smiled and exited the room.

Soren smiled. The room calmed. All eyes searched Soren in anticipation.

“We are not at peace with ourselves,” he reflected. “We fight internal wars. We argue and debate and sense power and weakness. We search for more. We search for avenues that are quick fixes for our egos.”

Soren looked around the room. “There will be no decisions until we learn to work as one. Please leave and find your inner peace.” Soren turned and looked out the window.

All sat stunned at this turn of events. As they rose Soren said,

“Please send in the coffee boy.”

Eventually the room cleared. After a few minutes the coffee boy returned.

“You sent for me?” he inquired with interest.

Soren sat looking out the window as the coffee boy stood by the table.

“Man attains peace by abandoning all desires and moving about without longing.”

The coffee boy looked bewildered that he had been quoted.

“As the ocean remains undisturbed by the rivers flowing into it. You remained calm and provided an insight. Please be seated and enjoy the view.”

The coffee boy slipped into the leather chair and looked out the window.

“Peace has been achieved, my new vice president.”

The coffee boy looked confused before smiling.

“Breathe in. Breathe out. Your wisdom is welcome here,” Soren said with a smile. The voice he was looking for walked in from the wilderness. All was going to be well once more.

Prompt: The Spark # 8

Three objects.

Bram settled back against the stainless steel walls and glanced at the sliding door.

“How long will they stay here this time?” he wondered as he stared straight ahead trying to see around the edges of his vision. Since he had been put in the back of the truck there had been nothing. Bumpkis. The blare of the stark white light on the ceiling had left him with nothing but his thoughts. Not that having his thoughts really bothered him. With this lighting he would have to wait. Even when he turned the lights out there was nothing. It was as if they knew.

Loud noises alerted him to movement outside the door. It slid up enough on its rollers for him to see daylight and for them to toss in a photo album, a candle, and a match. The door slammed down with a bang.

“Thanks,” Bram mumbled, knowing no one would hear him or care. The candle he expected. He had been asking for one for weeks. He determined it was the key to his experiment. The photo album was a bonus.

Quickly he turned the bright overhead lights off and sat in the dark. He allowed his eyes time to adjust. Until his isolation he had been too busy to follow up on what he had noticed in dimmer light when he was in his lab. Now that they had taken him on the road, they were giving him an object he wished, in essence encouraging his experiment. He played with the idea. While they were monitoring him 24/7 he wondered if there was something he had given away.

Bram sat quietly for a long time knowing they would be expecting otherwise. The darkness that enveloped him allowed his thoughts to percolate with more efficiency. For days he had glimpses around the edges of his vision creating moments where things were not what they seemed. Movement and shadows vanished when he looked towards them. He had long suspected that what he was experiencing was for real.

Bram reached for the candle that sat on the floor and struck a match to be held to the wick. Light fluttered to life. A warm glow. A sentient moment that flickered at the edges of his perspective. His eyes adjusted quickly.

After a few moments he let his eyes go, relaxing his control over them. As his eyes continued to adjust, small movements were noticed. They were accompanied by hushed voices that flicked in and out of range. He let them wander in and out without any movement on his part. Words and meanings filtered in hushed tones.

He was not surprised when the photo album the Company had provided pulsated open, breathing life into his visions.

Memories rose from the vacuum of the unknown. Distant voices stepped forward. Others gathered from the edges of his view, approaching the album with interest. From the album discussions were held with greater clarity. He marvelled at the wisdom their words imparted. None of the visions or discussions he heard were from people he recognized. He remained a silent observer willing more and more information to be delivered.

A knock brusquely interrupted the revelry. “We have to move,” a disembodied voice spoke.

With those words the album closed abruptly. The shadows eased back into the unknown. The interference from the Company would continue as it had many times before. The fact that they were going to be moving only delayed their interest. Finding a safer place was their priority.

From his past experiences interrogation would follow. Their attempts to dissuade him that time ended with death had no effect on him. The belief that life was a fixture carried on in some fantasy world of their own device made him smile more. If only they knew.

Sighing, he acknowledged their need to move. The book and candle were confiscated. The armed guards were unaware of how much he longed to return to his investigations. They could not see the fragments of gray that hovered with every movement, every thought. Blinded by the light, they travelled through the edges of time, unaware of the possibilities. He waited patiently for the invitation he knew would come forward. It would not be from them.

Once they reached a new location the candle was returned to him. He lit it eagerly and before too long the visions in the periphery were restored.

A voice called, “come join us.” A hand reached out. Bram stepped into the void realizing that his learning was just beginning. What a surprise the Company would have when they rolled up the door. An empty truck was not in their plans.

Prompt from: Stories from the Jukebox

Prompt by: Pasqua’s Shack : Steve McKennon

Prompt: #31: A Bar in Amsterdam by Katzenjammer

Stan looked out over the crowd from behind the curtain. “There are a lot of people here tonight.”

Mary eyeballed Stan. “It’s always a good crowd.” She looked at his nervous fidgeting. He usually didn’t worry about the crowd size. “What’s on your mind?”

Stan glanced over Mary’s way and shoved his nose back into the curtain.

Mary stepped forward. “Stan?” She placed a hand on his arm. She felt the shiver run through him. “Stan,” she said deferentially. “What is really on your mind tonight?”

He took a full minute before he pulled his attention back to the stage. He looked around at the instruments and then took in Mary, his heroine when all else failed him.

“How long have we been doing this?”

Mary saw the glimmer. “7 years,” she replied.

“And what do we have for performing our hearts out for 7 years?”

Mary raised an eyebrow. “We have a job that we enjoy which means we don’t have to get regular jobs. We have our band who are much better than many bands around. We have a loyal following who have never failed us. We perform our songs and are working most days of the year. We have our songs which keep getting better as we rearrange them into something more fashionable. We write new stuff all the time. We have enough money to live a nice life. And we have each other. What do you see?”

“I thought we would be further ahead by now.”

“Further ahead?”

“More money. Hit songs. More recognition. Bigger tours.”

“Stan. While those things would be better in some ways, they would make our life more complicated in others.”

The other band members started onto the stage. Mary looked at them. “Guys, give us twenty minutes.”

“We’re already late,” a voice spoke up.

“Then another twenty won’t hurt. We’re a band. Bands don’t always start on time. Guys. Please.” They all walked back down the stairs and closed the door.

“Something is happening here,” Stan said quietly.

“What do you mean?”

“The fire is on low ember alert. Everyone is great but something just feels off.”

“Do we need to rearrange the song order for the show?”

“Not that off. Just me off. I get a feeling there is something happening that I am unaware of. I can’t put my finger on it.”

“Like you are a psychic and can feel the future?”

“No. Just off as in something doesn’t feel right. A change is needed.”

“The songs? The band? Me?”

“No. Not anything with the band or you. I can’t describe it.”

“Okay. I’ll tell you what. We will sit down after this and look at all the things we talked about earlier and anything else that might come up during our discussions. Once we get it all down we will make a plan. If you want more success let’s plan out how to do that. We have some role models to look at to see if there is a path for us.”

“A plan.”

“We can do this. But we have to be realistic. Sometimes our desires outperform what the reality of the situation brings. All we can do is present our best. That always has to be enough. If we are lucky and the time is right we can reach above our expectations and meet the needs of others with our music,” Mary said with a touch of hope.

“A plan. Ok. Let’s do it.” Stan wandered off to call the band.

Mary watched him walk across the stage. “If we are lucky we will rise above. Where did that come from?” She thought about it as the other band members picked up their instruments. “This show, at a bar in Amsterdam, should be the beginning of our next chapter.”

The curtain opened to a new world.

As I read the lyrics to A Bar In Amsterdam a number of images rushed forward. I wrote descriptions of each of them down and tried to write a story that came from each image. This was the second story that came forward. If I am lucky and can figure out an ending one of the others will come forward too.

The Man With The Plan

Prompt from: Stories from the Jukebox

Prompt by: Pasqua’s Shack : Steve McKennon

Prompt: #31” A Bar in Amsterdam by Katzenjammer

Photo by: Jeremy Perkins (@jeremyperkins) | Unsplash Photo Community

He stood beside his Jeep, inspecting the last relics of winter. “It won’t be too long now,” his faltering voice reflected.

“The evening is too quiet Sam,” observed Rob as he scanned the darkening sky. “I wish there were stars.”

“Aye,” said Sam as he opened the door and slid behind the wheel. “It reminds me of that bar in Amsterdam where it was nothing, then suddenly turned into everything we had ever thought of and then more.”

“And things changed so quickly and so often that each surprise was an icing topper. I remember. Those were the good old days,” Rob stated with far away eyes.

“It’s funny how this storm reminds me of the bar. The rain, the dark.” Sam started the Jeep and put it in gear.

“We should do something like that again soon,” said Rob. “I feel the need to stretch myself out and have some good times again. The storm that night made it more intense.”

Sam focused on his driving. “I could be up for something like that. It would have to be soon though.” He turned his windshield wipers on, turning away the accumulated spray.

“How soon?”

“Before the end of the month. After that it could be a problem.”

Rob looked over at Sam. They had been ride or die friends for as long as either could remember. No regrets. No qualms. Just acceptance. While the rain was falling at a pretty good pace outside, Rob got the sense that it wasn’t that far away inside the Jeep too. “Oh?” he asked.

“I’ve been diagnosed.”

“With what?”

“The big C.”

Rob thought about it for a minute. “With what? Chicken pox? Chlamydia? Cholera? Creutzfeldt-Jakob disease?”

Sam laughed. “That’s why we are friends. You make me laugh. No, the other big C you haven’t mentioned.”

Rob grumbled. “It should be like a game show where you could trade it in for something that is still pretty serious but not as fatal.”

“That would be nice but no.”

“It’s serious?”

“Yep. About as serious as you can get.”

How long?”

“No one really knows. Except, that it is terminal.”

“No therapies? No treatments?”

“No.”

“Any reason?”

“Terminal is terminal. What’s the point?”

Rob eyed the big man as he drove before responding. “It’s sort of like the song.”

But the storm is a-coming cross the hills tonight

Like a vein full of rain to the hearts that should fight.

I’m known for an end, and it’s coming round the bend.

“Something like that,” said Sam as he drove on.

“Does Margie know?” Rob looked at Sam quickly. “Never mind. Of course Margie knows. What was I thinking? How could Margie not know?”

“Margie knows. She’s not taking it particularly well.”

“That’s to be expected. She loves you as much as I do.”

“That’s true and a little sad at the same time.”

“That I love you?” they both chuckled at the words that long ago would not have been uttered. “Times change. So now what?”

“Tonight, just head home for some rest. Maybe some planning this week. Next week I will complete some plans with Margie. Then our trip. After that? Who knows? Get out of bed. Dress myself.”

“Are you okay?” Rob said as Sam pulled up in front of his house.

“Never better,” Sam replied.

“Tomorrow?”

“Give me a few days.”

“A few days it is,” said Rob as he walked up to his front door.

Rob had phoned a few times. Margie promised to tell Sam he had called when Rob decided a visit would be better.

“How is he doing Margie?” inquired Rob.

Margie smiled a little. “About as good as could be expected. He’s gone down hill fairly quickly. Sam’s been waiting for you.”

Rob entered his friend’s room and took in the view. “Welcome,” said Sam as he rolled over in the mobile bed. “You don’t have to be so shocked.”

“Not shocked. You are still you.”

“Even looking like this?”

“I’ve seen you look worse,” Rob replied as they both chuckled before Sam started coughing.

Rob looked at Sam as the coughing subsided and then at Margie. “Margie, could we pull the bed over to the window?” They released the brakes and shuffled it around until Sam could see out the window.

“What am I looking at?” Sam inquired.

Rob pointed. “See that star up there?”

“What about it?”

“It’s Sam Smith Star.”

“What are you talking about?”

“There is this place where you can have stars named after someone.” Rob paused for a reaction.

“And?”

“And I opened the vault and made a decision.”

Sam lifted his head and looked over at Rob and then at the star. “You named a star after me?”

“The way I look at it I wanted to honour our friendship in a unique way while you were still here. Since renaming an arena in your honour was out of my price range this was the best thing I could think of.”

Sam reached out and put his hand on Rob’s arm. “Love you too buddy. Love you too.” They settled down for what would be their last conversation.

Writer pilgrim Substack

Writing Prompt 158

Prompt Station

Photo by:Writer Pilgrim by So Elite: blingnotbling.substack.com

“The story is that they were flying by. One was tired and spotted a piece of wood. He placed it on the netting for security reasons. He liked it so much he decided to stay. Every so often another visits and ends up staying.”

Mabel looked at Joan shocked. “That’s the best you could do? Here’s one for you.” With that Mabel took a sip of water and began. “One day I was sitting out here reading a book when one Cherub dropped by. He got caught up in the netting so I gave him a board to sit on. He liked it so much he invited others and they made it their home.”

“Seriously?” stated Betty. “That’s it?” She shook her head. “One day they were buzzing around killing time. They buzzed over the medical centre looking for advice. They had Cherubism and needed our help. Since then they have lived here because we can offer them cures for their ailments.”

“Hmmph,” Charlotte snorted. “They were transporting God’s Throne when they got tired and deposited over there,” she said pointing to an old decrepit chair, “where it became suitably entangled in the wire. They tugged and heaved until they tired. They can’t go anywhere until they free the throne so now they sit and wait until a solution comes to them.

After all the stories the Cherubs flew off in a huff. “Human’s,” they opined, “can never get the story straight.”

Prompt by: Gibberish: FFF - Museum

Prompts for 27 February 2026

• Write about a historical artifact

• wondrously uninteresting

• “it belongs in a museum”

• A character who is an academic

1000 words

“So I said that I would take them fishing,” said 10 year old Harold as he and his brother walked along the shoreline of Rice Lake.

“How did they ask you?” inquired 11 year old Vernon.

“I was coming back to the dock in the canoe I borrowed from our Uncle.”

“I know that canoe. It belongs in a museum. It is so much better than all those other ones that are lined up on the shore.”

Harold skipped a rock on the water and then looked over at his brother. “Of course when they saw the fish I had in the canoe they wanted to know where I got them. I started to explain but they were unfamiliar with the lake so my explanation fell on deaf ears. It was then that they hired me to take them out to get some fish.”

“And?”

“It was the funniest thing,” started Harold. “They said they knew how to fish but they had never been in a canoe before. I gave them instructions on how to behave in the canoe but they didn’t listen.”

“Oh no,” gasped Vernon with a small laugh. “They didn’t.”

“They did. We weren’t twenty yards from the dock when we went over.”

“And?”

“They couldn’t swim so I got them hanging onto the overturned canoe. Then they started giving me a hard time for it overturning so I began to swim to shore.”

“Knowing those rich people who cottage here, that didn’t go over well.”

“Not at first. Then we started negotiating.”

“They negotiated?”

“They couldn’t swim and they had lost all their tackle, rods and reels into the lake. We were floating further away from the dock. They were getting rather riled about that. When we started negotiating they saw my point and agreed to my terms.”

“Like they had a choice,” chuckled Vernon.

“At first they thought they did but in the end they saw the wisdom of what I was saying. Cash up front. I turned the canoe over and told them not to get in. Then I dove for their equipment and placed it in the boat before we all worked the canoe back to the dock.”

“It’s a good thing the water is only seven feet deep out there.”

“With all those weeds they had no idea.”

“And then what?”

“Once we got to shore they wanted me to take them out fishing again. We negotiated some more. My costs doubled in our discussion with a negotiated additional pay if they flipped the canoe again. So we agreed on tomorrow evening.”

“Hmm,” said Vernon thoughtfully. “Do they need another guide?”

“Maybe. If I am asked I will keep you in mind. It really is easy money.”

They had reached the mouth of the small stream and started to walk along its banks heading inland.

“I wonder if there is anything in Gerry’s trap today. He said we could skin it and take the fur to the trader if we wanted to.”

“That is just a bonus” They walked for another twenty minutes observing nature around them.

As they came around a bend in the stream they came upon a familiar sight. Some deer were slowly moving away from them into the woods near where the stream split into two streams. They stood quietly and watched the deer disappear.

“They need to fatten up a bit before fall,” observed Vernon.

“Nice to know they are around,” added Harold as they walked over to the y in the stream.

Vernon looked down and could see the trap was empty. “The other one is just over there,” said Vernon as he led the way.

“Did I mention that my customers called fishing in a canoe primitive? They kept talking about how, when they are home, all they see are motors attached to the back of boats that push them through the water. No rowing or paddling for them.”

“They are not used to working their muscles,” replied Vernon as he pushed aside the brush to examine another trap.

“I like that they still need me. It’s a good way to make money.”

“Nothing here,” said Vernon as he placed the brush back on the trap. They turned and surveyed their surroundings.

“This is a good place for a trap,” reflected Harold. “A y in the stream. High banks a little further away from the stream to funnel them down this way, especially if they are being chased.”

“Hey. What is that?” asked Vernon as he squatted down.

Harold wandered over to take a look. “It looks like an arrowhead,” he said. “There seem to be many here, “ he said, spying a few on the ground. “They look old.” He kicked at the grass a bit more. “This one is a bit larger,”he said as he bent to pick up another piece of shaped rock. “There aren’t that many natives in the area anymore. I wonder how old these arrowheads are?”

“A lot older than this year,” Vernon replied. In 1912 everything he saw looked older than he was. “It looks like a scraper of some sort,” said Vernon as he pocketed his arrowhead. They picked up a few more treasures from the site before walking a bit further along the stream.

“There’s something white sticking up over here,” said Harold as he bent to pick it up. “It’s stuck in the ground.” He looked around for a solid stick and started digging. “Good thing this soil is loose,” he observed. “Otherwise we would have to come back with shovels.

Soon they were able to work the skull out of the ground.

“It’s not a cow. It looks like it might be deer.”

“It’s a bit bigger than a deer. A moose?”

“Maybe. Let’s take it with us.”

“Good idea.” Harold looked at the sun. “It will be mealtime by the time we get home.” With that they wound their way down the stream and along the lakeshore before turning up the road to their house.

Gerry was walking up the road ahead of them carrying his furs.

“Hey Gerry, look what we found!” they said as they ran to catch up to him.

“Whatcha got there?” he asked before he accepted it from them. “Interesting. Well it’s not a farm animal. The shape is all wrong. It’s not a deer. Where did you find it?”

“We checked your traps like you asked us.” Vernon started.

“It was near there,” added Harold. “And we found these,” he said as they both held out their finds.

Gerry examined the arrows as they slowly walked up the road. “There was a guy in the village the other day. He had been asking about any native sites in the area. I think he is still here so we should talk to him. I think he said he was a scientist of some sort.

“Let’s go!” said Vernon.

Gerry smiled. “After supper. You know how mom and dad are about being there for meals.”

The rest of the walk they asked Gerry about his trip up the river collecting furs.

“Leave the skull out here,” suggested Gerry as they stopped at the back door. “Mom does not like those things in the house.”

Both boys grinned. “We remember the last time,” as the skull was set on the step.

After dinner they scooped up the skull and raced down into the village.

“Gerry said the professor was staying at The Harris Hotel.”

“We’ll look there first.”

As they went through the door they heard, “Well look who it is.” They looked up as their Uncle Tom came striding from the back. “What are you boys up to today?”

“We’re here to visit with Professor Schilling.”

“We have something we want to show him,” added Vernon.

“Harold, I see that you are working hard for some of my customers.”

“It’s fishing season.”

“And you are going out tomorrow?”

“Yes,” replied Harold in earnest.

”You aren’t going to tip the canoe are you?”

“No Uncle. I didn’t tip the canoe today. I did save their lives.”

“A regular little hero aren’t you?”

“Did I hear someone say they were looking for Professor Schilling?” a voice asked.

“Yes,” they both replied.

“What did you want to see me about?”

The two boys looked at each other and nodded. “Well first we have this skull,” said Harold as he removed it from the bag Gerry had given them.

“Fascinating,” replied the professor. “It’s an elk skull.”

“Elk?” asked Uncle Tom. “There are no elk around here.”

“A long time ago,” the professor began, “the natives hunted elk in this area. There have been a few findings over the years. This is interesting. The natives usually forced the elk, moose, or deer into a limited area where it was trapped so they could bring it down.” He looked at the boys with interest. “Where did you find this?”

The boys looked at each other and nodded.

“Be straight with the man,” stated Uncle Tom.

“We were checking Gerry’s traps. It was a little ways away.”

“Did you find anything else?”

They pulled out their artifacts. The professor examined them carefully before pulling a loupe from his pocket and eyeing the artifacts in more detail. After a bit he stood up. “These are historic items and belong in a museum.”

“They are ours,” replied Vernon as he reached for them.

“I am sure we can work something out,” said the professor with a smile.

“Professor, be careful here. These boys are skilled negotiators.”

“Are they?” he said with a grin.

A little while later the boys exited the hotel with a pocketful of change.

“We’ll have to get mom to get us up early so we can get to the site first.”

Vernon smiled. “We will clean it up before we take him there. Later we can show him the new stuff.”

Harold patted his pocket. “Who knew we would make so much money this summer. And the summer has only just started,” he said.