FOWC with Fandango/ August writing prompts ~ The new scene


Today’s dating scene has changed from what it once was

Such different ways to find friends and perhaps even love

It’s a much simpler quest with everyone online

Gone are the days of set-ups and pickup lines

Still, quite a task trying to advertise yourself

Selling your traits alongside others on that singles-only shelf

Having to list all your likes and any pet-peeves

As if you were getting picked to play on a winning team

Then there’s your pic which you feel just never looks right

Finding face abnormalities that only you see with your sight

You finally upload your profile into this club of lonely hearts fun

And wait for responses from hopefully the eventual, right one

Connecting this way sometimes seems like an impossibility

Just trying to find someone to meet – the magnificent me



Written for Fandango’s FOWC prompt –


August Writing Prompt ~ A man dreams #Augustwriting



Slumbered minutes back in that Hell

Merely images sharpened with echoes

Yesterday’s grind now faint memories

They poison me still subconsciously

Labeled failure by her every word

A mild voice yet fearfully heard

My futile attempts to be that man

Never right in her twisted plans

Her growing list spoken of what I lack

Until that one time which broke my back

These dreams today repeat nightmare times

When I was punished by one for just being alive

____________________________________________________________________________________________Written for the August Writing Prompt – That one time – Day 15/31


SoCS / August writing ~Define yourself #SoCS #Augustwriting


Before you step out unto this day

Pause to reflect on your overstuffed ways

An agenda for others that clutters your mind

Your own needs ignored in this unquestioned grind

No time to breathe in your malnourished space

Instead enabling others in an endless rat-race

Now, stop for a moment to defend yourself

A majority of one acceptably selfish

This change in behavior sprouts from down deep

First realizing your worth is strictly for keeps

Prioritize your heart in wanting more

Start embracing your desires as things to fight for


Written for – and the August Writing Prompt – For Keeps – Day 14/31

FOWC with Fandango/August Writing/ Twittering Tales ~ The right taxi


Holt finally found the cab he had been looking for. It had no no way out, being stuck in traffic. “Pop the trunk” Wills ordered one driver. “On who’s authority?” the driver said as Holt flashed his badge. The trunk opened. Wills found it filled with skulls and shackles. Holt got his man at last.

(299 characters)



Written for this week’s Twittering Tales prompt from Kat Myrman.

Written for

Written for August Writing Prompt – Skulls and shackles – Day 13/31


August Writing ~ Jellyfish Jolts #AugustWriting


Once again, Ed revised the long insurance policy

Specifically prepared for overly cautious Miss Molly

She finally approved it and was ready to sign

Ending these revisions topping out at Seventy-Nine

See, Molly feared getting hurt in all different ways

And wanted to be sure all her medical bills would get paid

She worried about meteors falling down from above

Thought of her fingers being swollen from ill-fitting gloves

Afraid of shag carpeting entangling her toes

She was also quite nervous of bees flying right up her nose

Paragraph sixty dealt with her choking on skinless grapes

Another section covered her being hugged by a wild ape

Specifically outlined was a part about Jellyfish jolts

Subsection eighty dealt with just plain ‘ole lightning bolts

Ed watched her sign thinking he was finally done with Miss Molly

Then she got a paper cut which wasn’t part of that long insurance policy


Written for the August Writing Prompt- Jellyfish jolts

August Writing ~ Wifely #AugustWriting


A selection of names spewed daily on her

His modus operandi delivered with slurs

She had her young heart captured my him

Promises shoveled convinced her to give in

A matrimonial trap sprung on this beauty

Pleasing the unpleasant as her commanded duty

All essence of her being forced to be hidden

Behaving only by his rules forcefully given

A spark of survival seeks escape from within

The scream of her strength reclaiming her skin

A rediscovery of herself now no longer treading lightly

She will no more be confined to his warped form of wifely


Written for the August Writing Prompts – Treading Lightly – Day 7/31


August Writing ~The first of its kind #AugustWriting


A spark ignites synaptic threads

That bulb of a thought floats above heads

Conceptual spirit launches a drive

Incentives to make dreams come alive

Pieces are measured for first fabrication

Failings induce relenting frustration

The drawing board awaits that eventual return

Determination fueling  midnight oil’s burn

Futility in attempts await in going forward

Expectations for success are rapidly lowered

Exit the stream where all ideas stop

An alternate variable picked outside the box

Hopes elevated in attempting yet another birth

Another failure would be synonymous with self worth

At last, a success this thing born from inventive minds

A construction of spirit, the first of its kind


Written for the August Writing Prompt – The first of its kind – Day 6/31

August Writing Prompts

Drizzled Colors~#AugustWriting #shortfiction #childhood #themagicshop


There was only one room left for Amanda Hearns, licensed Realtor to inspect before she would list this house on the market. That room would be the upstairs bedroom that she had grown up in.  This day for had been planned for months now, ever since her Dad passed away last April.   The house was just an empty shell now, awaiting its next set of owners. Her Dad was the last resident to live here out of the eight members  that made up the Hearns family.  It was up to Amanda (the youngest of the clan) to make sure that this childhood home of hers would be ready to show to any potential buyers. She wasn’t sure how she would handle today’s visit.  Surprisingly, Amanda was quite serene and detached from all the emotional baggage one might have to say Goodbye to such a sentimental place.  She had gone from room to room checking for cleanliness or minor maintenance that needed to be addressed-cool as a cucumber.  Although each room resonated a specific warm memory from Amanda’s youth, she stayed focused on the business at hand.   They were some truly special times of innocence and warmth in this house but now it was simply just a piece of property to sell to the highest bidder.  This is  what it had to be to her today-strictly business.

She walked up the creaking steps,   just as they’ve done for the majority of her life and stopped at the top.   The bedroom she shared with her two older sisters,   Allison and Gabrielle was the first room on the right.   It was directly across from her folk’s old bedroom.   This proved to be a convenient location numerous times for her Dad,  who often would have to charge into his girl’s room to break up whatever shenanigans his two older daughter’s  perpetrated.

Amanda opened the door to the room and stepped inside.   It was empty now.   The bunk beds her sisters slept in were long gone along with any posters of their current favorite boy band.   She thought that the walls needed some light patchwork. The hardwood floors were in good shape due to the fact that the room had been covered up in wall to wall peach shag carpeting.   She opened and closed the window,  making sure it wouldn’t stick for the open house she was conducting on Sunday.   Satisfied that the room looked about as good as it was going to get for an older home, she proceeded to check the inside of the closet.  It too was empty like the rest of the room.   She was getting ready to turn off the closet light when she noticed something bright laying on the floor against the left wall.   She walked over and knelt down to get a closer look.  In the corner on the floor, were some drops of dried paint. Assorted drizzled colors that included some reds, pinks and a few specks of yellow.   She ran her fingers across the floor, knowing the paint was dry but wanting to visit its origin again.

She sat down on the floor as a rush of emotions came over her.   Her thoughts race back to a day when this paint was fresh.  She was ten years old and felt left out and alone in a crowded room of giant older sisters. She would pout and show to her parents the genuine frustration of a child who had nowhere to go that she could call her own. One rainy Sunday,  Her Dad had taken her into this same closet  with some brushes and different jars of paint.  He then proclaimed to her that “from here on out, this wall of the closet was hers to do anything she wanted with it”.  For the next few hours, they then proceeded to paint whatever Amanda’s imagination could dream up.  There were unicorns in cars riding down a street made of grape jelly.  Birds wearing sneakers flying down to meet green elephants with yellow spots.  This wall became Amanda’s place to escape whenever she wanted her very own kingdom to live in.

The kingdom eventually got painted over  when Amanda turned seventeen.  Teenage years led to different interests replacing colorful fantasy animals. Today, it was just a wall that was attached to another wall that was going to belong to someone else.

Then it happened.  Professional and cool Amanda Hearns pressed her back against another wall of the closet and wept uncontrollably.  The tears flowed relentlessly down her cheek and spotted her navy blue blazer.

She thought of her father,  the strongest man she’s ever known in her life. How he sat next to her in this very same closet getting paint on his pants, creating a castle for his little girl  to live in made entirely of ice cream.  How he secretly heard  his youngest daughter’s pleas for any kind of identity that would separate her from her sisters. Amanda continued to cry in this hollow closet. She weeps, missing the days  when a giant of a man took a small piece of sheet rock and made it  the most wonderous place on earth.

Lavender Lipstick~#AugustWriting #shortfiction #Crimethriller #themagicshop


It was around three am when lieutenant Marie Donalin was nicely “forced” to leave the latest crime scene and to head home. There wasn’t really much more she could do there anyway and she looked like, as her boss professionally stated ” total shit”. Marie had already worked thirteen hours straight when she got the call that yet another victim had been found dead in their apartment. The body of one Darcy Donato had been discovered by her boyfriend around nine o’clock earlier in the evening. Darcy like the three others, was found stabbed multiple times by a small of pair of cuticle scissors. Additionally like the others, the killer had written on the bathroom mirror in lipstick their signature message.


In each crime scene, the killer used a different shade of lipstick. Tonight it appeared to be a traditional glossy red. The CSI unit would analyze it, like all the others and would eventually have the exact make and color of the brand. All three previous messages had been photographed and were now attached to a board down at the station. Marie had been studying all the evidence, diligently for weeks now. She was assigned the case every since the first victim, Patricia Walsh was found in her dorm room. Marie knew the messages and colors by heart. Miss Walsh’s was written in what was later identified as ‘Pink Nouveau’.


Three weeks later, victim number two A miss Juliet Wychowski was found. Color-‘Witchhazel Black’ (Which Marie found out later, was sold only around Halloween)


Six weeks had passed before the body of victim number three, Victoria Jensen was discovered in her place by her visiting parents. Victoria had invited them over for dinner and to see the first place that she had all on her own. The shade of her message hade had been determined to be ‘Burned Sunburst orange’.


Eventually, all the colors had been identified as being made by different cosmetics companies and were sold basically everywhere in the country. In each crime, the killer used a new pair of cuticle scissors to inflict the wounds. They weren’t always on the backs of the victims, but the wound count was always past fifty times.

Marie walked up the steps towards her apartment, like some toy whose batteries were slowly dying. She was the result of total exhaustion on all levels-physical, mental and emotional. This case was starting to seriously take its toll on her. All four victims were around her age and she almost felt this inner connection with all of them. Like, they were old classmates from high school even though she had never met any of them before in her life.

Marie loved being a cop and knew this was her “calling” to this world. She came from a family of all male police officers and wanted to prove to them that their “short redheaded sister” could be tougher and better than all of them put together. She proved her point by making detective at an early age and going on to make some highly notable arrests. She earned the nickname ‘Pitbull’ because of her height and of her aggressiveness to never let go of a case once she “clamped her jaws down on the perp”. Three straight months of what the press had now named ‘The cuticle killer’.with no real solid leads had finally started to show its effects on Marie. Her captain was right, she needed to be here at home to recharge her batteries and forget about tonight’s earlier incident. She yawned twice as she opened through her front door and then another time in the kitchen as she looked for a beer in her fridge. She took off gun and placed it down on the counter. Last thing she needed to do, was blow a hole in her couch when she sat down. She took a sip of her beer and smirked a bit thinking back to last year when a fellow idiot coworker did just that. He Sat in his recliner at home, forgot about his piece (which he also had stupidly forgotten to put the safety back on) and consequently, fired off a slug directly into his hardwood floor. The bullet missed his left foot by two inches.

“Frigging moron”

Marie thought and shook her head. She downed the beer and threw the empty can on top of the overflowing mountain of cans that was now spilling out over the rim of her recycling can. One of the cans fell and hit the floor as Marie walked out of the kitchen and down the hall. She flicked the light switch on in her bathroom and her eyes squinted at the sudden burst coming off the only lit bulb in her overhead fixture. Three out of four bulbs were already dead and Marie still hadn’t gotten around to changing them-nor did she care. Hers widened instantly as she looked directly ahead into the vanity mirror. Scrawled across its surface, words written in a bright lavender shade of lipstick.


She slowly backed out of the bathroom, glancing all around for someone. She quickly turned around to her empty apartment. Nothing but still air and the dim glow of the bathroom light. She ran back into the kitchen and got her gun. Then she called for backup . Instead of checking out the rest of her place, she stayed put in her kitchen. Her gun held forward directly in front of her and the safety removed. Her hearts beat was pushed into overdrive. The adrenaline was tingling her entire body. She felt some comfort in hearing the sirens of oncoming units. Her mind was already filled hundreds of ideas regarding this case. Now, she felt as if her head would explode with all the new ones created by what had just happened in the last ten minutes. Marie stood there in her dark galley kitchen drowning in thoughts with one disturbing realization floating to the surface.

The fact that he had announced that Marie would be victim number eight and he was only on number four. She knew that there would be three more women out there who could potentially be the next set of victims in this case. How could she possibly protect them when the killer could easily get to her?

She stood in the darkness and felt her exhaustion slowly being replaced by something else, a feeling that she wasn’t used to. The overwhelming discomfort of uselessness and fear.

August Writing Prompt- Lavender Lipstick-Day 18/31

Melted ice cream~#AugustWriting #shortfiction #themagicshop


Jack Dougherty put the last three dollars he had in his wallet on the windows ledge of the “Mr. Happy Cream” ice cream truck.

“Gimme another chocolate-vanilla swirl” Jack said with a bit of an edge in his voice. The driver stared at Mike coldly then turned around to get out a wafer cone to fill.

“Well, Jackass he could have easily just given her another one”. Jack thought to himself. The her he was thinking of was a blonde haired youngster going by the name “Allison”. At least, that’s what Jack heard her the friends that she was with call her. Jack had been sitting on a bench in Cedar park still recovering from his latest hangover. Like dozens of other nights before Mike hit the tavern early yesterday and slowly begin to soak in the never-ending flow of booze. This is what Jack did whenever he finished his work day at his stagnant job and was away from his ordinary wife. Drinking was his way out of this inescapable trap-period. No lottery was going to be won by him and no genie would stop by with three wishes for Jack to enjoy. Life for him was simple gratification at the edge of a bar and the penalties of his diversion being felt the day after. The driver handed Jack the freshly made cone. A chill came off it as he grabbed it and brought it down from the window.

“Hey Allison!” Jack said to the little girl who was still looking down at the ice cream cone on the hot pavement. The one she bought for herself with the money her Mom just gave her. She got one long lick on it before the whole thing toppled over and hit the ground. The tears from her eyes happened instantaneously. She had looked up at the driver in the truck, her face red and slightly now swollen. He gave her a shrug of apathy, ignored her dilemma and then proceeded to read his newspaper. Jack had witnessed this whole thing from afar and wanted to jump inside the truck just to yell directly into the driver’s face.

“HEY! YOU COULD GIVE THAT KID ANOTHER ONE, ON THE HOUSE” Jack loved the idea of doing this but, came up something more positive.

Allison looked back at her Mom who was sitting on a bench watching her the whole time. She gave Allison that look that all moms give to assure their child of their safety. Jack stood at the side of the truck and handed Allison the new ice cream cone. He watched as her face turned from apprehension to one of sheer joy. The tears were long gone now.

“Thanks, mister!” She squeaked out as she took the ice cream from Jack. He looked down at her and smiled. He had thought hopefully Allison is not familiar with the smell of residue Whisky and she wouldn’t notice it coming from his breath. Allison turned around, ran past the melted ice cream that was now slowly spreading out into a puddle on the ground. Jack looked away from her just as she sat down safely next to her mother on the bench. The Mom waved at Jack and he responded back happily.

“Your ice cream looks good” Jack said to the driver with no emotion in his voice.

The driver looked over his newspaper at Jack. “It is. Good and expensive to make”. His tone was sympathetic, as if making ice cream was the last thing he wanted to do in this world.

Jack started to walk away, his head still filled with cotton. He looked back at the driver one more time and shouted back.

“Oh, by the way Mr. Happy Cream? You’re an ASSHOLE.” The driver gave Jack the middle finger and then went right back to reading his newspaper.

Jack shuffled towards the park’s exit thinking that his plan today was to deal with the hangover simply by continuing to drink through another day. He was going to use his last three dollars to buy a pint of anything at the local liquor store and drown in it. Instead, he made a little girl happy. He stopped right before leaving and looked back once again at Allison and her Mom. Allison raised her arm and waved in enthusiastic delight. To see her do that and enjoy her ice cream gave Jack that he hadn’t experienced in a long time. Jack smiled back at her and decided right then and there, it was time for someone to help him. He realized that he needed to stop escaping into a bottle and find another way to deal with reality. He left the park with thoughts of finding more alcohol slowly melting away, like fallen ice cream on a hot paved ground.

August Writing Prompt-Melted ice cream-Day 17/31

Cantankerous cuties~#AugustWriting #shortfiction #themagicshop


Oliver and Susie sat in Brooklawn park watching life as it went on around them.   It was a comfortable spring day and it seemed like the whole world was out enjoying God’s gift of sunlight..  Youngsters ran around this one area, the joy of being able to run and play obvious to everyone watching them.

“I used to run faster than all of those kids, when I was their age”  Oliver grumblingly said to Susie.  “I could have beaten all of them in any race at any park”.

Susie turned to Oliver her face scrunched together in disappointment.

“Ollie, I’ve known you my whole life.   You could NEVER run as fast as the kids, even when you were young.   What does it matter now?   Those days are over.   This is what’s left for us now.”

Oliver kept staring at all the activity that was going on the grassy knoll in front of him.

“You’re right, Susie-I know that’s true.   I don’t have to like it.   My legs are killing me now.   They got me on these new pills for my arthritis.  I’m now up to eight different pills a day for everything else.   Half the time, I can’t remember to take them”.

Just then a ball got thrown passed them in close proximity.   Neither Oliver or Susie just looked at it not moving their tires muscles to get it.

“Look,  at my right eye”  Susie said as she turned to face him, opening her right eye as wide as possible.   The once beautiful dark brown that Ollie would often look at was now a milky white.  “Cataract in this one eye.   They don’t want to remove it yet.   Still, my vision ain’t what it used to be.   I’m tired of looking through a cloud”

They both turned their heads away from each other.   An ice cream truck pulled into the park’s entrance playing  its chimes for everyone to hear.

“I’m also on this new diet”.  Susie continued.  “They want me to lose a few pounds.   At my age??  I can barely move as it is, my feet aren’t what they used to be and they want me to lose weight!  They’re lucky I’m still alive for them, those Meshugganas!’

Oliver once again looked back at his lifelong friend.   His eyes too were getting old, but he could still see the slight sadness in Susie’s face.  Their time on this planet would be ending soon and he could tell that she knew this.  Howls of delight continued on from all the young players having a delightful time.

“Look at them”  Oliver grumpily said as he faced forward and watched as more kids joined the area.  “They don’t know realize how good they have it.   To be able to jump and run like that.  It goes by so quick.  Before you know it,  they’ll be sitting here  unable to move”.

Susie yawned.   She would need a nap soon.  “Ollie, did you think about being this old when you were their age?  Of course not.  Let them enjoy the day as it is now.  Besides, you got me next to you, NOW.  What more do ya need?”

Oliver smiled,  leaned in and gave her a peck on her nose.  “I love you, lady. It’s time for me to go.  Same time tomorrow?”

Susie was tingling from Oliver’s kiss.  She also loved him as a dear friend and companion for almost the entirety of her life.  “God willing,  Ollie..I’ll be here.   Theres nowhere else I would want to be right now in my life.  Well, maybe a cruise somewhere with a nice deck.”

The two of them started to laugh together out loud.   Their cantankerous nature now replaced by the genuine joy of being able to still laugh with each other.

Two people who were sitting next to them on a bench, stood up and started to walk away.   The people had things to do and places to go.   Each one of them started to leave the park in opposite directions.  A visit at the park was now over for thirteen year old German shepherd Oliver and twelve-year-old Cocker Spaniel Susie.   They both were walked out, on their elderly paws by their owners, yearning to just play once again like the puppies that watched earlier.

August Writing Prompt- Cantankerous cuties-Day 15/31