6 Sentence Story Time. In Edgelike Fashion.

Welcome to GirlieOnTheEdge. I return here, briefly, to participate in Thursday’s premier bloghop, 6 Sentence Stories. Thank you zoe, for being the hostess of this creative, fun, challenging….vexing weekly exercise. That’s right, vexing. See, some of us, those who build the blocks we call “writers”, find the challenge of writing a little story-ette in only 6 sentences (no more, no less) somewhat daunting.

Cue of the week? Did someone say “Fault“?…

Trading barbs like ancient Mesopotamian traders on the shores of the Euphrates River, the 2 forever friends stood steadfast, their toes digging into metaphorical sand, each trying in vain to make the other understand their point of view.

Their differences, their conflict, manifesting according to their respective worldviews, had driven a wedge between them, the chasm of conflict blinding each to the other’s grievance.

There was no seeing what the other was seeing, no feeling what the other was feeling, understanding a foreign concept because, while each walked through the same life, life manifested itself differently, as foreign to one as it was for the other.

The years that grew their friendship, that shored up the ties that bound them, now seemed stretched beyond measure. A gulf so wide neither one recognized they’d already converged at the crossroads.

Choice rarely comes wrapped in pretty paper, the difficult choice… when it is what it is for one, and it is what it is for the other, neither is to blame because neither is at fault.

 

 

 

 

Yeah, put ’em Here at the Edge. All 6 Sentences.

So.  You may or may not have a writing process. I used to. I think. Or maybe I had a special time to write. Yeah, that rings a bell. Any-who, it’s 7:50 pm this Thursday evening, the 1st day of the 6 Sentence Story Bloghop hosted by the wonderful Ivy Walker. Whatsay we begin by giving Ms. Walker a rousing round of applause. She’s still hostessing strong and this week she has certainly challenged me with the word cue of the week: “TAP”. Use this word in any of it’s definitions, acronyms, you name it as long as there are 6 sentences with this cue word appearing somewhere among them, you’re golden.

She faltered in front of the non descript, narrow shelving, standing with the weight of her indecision resting  squarely, if not fully, in her left leg.

Why was this so difficult? No one needs to translate the label, no interpreter is needed to describe what her own eyes were clearly seeing but maybe that was the problem, the choices.

There’s always the option to turn around and return to the reliable, steadfast staples, the tried and true familiar, surrounding us, embracing us, day after day.

What were these breadlike “things”, these baked goods with the odd names? Look at this one, surely a misspelling, as no one, on purpose, would use that many “a”s in the spelling of a name?!

At the first tap of my foot on the industrial tiled floor of the tired supermarket, I reached for the bag that read “Guaaaracha” and thought, why not, misspelling or not, the oddly shaped, squared off ovals of breadlike bread appeared to have a light coating of sugar atop them.

The pavlovian response was unmistakable, certain to overpower last minute indecision fortified by a latent fear of the unknown, my path now leading me to checkout…

Image result for guaracha bread

The Silver Surfer…it’s Six Sentence Thursday

It’s Thursday so why not write a 6 Sentence story. Well, maybe not a story. Maybe a 6 sentence fragment. Yeah, that’s it. Fragment. It’s Zoe’s thing, ya know and a darned good thing too. She offers the challenge every week to any and all to throw some letters, a few words, up on the screen, today’s version of pen and paper. 6 sentences. No more, no less.  So here it goes….

The silver haired surfer gazed hungrily at the roiling waves tempting, teasing, taunting him.
Propped sloppily in an ancient chair, like an oft used stage prop soon destined to be cataloged and archived amidst other relics in a warehouse not of his choosing, he let slip a tear. There were no blinds or curtains on the window, all the more to torment eyes long used to the stinging of salt and sea spray the same salt and sea spray that glazed the panes of clear glass just beyond his reach. The energy was still there, coursing through a frame twisted, like an aged juniper tree welded to a coastline ravaged by decades of storms, every element nature can inflict. This day, he would have given his one remaining leg for the opportunity to walk out of the 2 story faded stucco building. And then he would run, run across sand swept hot asphalt, a lover to his beloved, thankful for burning sand beneath his soles, small price to pay for the chance to embrace the ocean one last time.

 

Image result for gnarled tree on coastline

 

“Standing With My Toes Hanging over the Edge”…It’s a Six.

Welcome to GirlieOnTheEdge and a vaction edition of the Six Sentence Story. Our Hostess Zoe, aka Ivywalker puts on a bloghop each and every week and invites any and all to share a story, poem, limerick, anecdote (catch my drift?) that contains no more and no less than 6 sentences. I have found it to be an enjoyable challenge! This week’s cue word is Craft.

The thin girl, wavy, flowing hair resistent to being contained under the starched bonnet, was barely out of her teens but in this time period she was considered a young woman, an adult subject to the laws of the small minded community to which she was born.

She’d been brought before the council to answer for what she was accused – crimes against humanity and Christianity and all things holy and good, witchcraft – and while older women were the majority accused, she stood as an example that no female was exempt from accusation.

A life had been saved, a young life she saw no reason to be sacrificed to the impenetrable ignorance of religious fervor that permeated the day. She had been taught how to cultivate and mix herbs into healing potions and linaments, medicine surely as effective as anything prescribed by the so called “doctors” of the day by Agwi, an island slave who’d been brought against his will to this fledgling colony.

Bridget couldn’t remember the first time she met Agwi, it felt as if she had always known him, and just as certain was the feeling, the knowing, that there was something extraordinary about the dark skinned slave.

She was tutor to the young boy whose parents, Agwi served, and so it was that a friendship almost magically was able to grow and flourish right under the noses of those who would surely have disapproved, association with a slave was tantamount to the worst crime save for witchcraft.

Under Agwi’s careful, albeit clandestine tuteledge, Bridget learned the craft of medicinal herbs, homeopathic remedies and ways in which to soothe ailments so prevalent to the times but tragically there was no cure for fear and ignorance as she now stood before the tribunal accused of consorting with the devil himself instead of being praised for saving the life of her young student.

It’s Not My Fault for being Late to The SSS!

How many times do I have to hear “Denise, you need to set a time limit for writing a post“.  And each time I hear that admonition (yes, it’s an admonition lol), I agree. With gusto! It makes sense. Especially when it comes to writing a 6 Sentence Story. Zoe’s bloghop does not require any more than 6 sentences. On the surface, the SSS is a seemingly, low pressure, just have some fun with it, bloghop. Except if you’re a clark who has all but stopped creative writing, writing of any sort really. Na-ah. No pressure! lol

I found a way this evening, don’t ask me how because I’m clueless, to sidestep the pressure. I engaged the world earlier and you might say that by doing so found my way to the words below. And a special hats off to a particular 10 year old who’s creative energy always makes me smile:D

Mrs. Garcia, her 5th grade students nicknamed her “Mrs. Garcia Lorca” after the famous poet and playwright, was very excited about going to work today.

She’d finally been able to get her first decent’s night sleep in over a month, as it had been that long since she first began her project, her quest, her attempt to fulfill a long neglected dream.

Elise Carolina Garcia, 5th grade English teacher, was not only a talented poet and writer, she also excelled in the fine arts and her dream, since first discovering the world of paint, pencil, charcoal and canvas was to create a work of art that would one day hang in the National Museum of Women in the Arts.

“Good morning class, how is everyone doing today? I hope you have all taken a good look at the painting I brought in this week as today it will be shipped off to the museum to be included in this month’s exhibition.”

“Um…Mrs. Garcia…..I…I’m really sorry…it was an accident, honest, I was just fooling around…it wasn’t my fault!”

 

Favorite Movies, 6 Sentence Stories and a Fresh Start

Wh-h-at? At your age? Fresh start? Gaw! That’s absurd, right? In real time terms, maybe. But I’m doing virtual time at the moment and well, that’s where any and all lines may blur and blend to reappear in new configurations.  Anything is possible in the virtual world, right? Am I right?!

It’s Thursday. I’m sitting with the lapbaby typing letters and such, fairly confident they make sense. I’m totally not sure what’s coming next though. Every week for months, Clark over at the Wakefield Doctrine will ask “so. you writing a 6 this week?” And every week I give a variation on the same answer and don’t. Write a 6 Sentence Story. IvyWalker aka Zoe at the infamous portal of possibilities, Uncharted, provides a lovely opportunity for all of us to challenge and engage ourselves, to entertain each other with 6 sentences (yeah. what I said. 6. best part? the sentences can be as long or short as you want to make them!) that contain the cue word for the week. This week’s cue word? Suspect.

I suspect you’re right about what you thought you heard Mrs. Fontana, but there’s no way to be certain exactly what your husband uttered with his dying breath, it was barely a whisper of words and those swept swiftly and silently aloft by the Reaper’s attendance to a strict schedule.

But Herbert, I know what I heard,  I lived with the man for 35 years, listened to him laugh, heard him cry, cajole, yell…whisper….So what that it’s been 25 years since, you know…

Since you passed Mrs. Fontana?

I simply won’t believe it Herbert. He promised we would always be together.

Image result for afterlife highly suspect

 

Yes! A Six Sentence Story at the Edge!

Welcome to GirlieOnTheEdge. Today is Thursday and right on schedule, right on time, is Ivywalker, Hop Hostess of the bloghop we’ve all come to know and love, Six Sentence Stories. (see? right there. I’m practicing the long sentences, over use of punctuation in order to extend the sentence while at the same time remaining true to the context and the spirit of the hop. Whew! I don’t know….whady’a think? Am I ready??

They were a family, this motley crew of misfits.

Oh, not by blood, not in the traditional sense but in another, not lesser sense.

4 in all, 2 looked alike, perhaps “twins”, the other 2 not even close and yet, differing appearances and backgrounds aside, they stuck together, you know – birds of a feather?

They were inseparable, traveling together always, never wandering far from each other, eating, sleeping, playing together…swimming together.

Until one day there were 3 and, not showing any overt signs of distress, they carried on until the next one, the remaining “twin”, disappeared as well.

It was sad and strange and so not right to watch the little family whittled down to 2 and sadder still when the day arrived when there was only one duck remaining who, finding himself without family or friend, wandered off never to be seen again.