Category Archives: Trifecta

A letter to my dog, who is dying

Posted on by February 25, 2020

 

Dear Fudge,

Thank you for eating today’s hot dog. You’ve bought us all twelve more hours until the inevitable. And maybe twelve more after that, if you’ll let me feed you another. This morning, when it took two of us to guide you to the door, and still your legs splayed out four times, I thought we had run out of time. But you revived. Found your footing. Ate the hot dog. The walking, at least, would be simpler if you stayed on the carpet or your bed.

You are old. Eleven. You have dysplasia in front and back. And yet, you will sleep on the hardwood.… Read the rest

The Summoning

Posted on by February 25, 2020

This weekend, those madcap editors at Trifecta want us to write the same exact scene from three different viewpoints, each only 33 words long.  So. This scene follows several hours after this one, from another extremely short Trifextra prompt.

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“Remove the cats!” I shrieked. “By the third thunder, the demon box should be empty until I finish the casting!” I raced to finish chalking the sigil that would keep the monster trapped.

When the demon arose choking and spluttering, the child and I dashed around the wizard’s studio madly gathering kittens. But the mama cat arched her back and hissed, ready to battle her foe.… Read the rest

Clara Jean’s origins

Posted on by September 19, 2013

Hey everybody, first and foremost, I want to say that I got a visit from the Fairy Hobmother. I GOT A VISIT FROM THE FAIRY HOBMOTHER. (Yes, I know the link goes to an appliance store in the UK. It should. It’s cool.) The Fairy Hobmother (@Fairyhobmother ) is an Internet Awesome who randomly visits and bestows love. In this case, I have been gifted with £25 Amazon voucher. And if you comment on this post, the Hobmother might visit you, too. I’m prettttty sure that’s how I got found, but I really have no idea how this works. It’s not a giveaway, precisely, more like… well a visit from your fairy hobmother.… Read the rest

Sisterhood of the travelling 45

Posted on by February 25, 2020

For this week’s Trifecta challenge (this week’s word is confidence), I’m back in the nursing home with DoDo and Wilma. Take a second to read their previous (short) escapade. They have now returned from their shopping spree unscathed, as they have every week so far. It helps that Wilma’s great grandson helped them hack the garden gate code, but sooner or later, they’re going to get caught.

Here is the first of two nonfiction companion pieces to go with this little story.

And here is the other companion.

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“I know what you did.” Clara Jean Phillips peered at Wilma and DoDo from the hall, then waddled in and perched on  Wilma’s ladder back rocker.… Read the rest

Flori and the Tourist

Posted on by February 25, 2020

Flori flitted down the alley, a crisp twenty folded in her hand. She tossed the wallet in the dumpster. She wasn’t big time; she didn’t fool with the credit cards. Urre and Kulta, who needed drugs, took bolder risks. Flori emptied out enough to eat and kept a low profile.

A sound at the alley’s mouth alerted her. She looked back long enough to see the tourist’s head, the same distinctive ponytail she had noticed when peeling the wallet free of his pocket. “Shit,” she muttered. Then she yelled, “check the trash mister,” and made a show of running straight into the dead end wall, only to whip around and charge when he was nearly on top of her.… Read the rest

Observe

Posted on by February 25, 2020

The murdered girl stared at her own reflection. As dead as she was, she still retained her most basic functions. She could see herself, smell the rank odor of her decay, hear memories that wept down from the fluorescent lights.

She heard the squeak of sneakers. “Can you change her?” her mother asked. Was that the smell, then? Just shit? Had she been upgraded from decomposing to merely falling out in clumps?

“Oh,” said the nurse. “Yes, I’ll get that right away.” The murdered girl heard the soft-soled retreat as the nurse went for supplies so she could pretend to observe yet another formality reserved for the living.… Read the rest

Not What I Meant To Do At All

Posted on by February 25, 2020

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Dear Mrs. McIntyre,

I’m sorry I ran over your mailbox with Dad’s car. I thout I hit the braks. I guess not. I’ll pay you the $65 slowly cos I only ern five dollrs a week.

Snrly,

Lexi

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This is my entry for this week’s Trifextra. We are to write an apology in 33 words (salutation and closing don’t count against). I owe credit to my co-author, Caroline, who helped me with the spelling and posed as Lexi. However, she wants everyone to know she would never steal Dad’s car, and that our car is just ‘our car’, not ‘Dad’s car’.  … Read the rest

Gossip

Posted on by February 25, 2020

Skip to the backstory

“That girl’s got to find herself a man.” Doreen, DoDo to all but a few of the newest nurses, stabbed her finger at Jennifer Anniston.

“I think she’s got somebody, hasn’t she?” asked Wilma. The women maintained an easy friendship based on their shared love of celebrity gossip. They watched the all the shows about movie stars’ lives, and they collected magazines so they could compare nose jobs, boob jobs, and lovers.

DoDo said, “She needs one that’ll stick.”

The afternoon nurse, Audrey, swept into the room.“That rag’s a week old,” said Audrey after she administered the appropriate pills.… Read the rest

My Brother On The Mound

Posted on by February 25, 2020

“Hot pretzel and a package of candy,” says the woman in pink. She has a glazed look, like she’s been standing in line for a thousand years.

“Six fifty.”

She gives me a credit card, and I go for the pretzel. We’re shorthanded, so I’m my own runner.

“Get me one,” Brady calls from his register.

“The syrup’s out in the diet cola,” Kelly shouts.

Their voices blend together with the clanging, whirring, and popping that is a ballpark concession stand. The PTA gets funds, Minor League baseball gets good neighbor points, and I get a headache. I can’t hear the score over the cacophony.… Read the rest

The brain is down

Posted on by February 25, 2020

“What the hell is everybody doing in here?”

Mandy, the union representative, shifted comfortably in a break room chair. She studied her manager. There was an empty seat beside her. She gestured to it, inviting the manager to sit. He did not. “The brain is down,” she said. “Nobody can clock in.”

“So take a roll and we’ll clock everybody in manually when IT gets the brain back up.”

She shook her head. She articulated the ‘o’ in her, “No” with extra wide lips.

“What did you say to me?”

“The last time this happened, HR refused to validate the hand signed timesheets and it was an entire pay cycle before they got it straight.… Read the rest