Writing Prompt 27

[Ink Blot]

The theme of this prompt revolves around a crisis of some sort. :eek: It can be funny or dramatic - your choice. 500 words or less. Try to incorporate the following words:

Pickle
Crate
Boot
Heat (or hot)
Hum

I'm hoping I can live up to my own writing prompt challenge....
Have fun!

[melw]

Caught!!
376 words

I was in a pickle. My boot was now stuck in and old wooden crate that I had stood on to look through the window. I knew better than to spy on Rodney, but he wouldn’t tell me his secret.

I knew there would be some heat to pay when I got home if my trousers were torn. My mother hated that she were always mending my clothes. The thing is I am a boy and boys get into scrapes at least that is what Grandpa Joe always was saying.

Now I heard the door opening, I had to get out of there before they saw me. I pushed off the broken crate and bolted for home. I took the shortcut through Mrs Baker’s orchard. I only hoped my Ma wasn’t visiting her. I was meant to be at home cleaning out the wood shed instead of loafing around town.

I got home and started stacking wood so no one would know I hadn’t been at home all that time. I heard some humming and knew Grandpa Joe was on his way. He was always humming some hymn from church.

He brought over a stump and sat in the doorway of the shed looking at me without saying a word. Then he smiled, “so what did Rodney have?”

“I don’t know, I fell and had to get over here before the boys saw me.”

“Well if you brush off you pants I don’t think your Ma will find out you were about town instead of in the woodshed. She expects a lot from you and I know you just want to spend some time with the other boys.”

I scuffed my toes, Grandpa Joe always understood me, just like a pa. “Did Pa ever do things like this?”

“All the time Luke, as I did. I will speak to your Ma and see if I can get her to ease up on you. I will tell you what Rodney had, it wasn’t that special.”

I smiled; Grandpa Joe always had this insight. He knew it was hard for a 12 year old boy to take the place of a Pa I didn’t even really remember. As he left I started humming one of those old hymns.


MEL

[WritingChaos]

Hm, so what did he have? :D

[WritingChaos]

Did It Ever Matter
A short story by Christopher A. Kelsey © 2008

_____Glen sat scratching his green knobbed forehead.
_____“I have to think of a way out of this. Maybe I could hide in the farmer’s boot.”
_____Glen looked to Bob, but Bob remained quite with his eyes closed. Glen nudged him in the side.
_____“Hum,” Bob said. “I’m listening and agree.”
_____“Agree to what?”
_____Bob opened his eyes and furled his brows.
_____“I agree to what you said.”
_____“What did I say?”
_____“You said the farmer wears both his boots.”
_____Glen smiled, reach to hug Bob but instead smacked him in the back of the head. Bob yelled and grabbed the back of his head.
_____“Why did you do that?”
_____Glen crossed his arms and glared at the crate next to the sorting table.
_____“I was talking about figuring out a way to not go to the pickle farm.”
_____Bob laughed.
_____“Why would we go there? We’re cucumbers.”
_____Glen rolled his eyes.
_____“They took you off the vine too soon.”
_____Bob scoffed and his mouth staid open until he thought of a retort.
_____“I’m older than you.”
_____“What does that have to do anything with it?”
_____“Everything.”
_____“Everything?”
_____Bob smiled.
_____“You get so hot sometimes I think you’re going to cook yourself.”
_____Glen turned away from Bob.
_____“Well excuse me if I’ve not given myself over to the idea that I must be eaten by some fat human.”
_____Bob chuckled and relaxed himself, once more closing his eyes. Glen stewed and glanced at Bob twice. Then he turned back to Bob.
_____“How come you never worry about a thing?”
_____Bob smiled but left Glen to grumble for a minuet more.
_____“By the way,” Glen said. “I’m always the one that finds a way to solve everything. I wonder why I even invite you along in my masterful plans.”
_____Bob opened one eye and looked at Glen.
_____“That’s how you see it huh? You don’t think the farmer just selected us to be placed in his wife’s personal garden?”
_____“No.”
_____“The I suppose you believe you had us picked last also?”
_____“Drinking less water did slow our growth, and that was all my idea.”
_____Bob sat upright and shook his head.
_____“Then I suppose you made the heat of this summer go away with that belly dance of yours?”
_____Glen’s eyes popped outward.
_____“That was not a belly dance!”
_____Bob laughed and moved himself to the edge of the shelf.
_____“You’ve had so many chances.”
_____“Chances?”
_____“To enjoy your life, but you’ve spent it all worrying and trying to do it all yourself.”
_____“I know I’ve done all the work. At least you’re finally seeing things my way.”
_____Bob motioned for Glen to come to the edge with him.
_____“I’m going to explain this to you slowly so maybe you’ll understand.”
_____“What?”
_____Bob pointed to the farmer’s wife’s garden through the dusty window.
_____“That garden is for the farmer’s wife to cook what the farmer and his wife eat. I’ve been listening and I’ve found that the farmer only chooses the best looking seeds for his wife.”
_____Bob looked from the window back to the sorting table.
_____“Now I’m sure you’ve noted that we’re not on the farmer’s wife’s counter.”
_____Glen growled in frustration.
_____“I hate it when you act like this.”
_____“Just hear me out. I believe the farmer picked us last hoping that we had the most seeds in us. That’s why we’re not in the crate with the other’s or on the sorting table.”
_____Glen took in the thought and smiled.
_____“So we’re not going to be eaten.”
_____Bob laughed.
_____“No, we’re going to be sliced open and have our seeds plucked out of us.”
_____Glen glared at Bob and scowled.
_____“I hate you.”

[Tommie Lyn]

A Time of Crisis


Word Count: 483


Lettie wiped her brow and released a breath into the heat of the July afternoon. She took another breath and bent her body again to the task of hoeing weeds from the field.

A whisper caught her attention above the hum of insects, and she straightened, turned her head from side to side, scanning the field and the woods. Someone whispered again. She couldn't make out the words but realized the source was a clump of blackberry canes.

Who could be hiding there?

“Lettie, it's me. I need help. They're after me.”

“Josh? Is that you?” Lettie dropped the hoe and started across the rows of peas.

“No! Keep working! If they see you, they'll know I'm here.”

She returned to her work, mindlessly applying the hoe blade to the ground, not noticing if the plants she uprooted were blackeyed peas or weeds that choked the field.

“Who'll know you're here? What's happened?”

“Yankees. They taken me and Simon and ten others. Said they was going to hang us in the mornin'. Make us a example, they says. I got to find a place to hide.”

A gnawing fear and helpless anger gripped Lettie. They'd done this before, had selected civilian men at random and hung them. Orders of Sherman, they said. For an example, they said when they hung Lettie's father. And now, they'd picked her fiance.

“Wait til after dark. I'll think of something by then.”

As the sun lowered to its nightly repose, Lettie left the field. And before the moon had climbed far above the eastern horizon, she returned.

“Josh,” she whispered.

He limped from concealment, pulling loose from thorns that grasped his clothing and tore the flesh of his limbs. He followed Lettie to the barn.

“In here, I've fixed up a place for you.” She pushed aside an empty crate and pulled the top off an old pickle barrel. “Get in the barrel. Ain't nobody gon' find you here.”

Josh climbed in and Lettie handed him a packet of food and a jar of water.

“Thank you, my love,” he said.

Lettie was thankful for the darkness so he couldn't see her blush. “Sit down,” she instructed.

As she put the lid in place, she heard approaching horses. She hurried from the barn as a squad of blue-uniformed men reined to a stop in the yard.

“I understand you're the fiance of Joshua Adair,” the leader said.

Lettie was unable to reply.

“Cap'n,” said one of the men. “This woman lives alone. Maybe we should teach her some manners. Like we did that woman over in--.”

“Maybe we should, at that.” The captain slipped a boot from a stirrup and dismounted. He approached Lettie, leering.

The others alit, joking about what they intended to do.

“NOOOO!” Josh yelled as he burst from the barn.

A bullet stopped Josh, but there was nothing to stop the soldiers . . .

[Anna Rogers]

Tommie Lynn, that is an excellent story and so evocative. I could picture the events as I read and found myself being completly drawn into Lettie's situation. I have read many novels and seen movies set during the Civil War, and am only too aware of atrocities and excesses committed by both sides. At the point where you have the soldiers realising the Lettie lives alone, it put me in mind of that dreadful scene with the woman and her baby in Cold Mountain, while the shooting of her fiance reminded me of the scene from the same movie where those guys torture a mother to draw her sons out and then shoot them. I couldn't ever watch that movie again. This is a brilliant piece of work and I'd urge you to do something more with it.

[Tommie Lyn]

Thanks for the kind words, Anna. That was a horrendous time....especially in 1864 in Georgia, which is where I set this story...