Fandango’s Flash Fiction #93- My baby girl, my hell

Bitter cold, bitter life, fog filled skies, fog filled eyes

Rum, or Whiskey sounds nice, boy I sure am thirsty. My heart is as cold as the winters breeze I would kill not to feel. Cut me off at my knees, anyone take pity on me please

She was just a skirt yet she took my ego, and trampled all over it. Spat on me leaving me with the lent in my pockets. Barely enough bus fair. She don’t care

She don’t care as I stand here not able to feel my fingers in wait for another hour or more. Even the score. I just wish my heart would stop aching, and body shaking. Her words cut me like a knife, she ain’t nothing special what am I so worked up for

A gal like her is a dime, and dozen. She painted her face on, looked like a clown. Her hair thin, and ratty. Always pulled in a bun. She might as well have been a nun. Hell who am I kidding, she had me wrapped tight around her ring finger

She ain’t never given me anything I want. She was a nag, a holler. I might as well have worn a damn dog collar. Why am I so torn inside, I don’t get the confusion of my brain. Am I insane. Did I enjoy being her boy toy. All take no give

Kicking the snow with my head down I see the tread of a tire. I hear a skid-dish stop. “Hey you, good lookin’.” “Hop in baby, let’s get you back home where you belong.”

I look up from my shoes, in know of that voice. There she was my baby girl, her hair so neatly pulled back in her bun. Her rouge up her cheekbones in a nice set of stripes. My girl, she came for me. Her lipstick smudged with cigarette dangling. She was gangly, but she was mine

I eagerly jumped into the passengers seat, and gave her a big wet kiss on the cheek. She was everything I had ever wanted in a woman. She came back for me. She wants me, and I am sure I will be sleeping on the couch again. Haven’t felt her skin in years. Man I need a drink, a beer anything will do. I need my beer goggles, dammit I think I am insane. In play of her game

I don’t care it is better than anything I can find out there, and I am now out of the bitter cold. She is my skirt, and I know I ain’t get nothing from there. She don’t care, but she is my baby girl. I gotta take care of her. She needs me, and the money I work hard for provides for her wants. My life I am in the passenger seat once again, with her scratchy nicotine scathed voice waiting for her nag and holler

She turned up the music, and screeched her car tires. She didn’t say hi, she just started playing to the beat of the song on her steering wheel. She bobbed her head, and blew smoke my way with each verse. She was a curse, and I was under her spell. Her perfume a musky smell, now once again my hell

Oh well at least she was my hell, and nobody else’s. I sure hope she stops at the first convenience store, I really do need a drink. Ahhh this is the life, God she is a beauty, that rouge so perrrrtyyy


What do you see # 56 – 16 November 2020-No more in the steal of my nights, no more his creep

For Sadje’s what do you see?

Darkness settles in, I can feel the cold buried deep within my skin. Room #5 in some tiny little no name town. There is no turning back now

Runaway into the night, I can’t let my imagination take flight. My car left behind the building out of sight. Peeking out to see if anyone was in follow of me

I am alone for the first time, and it is a bit of a fright. I did it, I escaped the reality of his wrath. In the steal of the night. His massive hands cuffed around my neck, and wreak of his beer stained breath. I left

Looking through the window pane, my eyes suspect of it all. I am exhausted beyond belief. I can’t remember the last time I had uninterrupted sleep. Always in panic of his creep

I just need to shut, and lock the door. The door to him. Crawl into bed, safe away from what was my hell. The never ending manipulation, tip toeing as I always walked on egg shells in terror of his drunk ears

I can’t believe I am still standing here letting fear grip me. My feet are stiff, and lifeless

I have got to pry my hands off the door, my eyes are paralyzed in paranoia. I don’t see any silhouette of a giant sized drunk in pursuit of me

I need to close my eyes, shut the door. I need to get the sleep he robbed me of for all too long. No more song, and dance. Not a chance. No more in the steal of my nights. I took flight

Photo Challenge #337, Checkmate


Her life had always been stuffy. She had to be so prim, and proper. Her parents put her in “princess etiquette classes” at such a young a age. Her whole life had been staged

She felt free, alive, and like the whole world was at her disposal when she was with him. He had a wild spirit, and it was contagious. He was mysterious, and she was so infatuated with him

Although from all outward appearances they looked one in the same. He was like the game she was never allowed to play. She felt like a rebel, and her restless spirit was unleashed

As they stood there in the art museum neither were amused. His hand gripping tight her butt cheek, they weren’t even in admire of the art. They were speaking in a language she had never flirted with in her entire life

He was saying words she could have never have imagined thinking, let alone repeating. Yet there she stood saying even more, trying to even the score. The game was so fun to her, she asked if wanted to leave in rescue of how her body felt. Unquenchable infatuation it was a game of lust not love. Checkmate he won her over to the lurid lifestyle of rebellion

What do you see- 52 – 19 October’20: I would have it look no other way

Image credit; Pisauikan@ Pixabay

Every crease on my face has a story the furrows of an old lady that has worked since the age of 9

The wrinkles are that of a once youthful young woman that gave birth to 10 beautiful babies

Every line signifies wisdom, and perseverance through the storms of life. I am a wife, and mother first

The pucker around my lips reveal a smile, I am blessed with the gift of health. Wealth is not measured by the amount of money in your pockets. It is all about family

Every fold in my face is the memories I hold more precious than gold, priceless love

The layers around my eyes have seen joy, heartache, grief, and loss. The seams have held tears, but I try not to let anyone see. They don’t need to bare my years of crinkles, no one needs spy

Every wrinkle makes me the old woman I am today. I am better for every connecting line. For my life was created for them not me. Even the deep rooted crow’s feet are years of me taking the back seat

This is my face, and I would have it look no other way

Tale Weaver/Fairy Tale – #297 – The Witches Garden – 15th October

This week we shall venture into a Fairy Story around the theme of The Witches Garden.

Luring, its cast as it catches you right in your upper lip. You bit down hard. Mesmerizing, not surprising, as the darkness reels you in

Your skin dampens with brisk air, your hair on your arms harden making them heavy as you draw nearer the garden. Popsicle toes, and your nose rose red. You can feel the dead

Ghostly you keep walking yet you can’t feel your feet, floating closer to the witches gate. Echoes of groans, and moans so loud in your ear. Muffling them it grows ringing stinging your lobes

All you want to do is run the other way, but you can’t turn from it. You’re caught, it is alarming how it seems almost beautiful yet so terrifying at the same time

You hear the gate lock behind you, you’re in. Laughter all encompassing. No words come from your mouth as it moves in speech. Your body frozen, as you try in lift of your limbs. You have no idea what is happening, your brain can’t even form a thought

You are now caught in what is the the gloom of the witches garden. You knew better to even walk that route, but the delusion so great for what lied behind the garden gate. Bewitched it is now past too late

Crimson’s Creative Challenge #101

Behind the moss, and stone built wall through a cut out in the rock was a hidden secret room. I believe to this day it was all mine to find.

Not a single person on this earth knows what lies behind that stone in that of my own secret dwelling place. I have a blanket, and pillows I brought from home. In make of my dwelling place comfy from the cold earth floor.

I can lie in billows of my reality on those pillows for hours upon hours knowing no one can find me. I am free from what is allowed to happen to me outside the protection of that stone wall. It is my panic room, my safe haven, my place of rest. No one can see the tear stains upon my chest. The puddles of mud from years of crying. I get to stand up wipe off my face, and pretend for another day I will make it.

I will make it back to my hide, and no seek room. My place in the middle of no where behind the moss, and stone built wall through the cut out in my sacred place. That is where for hours I get to let out all my pain, scream and no one hears. This has been my secret hiding place for years and years and years.

Twiglet #198

cherry red sky

Oh she was a beaut! 69’ Dodge Charger. She was a little rough around the edges, but so am I. It was not a tough sell.

There she sat the car I dreamed of since I was 16, and I had saved every penny earned to buy her.

As I put “my” key into her ignition, and pushed the gas pedal full throttle, she was now my model. Cherry Lane was going to be her name, and she was going in for a new body image. Cherry Red Sky was the color I had already picked. It didn’t matter she was not mint. Cherry Lane was mine. She was oh so divine, and we would go miles together in this lifetime.

Cherry Lane, and I…

Tale Weaver – #296 – Stranger – 8th October

For Michael at MLMM:

Yeah I am no stranger to this. Who the heck names a dog George anyways? It is too damn cold to be out here. “George come here George”. I plead under shivering teeth.

This is ridiculous I tell the kids it’s your dog, you will care for him. Yet who is the one out in the 12 degree weather calling for him. Who will be the bad guy in this, me!

I never wanted a dog in the first place they are so much damn work. We barely get the thing potty trained, and now he has gone, and run off. Animals are stupid!

Half past 4 o’clock it is going to be getting dark soon. I am about ready to turn around. Yeah I am no stranger to this. I don’t even see a set of footprints resembling paws. I tell ya I am going to put my foot down the next time a topic of any sort of animal is breeched in my house. I don’t see the kids all eagerly dressed in their winters best out doing everything they can in search of their dog. “George”. I called out so loud, I heard a tree branch crack behind me from the crisp breeze whisping the trees. My knees were cold, my feet felt damp.

I will give it one more hour down this path, one more hour to see if that dumb mutt might come running amuck. Really who names their dog George? Yeah I am no stranger to this! I am pist! An hour more…maybe a little more. “George”!!!!

Photo Challenge 335, my first attempt ever at a writing prompt so be nice please…oh boy!

– Brooke DiDonato

This is my first ever attempt at a writing prompt! Encouraged by a few in here! Well here I go, there is a first time for everything! Please let me know how I do. Stine Writing, and Sadje thanks for all the encouragement! Let’s do this! 👌

I suppose the kids are right at the bottom of the stairs. Oh joy! This is really happening, I have made so many promises to quit. I have tried it all. I have tried drinking beer only, limiting my number of drinks, never drinking alone, never would I drink in the morning, drank only at home, switched from Scotch to Brandy, and even swore off drinking all together. Hand over heart, “I shall never drink again.” Like a broken record. I have said it again, and again.

The shoe oh they have seen this all too many times before. Promises slurred from under rank toxic breath. “C-c-come hear kidsss can you help your mumsy back up”? I can’t even help from laughing the situation so fantastic yet so old.

Of course all I hear is them walking away with complete disgust, and my husband he saw it all. I already heard our bedroom door shut with weariness. Most likely when I can manage my composure I am going to find my pillow at the front of my bedroom door. The couch will be my bed instead tonight. I only drank just ______? I was only going to drink ice tea to. Oh I have no idea how much I drank, and I am betting I will not even remember this awkward moment when I wake tomorrow morning. I will sleep it off.

If I can stand back up after this I will place my hand over my Hhheart, oh who cares. They don’t! Why should I? No I am not going to cry, (wiggle wobble of my leg). I hope I don’t fall all the way down the stairs. Well though maybe then they all would come to me in care. I am not about to frown nor cry who do they think I am? They are the ones insane. Can’t even enjoy a good laugh. I only drank ____? Like I said I will most likely not even remember this in the morning.

But they will, oh yes but they will…

The Friday Reminder and Prompt for #SoCS Sept. 11, 2020; collar: Collared in God’s love…

Your Friday prompt for Stream of Consciousness Saturday is “collar.” Use it as a verb, a noun, or metaphorically. Bonus points for using it in all three ways! Enjoy!

Collared in God’s love. For years I was on the run. Enraptured by grace I stopped long enough to see His face.

The collar around my neck finally loosened with His grace. I was panting for my run was so long, and hardcore. I was no longer bound by my own noose. I called a truce.

I was finally caught at the cross, and he leashed my heart. Lassoed it, with the bond of his mercy so great. I knew I was free, I was able to put my old scraggly running shoes in the garbage. The soles were worn through to my barren feet blistered, and calloused. No more malice, or insanity as I prayed for God to free my heart. Collared in God’s love.