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Saturday Centus

I've been out of the SC loop for the past few weeks, but I am back to try again. 

I'm participating in Jenny Matlock's Saturday Centus, where she gives a weekly themed prompt, and you can use UP to 100 words (not including the prompt) to tell your story. It can be fact or fiction. The only restrictions are: The prompt must be left intact AND you cannot split up the words in the prompt.

The prompt is in bold.

“Please?” She begged, using her cutest, most helpless look possible.



“I’m sorry Jenny,” he said emphatically, as he kissed her goodbye. “I have to go or I’m going to be late. I’ll do it later. ”


She watched as he ran down the steps to his car, dumbfounded that her “helpless girl in need” strategy didn’t work. She sighed as she looked at all of the pictures propped against the freshly painted walls. Narrowing her eyes, she felt the heat of a sudden surge of independence.


“Well, if I had a hammer, I would have just put them up myself.” She muttered, stalking inside and slamming the door for emphasis.

Saturday Centus 20

I'm participating in Jenny Matlock's Saturday Centus, where she gives a weekly themed prompt, and you can use UP to 100 words (not including the prompt) to tell your story. It can be fact or fiction. The only restrictions are: The prompt must be left intact AND you cannot split up the words in the prompt.


The prompt is in bold.

Exhausted, Jemmie sat waiting to be released for the day when she noticed the splotch from her perch on the edge of the wooden chair.  She smoothed her apron and pushed back a damp lock of hair, the disappointment clear in her dark eyes.

She quietly rose and crossed the room, hoping Mrs. Carrington wouldn’t come for her anytime soon.  Reaching for the familiar rag and bucket beside the kitchen cupboard, she sighed.  Her back howled as she gingerly got down on her hands and knees.

“This is never going to come out," she thought as she scrubbed at the spot on the worn carpet.

Hot tears filled her eyes when she heard the familiar sharp footsteps echoing down the hall.

Saturday Centus week 19

I'm participating in Jenny Matlock's  Saturday Centus, where she gives a weekly themed prompt, and you can use UP to 100 words (not including the prompt) to tell your story. It can be fact or fiction. The only restrictions are: The prompt must be left intact AND you cannot split up the words in the prompt.

I understand that this prompt represents 9/11.  I just don't feel creative when writing about that day, just sad - and my words can't truly convey my feelings.  So, I wrote something else - something different.  Not about 9/11.

I have the prompt in bold.

I stood frozen in front of the flickering images on my TV monitor. The security camera mounted carefully outside the door was a housewarming gift from my father, who worried about my safety in this city known for its crime.

It was so dark, and the noisy static made their pale reflections dance on the paper thin walls of my apartment. I could see them approaching my door, hear their hurried whispers. I could feel the tension in the way they moved, glancing anxiously around the narrow hallway.

I fumbled for my cell, and backed into the shadows of an armoire, eyes glued to the screen.

There was no place to hide.

Saturday Centus

Writing for Jenny Matlock's Saturday Centus, where she gives a weekly themed prompt, and you can use UP to 100 words (not including the prompt) to tell your story. It can be fact or fiction. The only restrictions are: The prompt must be left intact AND you cannot split up the words in the prompt.

I have the prompt in bold.

The wind whipped my face and I could feel the tears threatening to fall. My back pressed hard against the big oak tree behind the shed. It was a dark and stormy night, the kind of night always spent inside, surrounded by the warmth of loved ones. The fleeting thought that I should be wrapped up in Grammy’s quilt reading by the light of the fire pushed a lone tear slowly down my cold cheek.



I didn’t care that they were yelling my name. Flickers of the flashlights were getting fainter, and so were their frantic calls.


I imagined her soothing voice, “It’s alright Honeychild, Grammy’s gotcha now.”

Saturday Centus

Participating in the Saturday Centus again this week.  Check out the rules here, at Jenny Matlock's awesome site. 

WEEK 16 ASSIGNMENT

What I did over my summer vacation, 100 word essay.
 
 

 
summer bliss...

slowly wake with sun-kissed munchkins crowding my space. everyone makes their way to the kitchen for lazy breakfasts. warm cups of hazelnut coffee get things going, and we wait to see what the day will bring.


"Watch this, Mom!" from my dare-devils who have mastered swimming and jumping in the deep end. “Please?” they beg, and ice-cream truck treats turn faces sticky. “Look Mom!” speeding by on their bikes, summer streaked hair flying in the wind.


fresh garden vegetables grilled for dinner before early evening soccer games. pink skies, roasting marshmallows, quiet late night walks to the barn while listening to music and dreaming.


and then it starts all over again...

Saturday Centus - I listened to them cry...

I have been reading this blog for a bit now, and been loving Jenny Matlock's Saturday Centus weekly themes - these are themed writing memes.  She gives the writing prompt, and you write 100 words or less and link it to her blog.  Guess I'll give it a shot...

I listened to them from my perch on the top step and didn't know whether to laugh or to cry...



Laugh because in reality, the thought of his leaving again was just so… predictable. Cry because, well, it hurts. It hurts that not one of us are worth his staying.


Cerra, blessed with his dark curls and pouty lips, Ruthie who longs for his attention, who thinks he hung the moon all by himself.


Little girls need their Daddies. They need someone to tuck them in at night snug as a bug, someone to squash the spiders and kiss their hurts away.


They talk in hushed tones in the privacy of their bedroom. Mother’s muffled sob escapes under the crack of the closed door.


He’s leaving.