“Well. I can tell you it is early twentieth century in origin,” the expert began. He continued to expound on the wherewithal of the piece as Kate’s mind wandered. She had coveted this day for years. Finally the Antique Roadshow was close enough to tote her mother’s prized possession over for a looksee. This old painting had hung over the fireplace in their home for her whole life, all seventy-three years.
“The style tells us this family was well to do, maybe even aristocratic,” the expert continued. Kate could imagine now, just as she had countless times the sound of the piano as the man allowed his fingers to find the keys needed to support the woman’s singing. Kate managed to fit many of her old classical favorites into this scene. This was something from her childhood she vowed never to part with.
“OH MY!” the expert said when he squinted at the artist’s signature.
“What?” Kate asked.
“Would you consider selling this? I’ll give you two million!”
Cal listened to the gentle lapping of the water against the long bridge allowing it to almost hypnotize him while he made his way along the wet boards. A passing rainstorm still left the sky with some deep blues which could mean the promise of more.
In the distance Cal was sure he could see the form of a person on the angled poles set on the sides of the bridge. What was the person doing? As he accumulated a few more steps he realized the person was a young girl. That young girl! The one he watched in the market every weekend.
“Hello,” she said as drew near.
“How do you do that?”
“Walk on these without falling, especially when they are wet?”
“Well, I promised myself I would do this until you asked me out. I have been doing it for almost three months now, so I suppose what they say about practice makes perfect must have some truth.”
“You think I am going to ask you out?”
“Aren’t you?” she said blinking her deep azure yes as she smiled.
“Yes,” Cal said. “But first, what is your name?”
“Destiny. Destiny Wayne,” she said smiling.
March 23, 2017 prompt: In 99 words (no more, no less) write about an audience. It can be broad or small, and gathered for any reason. How does your character react to an audience? Is the audience itself a character. Go where the prompt leads.
Brent didn’t like this moment. It took him longer to unpack his instrument than most. But he knew he had to do it with care due to his affected limbs. His mother tried more than once to explain cerebral palsy to him and why it made things so much harder for him, but all he knew was that it hurt and made his life much more cumbersome.
Brent slid his hand in the custom loop that would allow him to retain control of the bow and began to play. One by one people gathered to hear his flawless music.
Burke chided himself silently as he tuned his guitar. He could hear the words of his mother saying “you always speak before you think son.” Impetuous, she had called him. Burke felt he was spirited, eager or some positive adjective. Either way he was in another predicament. This one wouldn’t kill him any quicker than most adventures he lived.
This jerk in the bar put down $1000 to say Burke could not continue to make music on his own without repeating a song for twelve hours. Burke wasn’t sure he could, but when the guy began to verbally abuse Sydney, Burke’s dream girl who was a waitress in the bar Burke’s lot was cast.
Now he scrambled to think of what songs he could play between now and 7 pm tonight.
Each week a photo is used, donated by one of the participants of Sunday Photo Fiction, and the idea is to write a story with the photo as a prompt in around 200 words.
Teresa, without the H had real issues with the order. She had been counselled by everyone from sisters to the Monsignor about her unwillingness to submit to the program. Teresa without the H would not relent however. She said God was color blind accepting all who came with the right heart.
By all accounts she was perfect in any other measure, but the wearing of white was infuriating.
After supper one evening she was walking through the third floor when an unfamiliar man appeared from the shadows.
“You cannot continue this!” He said.
‘Why is this a matter for your consideration?”
“It is not as simple as black and white. Consider this your last warning!”
Teresa without the H shuddered when his hot breath bit into her neck.
The next day Teresa without the H was also without the white.
“What is this?” Inspector Clouseau said as he turned the piece of contraband over in his hand as he surveyed the scene of the latest Art Hater Serial Killer murder.
“Once it was called a canvas,” Yvette said. “For art.”
“Art! Art has been outlawed for a decade!”
“Legislation cannot stop passion, Inspector.”
“Perhaps not, but a slug can,” he said nodding to the lifeless form.
“So we assume AHSK found out about the victim’s art and came calling?”
“Assume nothing, dear Yvette. Check the desk calendar.”
“It just says Moriarty!”
“Holmes’ nemesis? I though he liked all art!”
“Legend says they were once equal, sharing the gold. But the Leprechans resented their cousins, wanting sole hold over the treasure,” Ann said.
“Some called it a war, but really just a family skirmish. Leprechans got control of the gold, but at a steep price.”
“What price?” Jill asked.
“They were willing to shrink down to the height of a young mulberry bush for the right to the gold. Their cousins the Antichans remained their normal size and moved on.”
“So this is an old Antichan compass?”
“They’re gone now?”
“Only one I know does food commercials.”
From the walkway overlooking Niagra Falls Jessie felt the awesome splendor of this gorgeous wonder. She felt like that with Sam once, but now they were married.
“Anything,” Sam said, taking her hand.
“Promise we won’t be boring.”
“Not on your life. Stories will be written about us through eternity.”
“You’re right, this place is amazing!”
Actually I got a complaint a little earlier,” Sam said.
“The star of the show,” Sam said motioning over his shoulder with his thumb at the roaring water. “You’re upstaging it.”
That drew Jessie’s beautiful smile.