A Rose Called Dirt

A Rose Called Dirt
The wind blows about my body and pushes my petals down towards the torn up black sheeting beneath me.
I know I still have some orange and red left inside I can see it in the reflection from the plastic. So why do they say the word Dirt and point and laugh.
I still have a breath of life in me. I can feel it.
I would like to shout and make them stop calling me Dirt, because the sun still shines and I’m always trying to lift up my stem and support my petals so they can see me at different angles, but why do they laugh and point.

I came from a good bush back then, when I was just a bud and each year as the spring rolled around I blossomed into a rose that was nurtured and shown at many a flower show.
I was the biggest and most beautiful flower at the ceremony and I even won first prize and my owner, the one who planted the bush I came from, got a first prize ribbon, for her skill in raising me to the level I was.

Even though it has been almost five years since my planting and it did wear on all of us who inhabited our bush, I always thought people would enjoy us for what we were, the most beautiful flowers in the world. And indeed they seem to enjoy all of my many red, yellow and white sisters, but somehow, when they’d pass me it was a disaster.
I’d hear, “Oh how lovely that rose is and then they’d point to the bottom of the bush near the ground and say that one looks like the color of dirt.”
Then I heard from the woman’s child, who was about twelve years old, “Why don’t we call it Dirt. Yeah that’s a good name for him. Do you think we can come back and see him next month? He’s really cool. I like him”
The boy turned back to me and waved.”
I did overhear the mother tell the boy that the summer would be over by then, and the roses will have died, so if he would like to visit Dirt again it would have to be real soon, because it didn’t look like the rose had muxh time left and he seemed to be listing and almost falling to the ground, but said she hoped they could visit at least one more time, but perhaps they could bring a camera and take a picture of him.
The boy seemed alright with that because I noticed him smiling up at his mom.

The photo thing seemed like a really good idea to me, but the more I thought about what they were saying a small droplet from inside came tumbling down my petal, which left me with a weak feeling, so that when the warm breeze blew my way I could hardly fight it any longer.
Then I thought, I have to make it until they come back; at least for that.
Then I thought about my early years and the flower shows. They must have taken some photos of me then in all my glory. But where are they. Look at this garden I am in. No one takes care of us, why are we here like this, perhaps a new photo would help.

The next day the boy and his mother came back to see me and this time they pulled and prodded my body until I got free. Now I am being held by the boy and his mom is taking photo off me and saying they were going to use it in an art show, and somehow I would be preserved and last forever.
They called the piece A Rose Called Dirt

And to this day I am the only survivor of the old rose bush in the old forgotten garden

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1311 Causeway Drive

1311 Causeway Drive

What if you found out that nobody liked you; that all the laughing at your jokes and compliments were bunk.
And if this were true what would you do?
Would you ignore it and go on or write in your journal or just cry yourself to sleep each night. But what if it wasn’t the real you they despised and put up with but a person who looked like you and was you in every reasonable way, except for your most important part, your heart, with a goodness and kindness that emitted but was rebuffed by anyone who did not look deeper into your soul where you were sensitive and thoughtful, but
would only see you as a phony and a put on.
What if that was the only way your personality could be and there was no way to change it, until now; right now; this minute and the true meaning of goodness was buried deep within you and no one recognized it, until today, when all hell broke lose in the world and you were its only salvation.
The End
Oliver stood on the top step of the front entrance to his home.
Home to him and fourteen other people who inhabited the small apartment building of which each one of them called home.
But how could everyone’s home be at 1311 Causeway Drive. It was, after all, this was not a group home, even though each apartment was in close enough in proximity to warrant it.
The air at eight in the morning was thick from smog and humidity and the sky was beginning to unfold from blue to a soft grey, then to blackness, almost night.
A crackling sound erupted from what seemed to be beneath Oliver, which made him place his hands over his ears to blot it out.
The clouds were gone and darkness covered the sky.
The other tenants from the building piled out of their only elevator then shuffled down the stairs from their home and stood with Oliver on the steps, then eventually made their way to the sidewalk.
“What’s going on,” Ellie said holding her hands together in prayer. “Sweet Jesus, it’s the end of the world.”
Ellie was a hold over from the sixties, hippie era. She believed that one day the earth would give up and be enveloped in some sort of apocalyptic hiccup and this was it.
“Calm down. Calm down,” said Norton Penzer , a literary professor in his mid-fifties who taught at one of the universities uptown.
Oliver looked down his street only to see phantom groups of people hovering under street lights. Many of them were on their knees praying, while others stood erect with their hands waving in the air shouting “Save us. Oh my God. This is it. It ‘s finally happened.”

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A Kiss Away

A Kiss Away

I love the medium strength toothbrush I have, it gets to the places that need it.

But my dentist said it is best for my teeth to use the soft one.

Now that I have it and am using it every day, the head is beginning to fall apart. And I know it is only a mater of time before its demise.

What to do?

Well experts, who are really dentists in disguise, say that you’re supposed to change your brush every two weeks. Even if they don’t show any wear. How are we supposed to remember? Are they time sensitive?

I’ll miss my little red brush, with its bearded exterior and balding head.

Yes mine was the dark red one just as my mates is somewhat kind of blue, well at least in that family of colors.

In this way, and I’m sure you know what I’m talking about, there is no way for mistaken toothbrush borrowing.

But even if there was, after all they are sitting together day after day and they are really just a kiss away.

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Benny’s Love

Benny’s Love
Benny pushed away his kibble bowl with his paw.
Uncharacteristic of a dog his age, but this was not a good day for him.
In fact this was the worst day of his sad life.
Can a canine have a sad life?
Just ask Benny. He’ll be glad to invite you into it.
He lives down the street from me and I know how it must be for him. He barks from his yard all day long. Freezing weather, scalding hot summer days, Benny is out there. No wonder his life is in the dumps.
As I pass him tied up with a long rope around his neck, attached to a clothesline pole I stand behind the fence, then reach over to rub his head, the howling and barking ceases and I smile and I know he’s smiling too.
Each time I feel a connection with Benny. I can tell when his paws are aching, because I feel it in my feet.
I also know when he is thirsty, because my mouth gets dry. On these occasions I’ll pour some water from the small bottle I carry with me on my many excursions, into my hand and watch the pleasure Benny gets from the liquid.
You probably wonder how I know his name is Benny. Well I could say I heard his owner call out to him, or I can confess the truth. He told me.
He also spoke of having never been inside the walls of his owner’s home for more than ten minutes at a time. When I realized what was being transmitted, my heart hurt for him.
Benny is a beautiful black Labrador who didn’t look more than a year old.
What could have caused this abuse I wondered sitting in my back yard? Then I sensed his presence again, and it asked for my help, because he was now inside of the house for a few minutes and did not want to leave. I could hear the strap come down on Benny’s back and eventually a door open and close.
After what I’d just experienced I was compelled to run down to the little brown house, with its giant yard, where Benny lived and kick some butt. At least that’s what I intended to do, until I heard from him again. No please don’t come over. I know what you’re thinking and I must tell you not to come. It isn’t safe. He has a riffle and he’s mad at me.
I tried to heed his warning but my emotions ran deep for Benny. I have to admit; I loved him and needed to save him, no matter what the risks where.
In two minutes I had on my sneakers and a grabbed a baseball bat for protection, and then raced down the street and up the honeysuckled pathway where he lived.
Noticing that Benny was still on his lease in back I felt, that in some way I’d be able to help him. If I could just warn his owner that if I ever saw him mistreating his dog again I will call the police, because after all it was a crime to abuse an animal. I’d almost forgotten that Benny was more than that to me.
Then a feeling overpowered me before I reached for the door bell. I see you. Come get me. Untie me.
I was compelled to sneak around to the back yard and crawl over the fence to where he was tied up. Right here, I’m here, do you see me?
“Yes my friend. I’ll be right there.
I noticed that he was beginning to bark while edging his was closer to the fence. In fact I had to verbally warn him of my hopeful rescue. “This way boy, I’ll get you out of here.” After he heard my voice he quieted down, wagged his tail and I carefully followed the long rope to the pole where I untied it. Now let’s get you out of hear.
No please Patty he’s coming. Save yourself.
I turned my head around and noticed the man with the riffle running around from the front of the door to the back yard, when I scooped up Benny in my arms and found a gate in the back leading to the ally. I unlatched it and ran. I could hear the shouting from the man behind us, and also heard someone else, running behind him; which both Benny and I hoped would be the law.
I took refuge for us on the side of a dumpster and eventually made my way back to my own yard gate.Out of breath I released my latch and set Benny down into my own yard and eventually into my home where he lived with me for as long as I can remember.
And as far as know there was never any notice of a missing dog anywhere; and as far as Benny and I commutating as before. It never happened again. Our connection was that of love for one being to another and that was enough for us.

The End

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Definition : flashfictionforall Flash Fiction

Well here it is. The truth about my blog flashfictionforall. Right off the top of my head as I shake it back and fourth. Like dandruf. Not. It just so happens I tend to shake my bounty of long hair after brushing daily. The stories that fall out are lose as the strands they come from. Some have a point, and having said that, others  are pointless and have nowhere to go but to be filed away in the idea folder, which  I’m sure every writer is familiar with. After finally explaining the process of my very short Flash Fiction , one might be able to gleen a little from them and perhaps enjoy the ride. 






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Sheldon and Ida Through the Lens

Sheldon and Ida decided to leave the Hope Lodge.
Ida held Sheldon’s jacket then slipped into her own coat.
With a quick glance in the mirror she placed her purple cap on her salt and pepper hair, then propped Sheldon’s white one on his.
After unlocking many dead bolts out Ida turned her body back to the door and re-locked one.
Then they slowly descended the wide marble stairs to the lobby and arm into arm they walked down thirty second street towards Broadway.
A crowd pushed past them forcing them to move a little faster across the busy street, until they reached a curb, where Ida helped Sheldon up onto it.
After which, she stopped them in their tracks and ruffled through her bag for some cash, then turned to Sheldon and said, “Maybe we should go to the Roxy Deli and sneak a quick knish. What do you think?’
Sheldon turned back and said, “If it’s okay with you, it’s okay with me.”
Again they locked arms and proceeded ahead.

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