Archive for the ‘Death’ Tag

Another Tomorrow   Leave a comment

This post is written for Sunday Photo Fiction.

I scan the beach. How do we do it? How do we bear the unbearable truth? How can we fathom someones death? Indeed how can we confront the reality of our own death?

Someday I will die and leave my wife and children behind. Or someday each of then will die and leave me alone.

How do we deal with this cruel truth?

For those with faith they have their hope. For us that don’t we have reality. No heaven or hell to worry about. And certainly no afterlife. Once your dead your dead Fred.

And still we have a hard time facing that unescapable fact. It’s something we all have in common. We all have a hard time talking about the ultimate end of our life.

So, like always, I put that thought away. I’ll think about it another day. Perhaps!

Second Cup Of Coffee? Vindictive!   6 comments

Written for Lillie McFerrin Five Sentence Fiction — Vindictive.

What it’s all about: Five Sentence Fiction is about packing a powerful punch in a tiny fist.

This week’s word: VINDICTIVE

My story follows the picture prompt. Other stories can be found by clicking on the blue frog at the end of this post.

Image result for coffee cups

Photo — Wikipedia

 

She will just add a few drops in his coffee every morning. It should take about a week according to her research. It will be easy enough to purchase from her lab at work. Headaches, confusion, severe diarrhea and drowsiness will be his well deserved symptoms. No more lovers for you dear husband.

 

Posted March 17, 2015 by Danny James in 5 Sentence Fiction

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Water Therapy   18 comments

Written for Mondays Finish The Story. For other stories click on the little blue box at the end of this post. My story follows the picture. Enjoy!

2014-12-08 - BW Beacham

Donning her fins and snorkel, she headed out into the deep water. She had practiced for this day for over three months with her husband Gary. It was all part of her therapy. All her life she had been afraid being in the water. Her therapist had suggested, and David agreed, that she should start out slowly to gain confidence over her fear of water.

Her fear of water not only included deep water but swimming pools and bathtubs. She knew she had a serious problem when she realized she was afraid of even entering the water and sometimes even to look at a large body of water filled her with fear. Aquaphobia her therapist called it.

 She never took ocean cruises with her friends. Once, she had worked up  her nerve and gone white water rafting with Gary. That experience set her back about two years she thought.

Her hope was that if she was able to overcome this phobia her crumbling marriage had a chance of being saved. David had been a saint in getting to this point. He had promised to keep the boat nearby so if she became anxious she could return to the safety of the boat.

Her confidence was high as she turned and looked for Gary and the boat. All she saw as open water.

Sunday Photo Fiction — The Thaw   10 comments

Written for Sunday Photo Fiction. My story begins after the picture. For more stories from gifted writers click on the little blue froggie.

Weird shaped icicles

George tapped his cane on the table hard. This indicated to the attendant that he was finished with his breakfast.

Percy knew the drill. He wheeled George to the same window after breakfast every day. He would be back in two hours to take George back to his room for his mid morning  nap.

George was well aware it was winter by the icicles on the window frame. The thought crossed his mind that this may be the  last  winter  he would experience. “When the icicles melt away it will be time for me to pass away also,” he said out loud.

He relived the memory that brought him to his place just about every day. Since he lived alone after his wife’s death and was 86 years old the pulling  back of his living room curtains  signified he  was alright. The curtains remained closed that fateful morning. He had fallen off the toilet and hit his head on the nearby tub. He would have been on the floor for who knows how long  had he not made arrangements with his neighbor across the street.

Percy returned and turning George around  said, “Looks like them icicles beginning  to thaw Mr. George.”

George slumped in his chair mumbled, “Yes Percy they are indeed.”

 

 

Posted November 18, 2014 by Danny James in Sunday Photo Fiction

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Stirring the Soup   Leave a comment

File:Famine in India - LIFE (13).jpg

From Wikimedia Commons

Awkwardly stirring the soup, she pretended she could not hear them arguing in the next room.

The monsoon rains had failed in central India that year. Drought parched crops were all the eye could see. Failure of the crops lead to the scarcity of food. Death was all around them. Each day a neighbor, friend, or a family member perished. Without the rains they would not survive.

The well-fed Westerner was no match for her husband in their negotiations. Isha knew that her husband would do what was best for  the family.Their daughter Aiesha would leave the family.

She realized that she had stopped  stirring  the soup and it  was getting cold.

Posted November 6, 2014 by Danny James in Flash Fiction

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When I Awoke   2 comments

When I awoke there were strangers all around me. I had waken up in a white room and a bright light shining in my eyes. In my foggy vision I could see people in gauze masks and blue plastic caps standing over me. I looked to my  right side and saw what looked like a bank of little computer screens all with  yellow lines  running  either up and down or making loops as they ran left to right across the black background. I thought there was a person beside me breathing very deep breaths and exhaling with a swoosh sound. On closer inspection this too was some type of machine.

On my left  was a tray with strange utensils that  were neither  knifes or  forks. One looked  like the tool that my father  used to pry the last piece out of a walnut. I must be at a party as there appeared to be a table set for twelve.

Suddenly a loud pinging came from the machines on my right. Now there was a flurry of activity around me. Just as suddenly as the pinging started the colorful lines of the machine became very straight. Not even the slightest little uptick. The people who were standing above me shared the strangest look. I could not hear them talking but their eyes seem to be communicating with each other.

The strangers started to slowly leave my room. Not all at once but almost on a set schedule until there were just two left. They took the sheet at the end of my bed and pulled it over my head. I always hated to sleep with anything pulled over my head.

I shouted for them to lower the sheet but they appeared not to here. They also then left the room.

It’s awful quite right now.

Hardscrabble — Speakeasy #150   29 comments

The rules for the Speakeasy challenge can be found here.

My name is Cora Ann Skinner. I was born in Stoddard, Missouri on February 9, 1873. I married James Alexander King on May 15th, 1892. I was 19 years old. My mother had to sign our wedding certificate because of my age. I was one of 10 children of John Skelton and Lucretia Mcpheeters. I had ten children; John Daniel, Charley, Vera, Walter, Herman, Marshall, Roy, Nellie, Bertha, and Ralph.

Life was hard in Missouri in the late 19th century. James and I had a small shack called “Hardscrabble”.James never worked a steady job in our entire marriage. He did handyman type jobs around Hannibal. There were occasions where he would take a job “out-of-town”. Where “out-of-town” was always a mystery.

My brother Rueben committed suicide. He had a mental breakdown and locked himself in the attic with his bible and spent several days reading it. They found him hanging from the rafters. I never liked him but he planted the seed.

My father came to Stoddard county from Hawkins county, TN. He had owned some slaves in TN but knew that the area of southeast MO didn’t like slavery but they also didn’t like blacks. So before he moved he freed his slaves. One slave was named Jake and he had taken our last name. He had been with them most if not all of his life. He refused to leave them after receiving his freedom and make the journey with them to MO. It was a worry to my family that he would be beaten or worse by some ignorant member of the KKK which was pretty well established in Stoddard County at that time. They did finally talk him into moving and he settled in an African-American community near Cape Girardeau, MO. I lost a true friend in Jake.

After ten children my husband left me in 1915 the year young Ralph was born. Just disappeared, like through a black  hole and then never returned. Not a single person ever heard from James again. All I had left was ten children, a four room shack, and  five acres with a lone oak tree smack in the middle. The summer and early fall of 1917 were brutally hot, even for southeast MO. That’s when I lost my mind; “snapped” they would say today. I wanted to take Ralphie with me, but in my state of mind could not figure out how to do it. It was surprising easy once I got the rope over the lower limb. Just slipped the noose over my neck and jump off the peach basket. That would do it  I thought. But then I thought about my ten children. Along in this Godforsaken place.

She waited for someone to tell her  what  to do next.

Posted February 24, 2014 by Danny James in Fiction, Flash Fiction, Speakeasy

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