Special thanks to John Lightle for providing “Panther Creek Falls” for our writing prompt.
John Lightle is a Texas writer, poet, and photographer who spends many hours sitting on his woodpile contemplating. When away from his frame shop, he schleps his artwork among area art shows. The job takes him across the countryside, occasionally overseas, photographing the quiet resolve found within the golden hours.
You gave us about ten pages here in this small piece, just with these eight words: "Eva held her stomach, whispered “I love you.” Masterfully done, Justin. Wow!
“The lake-and her life-rippled simultaneously.” You captured the feeling of Eva’s life, and the life she was carrying, and it is a feeling all mothers experience, at the wonder of the moment. And poor Eva is alone. Just brought tears to my eyes, Justin. A lot of emotion in only 50 words!
This is a sit-on-the-edge-of-your-seat kind of story. I’d read this is novel format! (And fifty-word format, of course.) I love your speculative stories, Sharron. There’s a psychological element to them that is always so gripping!
The flock of baby sparrows had to reach their nests before dusk. The strong gust of wind was making it harder. The maverick of the group taught them a risky stunt. It required swooping across the engine of speeding vehicles to get fuel combustion acceleration. They arrived back just in time.
I wrote a 50-word story (sci-fi) about rejuvenation, but it deserves to be way longer. I don't want to spoil the ending, so I am keeping it unpublished until the longer story is written. Then, I will add the 50-word story at the end for fun.
Chris! It’s great to see you again. Your poems are brilliant—there’s always so much to unpack! Thanks so much for sharing, and I hope all is well with you.
Cheers, Justin- good to be back, and glad you enjoyed it. I had been kept busy finishing work on my rather long detective novel til a few weeeks ago... perhaps now I will have more time for fun stuff like this. Hope you're having a great summer and keep up the great work.
That’s exciting news, Chris! Congrats on your novel. Please keep me posted regarding the next steps. I’d love to read it someday. And thank you for the encouraging words! 🙏
“The lake-and her life-rippled simultaneously.” This is the universal balance point of the story. All of us hold something we love in our belly that causes ripples in our lives.
The Director cursed the drug-damaged veins of the man thrashing against thick leather restraints. He cursed the rare blood group required to rejuvenate his 111-year-old President, a racist bigot who, had he been awake, would have damned to hell the Guatamalan gangster who held the key to his next term.
I think I should just have popped it here. The second piece on Rejuvenate just isn’t sharp enough so I’ll probably lose it somewhere deep in the recesses of my laboratory (laughs maniacally!) and see where the Donor might slide into my wider dystopian musings.
Ripple, fiction
Eva walked to the quiet lake—the one place that rejuvenated her soul.
She sat down on the rocks of her childhood. They had always been her favorite place to think.
Eva held her stomach, whispered “I love you.” She’d find a way.
The lake—and her life—rippled simultaneously.
You gave us about ten pages here in this small piece, just with these eight words: "Eva held her stomach, whispered “I love you.” Masterfully done, Justin. Wow!
Thanks so much, Sharron! I’m happy you liked this one!
“The lake-and her life-rippled simultaneously.” You captured the feeling of Eva’s life, and the life she was carrying, and it is a feeling all mothers experience, at the wonder of the moment. And poor Eva is alone. Just brought tears to my eyes, Justin. A lot of emotion in only 50 words!
Aww, thank you, Sharon. That’s incredibly kind of you. I’m happy you liked the story! 🙏
Oooo, so much unsaid, yet abundantly clear. Hard to do in 50 words but you did it very nicely, Justin.
Thanks very much, Jim. That’s kind of you to say!
Nicely done, Justin.
"Eva held her stomach, whispered “I love you.” speaks volumes.
Thanks so much, Mark!
You CAN go home again!
It seems that our nostalgia for where we've been fulfills us more than anticipation of where we might go.
I think it absolutely can! Now that is something to chew on. Thanks so much for reading. 🙏
TRUTH OR DEATH, Speculative fiction
We’re not afraid.
We’re leaving the dark droning of Nether-Rule, freeing ourselves from the incessant, mind-numbing chatter of The Creed.
We don’t know what dangers wait out there in the Dross, but Rejuvenation calls to us. The light calls to us.
And we will live the Truth. Or we’ll die.
This is a sit-on-the-edge-of-your-seat kind of story. I’d read this is novel format! (And fifty-word format, of course.) I love your speculative stories, Sharron. There’s a psychological element to them that is always so gripping!
Oh, goodness! Thank you, Justin. I wish I knew what happens next in this story. Maybe it will come to me... I appreciate so much your encouragement.
Chemical rejuvenation ( Fiction )
The flock of baby sparrows had to reach their nests before dusk. The strong gust of wind was making it harder. The maverick of the group taught them a risky stunt. It required swooping across the engine of speeding vehicles to get fuel combustion acceleration. They arrived back just in time.
I love the focus of this piece and where you landed, Sunil. Excellent! (No pun intended…well, maybe.) 🐦 😄
I actually saw some small birds doing that the other day while driving! It set me thinking and got etched in my memory...
I love when that happens. Well, needless to say, you captured it beautifully and spun it into a neat little tale!
So I am guessing one of the sparrows was nicknamed "Goose"? 🤣
Yes it does have that Top Gun kind of thrill!
Newly Reborn- poem
Age wears on a person.
Slings and arrows
And so forth.
Doubt, failure,
Even success
Takes its toll.
There is more that I can see
Looking back
Than forward.
But when
I look
At the newborn youth
That bears my name
And knows my love I, too,
Am born again.
What an incredibly sweet poem that comes full circle. Loved it! Thanks for sharing it with us.
The Record Fair, Fiction
The hall smelled like old cigarette smoke and the walls peeled yellow. He didn't want to be here on his Saturday.
Flicking through that first box of vinyl records changed everything. Like discovering magic; he felt rejuvenated.
He shared a smile across the room with his Dad.
Finally, he understood.
A lovely gem of a story, Chris! What a special moment shared between the two. Really enjoyed this one!
Thanks Justin! It's also based on a true story, I remember it to this day!
Oh wow, it makes it that much more impactful!
I still have The Beatles' "Red Album" 1962-1966 vinyl on the Apple label, which was the first album I bought.
Love it - what an album!
Finally he understood... when he found the Beatles' Please Please Me, UK Stereo, 1st press, LP, Gold Label. ha ha ha Very cool, Chris.
Love it! This is a great detail haha!
Organic, poem
In nature’s embrace,
she found solace, a sanctuary,
where worries melted,
and her soul, like a flower in bloom,
unfurled in the light of renewal.
Whispers of the wind spoke of rebirth,
of new beginnings in every rustling leaf,
each gentle breeze promised healing,
a balm for her worn spirit.
Just lovely, Caro. You and Justin were riding the same wave today.
This entire poem is like a big warm hug. It’s tender, hopeful, and beautifully written. Excellent work, Caro! Thank you for sharing!
I wrote a 50-word story (sci-fi) about rejuvenation, but it deserves to be way longer. I don't want to spoil the ending, so I am keeping it unpublished until the longer story is written. Then, I will add the 50-word story at the end for fun.
I think it’s wonderful when these fifty-worders simply cannot be contained. It happens to me sometimes, too.
I can’t wait to read your story, Mark!
It has happened to me several times. A 50-word story became the idea or “outline” for a much longer story. It is nice when that happens. Thanks.
Back to the Future? (poem)
A status quo of carnage
wrecked lanes left clustered
with stacked heaps of corroding
batteries, tires exhausted
a useless gear-menagerie
Altogether unmoved
And to think! Just one EMP burst or asteroid
-For few would agree-
dazzled the dream of electric
a slow death until there was no
more rejuvenation.
Chris! It’s great to see you again. Your poems are brilliant—there’s always so much to unpack! Thanks so much for sharing, and I hope all is well with you.
Cheers, Justin- good to be back, and glad you enjoyed it. I had been kept busy finishing work on my rather long detective novel til a few weeeks ago... perhaps now I will have more time for fun stuff like this. Hope you're having a great summer and keep up the great work.
That’s exciting news, Chris! Congrats on your novel. Please keep me posted regarding the next steps. I’d love to read it someday. And thank you for the encouraging words! 🙏
“The lake-and her life-rippled simultaneously.” This is the universal balance point of the story. All of us hold something we love in our belly that causes ripples in our lives.
I love the way you describe it, Annie. Couldn’t agree more with you. Thank you so much for reading and commenting!
Donor
The Director cursed the drug-damaged veins of the man thrashing against thick leather restraints. He cursed the rare blood group required to rejuvenate his 111-year-old President, a racist bigot who, had he been awake, would have damned to hell the Guatamalan gangster who held the key to his next term.
Thank you for sharing “Donor” here as well, Barrie. It’s such a dark and frightening piece—and so well written!
I think I should just have popped it here. The second piece on Rejuvenate just isn’t sharp enough so I’ll probably lose it somewhere deep in the recesses of my laboratory (laughs maniacally!) and see where the Donor might slide into my wider dystopian musings.
Nah, the second story is very strong too! 💪 But I am very on board with your idea regarding Donors. To the laboratory! Muahaha!
The Young, creative non-fiction
Jeune. From the French, “young.”
And they were the young, this sea of Marines at Camp Lejeune, getting on the buses, waving good-bye.
“Nobody’s crying,” a man said into the phone, exultant, as I stood beside him in tears.
No Lieutenant General could rejuvenate these kids once they’d seen combat.
Jennie, I’m sorry for missing this. What a heart wrenching piece. So much emotion packed into such a small space—brilliant work!
Thank you!