Exploited Hand

“Stage right!”
All John wanted was to help his son with his debut theater performance. Somehow that translated into building a stage…in a blizzard.
“Where?” John asked. “I don’t know anything about theater.”
“Over there, guy.” The director pointed to his left.
The pain in John’s shoulder sang as he lowered the wood.
“Go get the rest, guy.”
John’s teeth clenched, the vein on his forehead throbbing each time the director spoke.
“Guy, we don’t have all day.”
John kicked up snow as he spun on his heel; he had enough. His body felt hot despite the cold and he growled as he eyed the man. “I have a name!”

The lone protester

Photo Credit: Dan Phiffer via CC.

Written for last week’s Micro Bookend’s – where they supply the first and last word and you fill in the rest.


“Balance,” his mother said to herself. The shopping bags slipped from her shoulder, he reached out to take one but she shook her head. “I got this.”
“What about me? What can I do?” He asked her, still eyeing the bags.
“I set out to be a good mother to you and a good CEO for them. I know what I want so I work for it.”
“And how does this relate to you carrying too many shopping bags?” He asked.
“This is my exercise– I have to stay fit so I can continue mothering you well into my eighties.”

It’s Warmup Wednesday over at FlashFriday – Base a 100 words story off of this image; include a lifelong dream:

Olympic Games, 1896; the athlete Herman Weingartner, horizontal bar champion. Public domain photo by Albert Meyer.