Jack and Jill

For twenty-nine days of the month, I am Jill. I know Jill; I can predict how Jill will react. Jill backs away from confrontation and dives into gossip, Jill smokes a pack a day and drinks more coffee than necessary because I like to feel the jittering down my veins. My long blonde hair is my pride and joy; I flirt my way into clubs and out of trouble. I am Jill.

Until, I’m not. Every full moon I transform. I become Jack.

Jack is unpredictable. Jack butchers my hair and talks with his fists. Jack forces Jill to wake up in the bed of some random man or woman. Jack tattoos our shared skin and poisons us with hard drugs. Jack remembers the confrontations Jill backed away from, seeks them out, and administers his own form of justice. He remembers the gossip and exploits it.

I sometimes envy Jack, I almost always hate him.

In one night he burns it all down. Everything Jill can predict and plan, Jack brings to the ground.

In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “The Full Moon.”


My knees ached something fierce. The walk home from the park used to be easy when Paws was a puppy but that was almost a decade ago. The years show on one of us and it isn’t the energetic American Bulldog by my side.

He, on the other hand, is in perfect health, no joint aches or muscle sores, just excitement and adventure. He’s smart, though, and senses my struggle. My kindhearted Bully slows down and allows our pace to turn to something more leisurely.

Later, once we get back home, he’ll spend a solid fifteen minutes licking the park off my legs and hands. Then he’ll jump up next to me on the couch, turn in a circle a few times, before collapsing next to me for a nap. I may nod off too, with my legs up on the coffee table, petting his fur.

He is my companion, my friend, the reason I go to the park every weekend and the snuggle-buddy in my bed. Even if my husband wants to get in on the snuggles, Paws will reluctantly make room, but only if he’s in the middle of us both.

In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Menagerie.”

Hair Curler and Key Rings

She was already late, despite setting her alarm two hours early and planning her outfit the night before. She was already late because sometimes Anne got a little too caught up in the mirror, fixing the way her hair fell down her neck in perfect curls – caring more about the way she looks than punctuality. She knows it about herself (and hates it) but does little to fix it despite the consequences.

But today, Anne had been ready. Even with the extra five minutes on her hairdo, she would have been out the door and on her way. Except, she had not factored in the now ninety-seven seconds she’d spent trying to find her keys.

An app on her phone that shows the train schedule blinks red, if she doesn’t leave in the next three minutes she’ll miss her way into the city. She’ll miss her interview, all because of a hair curler and a ring of keys.

Anne presses her hands along her suit pants straightening the fabric and looks over her apartment in havoc – overturned couch cushions, desk drawers open and nearly falling to the floor. Her hair had stayed perfectly in place during the expedition; she knew this because she had spared the half second to look in the mirror that hangs in her foyer… twice.

Right now though, she wanted to pull at the curled strands. She would not find the keys in time. Her feet made the decision for her as she headed out of the apartment, to her interview. She left her front door unlocked with a quick prayer that all her stuff would be there when she returned. Except the curling iron, the burglars could take that.

Inspired by:

Monday Writing Prompt-Lost Keys

Here’s another prompt taken from upcoming and third book in my Writing Genre Fiction series and this one is from the chapter on scenarios-

Your character loses their car keys.

Have fun and happy writing.

Man v. Man

“Daddy said yes!” She throws her arms around my neck, reaching for a kiss but I plant my hand on her waist to still the movement; I will not kiss a gal in front of her father.

As it is, his eyes are watching the shrinking space between us. “Thank you, sir.”

He huffs. “I didn’t do this for you.”

“Of course, sir.”

I step back so my body separates from his daughter’s. I like Lucy, but I don’t want a shotgun in my face and if she was my daughter, the weapon would already be loaded. Possibly, hidden somewhere in this room.

“I’ll go get my coat.” Lucy presses in again and I grit my teeth as her lips brush the flesh of my ear. “Be right back.”

Cool air replaces her warm body. Her father watched the entire interaction. “My girl knows what she wants.”

I nod, unsure.

“I don’t want to hear about you two at Necker’s Point.”

My face warms. “Never, sir.”

The man grunts. “I was a lad not that long ago. I know –“


Lucy comes back into the room, kisses her father’s cheek. His hard eyes hold mine, like he can see every night I spent fantasized about his daughter.

“Let’s go.”

My submission for the Flash!Friday contest. Word count 190-210. The prompt must include a Man v. Man conflict and incorporate this photo:

Scene from the Hungarian film

Happy Earth Day


“Did you hear that?” I asked my partner, the echo of both our breathing ricocheting in our bodysuits.

“Hard to miss the obnoxious beeping noise.” He responded, surly as usual.

“You obviously don’t know what it means, if you’re not more excited.”

“Things ‘beep’ in our biosphere often.”

“But, we aren’t in the biosphere.”


“That means the Biological Plant-life Indicator triggered something – “

“In this wasteland?”

“This used to be the largest National Park in the Southern Hemisphere.”

“Well now it’s – “


There it was, breaking through the broken ground, reaching for the sun, life.

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