PHOTO PROMPT © Dale Rogerson

Behind the shrubs, Aggie and I waited; night-vision goggles and accompanying camera paraphernalia in hand.

We’d heard the rumors … glowing beings appeared once darkness arrived to play what seemed to be a hybrid of American football and classic soccer.

No one personally admitted to having actually witnessed this.

But there was proof, of sorts.

The crystal ball midfield… the Y-shaped goalswere not authorized. One morning, they were just there.”… our local tabloid quoted Headmaster Marshall Eraticas.

Tonight, The Tattler, our school paper, would break this story.

The truth would come out.

All we had to do was wait.

Written for Friday Fictioneers: October 4, 2019.


photo-1476254592636-2a8e23b256fe UnSplash


“You see her? She’s down at the beach.”

“You don’t stand a chance, bud.”

“What do you mean? I know she’s beautiful – way outta my league, but no one has talked to her the whole party. She simply stood in the background. She’s got to be the shyest girl I have ever seen.”

“Shy? You think Alysia is a party wallflower. You gotta be kiddin’! She was standing there thinking what fools we all are having a kegger the night before graduation. Especially since Dean Macalister warned us that no one hungover would walk the aisle. Alysia’s an aloof prissy socialite. You just need to cool your jets. Don’t go embarrassing yourself.”

“Nothing ventured, nothing gained.”

“Ventured… you don’t even know the meaning of that word. Sit down and have another.”

“No way. I think I’ll take an evening stroll on the beach. I hear the flowers are lovely this time of evening.”




“Three minutes and counting.”

“You look ridiculous.”

“Ridiculous? I’m just getting ready to celebrate.”

“The party is tonight. We should be leaving. It’s a three hour drive and I have to go home to shower and change.”

“You can go, but I’d wait. Two more minutes.”

“At least take off that silly party hat. People are watching us.”


“Stop your spinning and dancing. Someone is going to call the cops.”

“Oooo… One minute. One day, I am actually going to be there on the spot. I ‘ve always dreamed of being there for the first ray of light for a new year.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Timbuktu. Where New Year’s begins. Same time zone as Greenwich, England. To be relaxing out on a dune, watching the stars shine like they will never shine here again, awaiting the first rays of the sun for a new year. What could be better? Three… Two… One…”

Christopher blows his noisemaker and spins and dances for almost five minutes- at least it seems that.

Two police officers are approaching.

I grab his hand. “Let’s go. You’ve celebrated enough.”

“Sure. Now we can shower and change and party. The New Year is here!”





“Get down from there. That elm has rotted. It’s not safe up there.”

“As soon as I get the picture.”

“Why from up there?”

“We are here birdwatching, so we should have a bird’s-eye view of over first campsite.”

“That’s ridiculous. You’re going to fall and damage the camera.”

“Damage the camera!”

“You know what I mean.”

“Yes. You’ve stated it very clearly.”

“Look. All I meant was that we didn’t bring another camera. We have to be careful if we going to win Arckland’s Bird Safari scavenger hunt. The prize money will set-up our studio.

“I am wedged between these branches in danger … you tell me. This tree has rotted. I could fall to my death any moment … you tell me. Then you remind me NOT to damage the camera.”

Creak … Crack … Snap … Boom.

Lori lands in an unceremonious heap at the base of the elm.

Kyle rushes to her. “Lori are you hurt?”

Just as he arrives, the Nikon D850 hits Lori in the eye and gently rolls to her lap.

“Thank goodness you caught the camera.”

With a snicker, Kyle walks away. An apology now would do no good. Maybe after breakfast?



Grin and Bear It


Grin and Bear It

‘Twas the night before Christmas and all through my house … all seven grandchildren were racing up and down my back stairs like little rats.

The tree was up (I keep it up year round. Yes, I’m one of those…) and the lights were blinking.

This year, each family member was to bring a small bear.

We sipped warn cider with toffee cookies as we each told our story and placed our treasure upon the tree. Collectibles… Grizzlies… Polar…and Teddies.

Emma Sue, the youngest, always wanted to go last.

“Two-for-one, Grandma,” as she hung a beautiful koala and child.

Written for THE CARROT RANCH FLASH FICTION CHALLENGE. July 11, 2019, prompt: “My kingdom for a koala!” In 99 words (no more, no less) write a story about a koala in a kingdom. You can create a character out of Norah’s koala and give it a Vermont adventure. Or you can make up a story however you want! Can you pull off a BOTS (based on a true story)? Go where the prompt leads!


Photo by Blair Fraser on Unsplash


I was more than excited … Mark had finally agreed to house hunt.

After being married to one the lead architect of Newsome, Newsome, and Cole (Mark was the Cole) for eleven years, we were taking the plunge.

I wanted away from the rat-race of The City. Mark readily agreed. He had his own plane and chopper; we could live anywhere. Mark wanted a house that was uniquely his own. He saw himself as the new – completely recyclable and environmentally friendly – Frank Lloyd Wright.

Chauffeured from the apartment to the airport, we boarded Brutus, Mark’s refitted Sikorsky UH-60 Blackhawk.

Once out of urban airspace, Mark started a play-by-play of the lakes and rivers.

The countryside was beautiful.

I was very quiet; when I had said out-of-the-rat race, I was not sure I meant this far out.

Dipping Brutus’ nose, Mark landed on a newly constructed heliport. I looked around as we waited for the rotors to stop. To my right… a crystal river. To my left… a gorgeous lake; its outermost banks still in the mist.

Gently grasping my hand, Mark helped me out. “Look behind you,” he said. “Picture the possibilities. This is going to be home.”

Written for Sunday Photo Fiction: July 14, 2019.




Yesterday I went to a movie completely out of my comfort-zone: GODZILLA.

I was kindly coerced into this fool-hardy enterprise by a friend’s youngest son, Eric, a future Roanoke College baseball player.

While watching a minor league team play, my friend and I were surrounded by mythological monster masters… eleven up-and-coming baseball draft picks with immeasurable knowledge of Godzilla, Kong, and their cohorts.

They spoke of Godzilla with great passion. (I do not jest!)

Feeling properly chastised for my lack of cinematic mythological knowledge, and that my friend and I were the only ones in the entire world NOT aware of this vital information, I agreed to see Godzilla.


Arriving at the theater, I awaited my new-found monster crew.

Surprisingly, I enjoyed the movie.

However, I needed a family-tree or a yearbook to follow the ancestry of these ancient monsters that seemed to be well-known to both an eight-year-old boy with his proud father (who were seated one row behind us) and the group of four college baseball players released from their day-practice because of rain.

Complete with chest thumps and some kind of secret salute every time Godzilla’s theme music and his appearance graced the big screen, my small squadron of mythological paleontologists enthusiastically enjoyed the movie.

I discovered every one of my fellow movie-goers were at one time second-grade dinosaur aficionados… they just have not grown-up?

I asked about the chest thumps… it was sometime about love and respect. The youngest of the baseball players said that “If it had to be explained, I was too old to understand.”

Written for FRIDAY FICTIONEERS: THE BOX OFFICE PICTURE. I was not able to reduce the story to the required minimum of 100 words, but I decided to publish it anyway.