Prose
TOM LACASCIA
talacascia@hotmail.com
For most of our married life, my wife Ann and I lived in the New York City. We dined out a lot and both liked Sunday brunch in Greenwich Village - especially buffet style brunches that threw in a few glasses of Champagne - okay, it wasn't Moet Chandon or Vive Cliquot, but it went well with the fresh strawberries, papaya, pineapple and Bing cherries that were set in beautiful array along with a dozen or so entrees on the buffet table.
While on our honey moon in Florida we visited Ponce de Leon's Fountain of Youth Archaeological Park. After an exhausting but exciting tour, we rested on a park bench and sipped a cool drink.
Across from us sat a shabbily dressed middle aged gentleman, a dog rested its chin blissfully on his lap. Next to their bench was a make-shift stand with small bottles of clear liquid. An attached sign read,
WATER FROM THE FOUNTAIN OF YOUTH $.39
QUANTITY LIMITED
MONEY BACK GUARANTEE
- Details
- Written by: grunfruaorshell
- Category: Prose
- Hits: 3364
He froze with fear. It descended.
The third arm never grows back.
Catching the planet was fairly easy.
She kept galaxies inside her shoe.
Nitrogen based life is more artistic.
The ship needed more asteroid dust.
(Inspired by a writing catalyst challenge from iO9 Webzine)
- Details
- Written by: grunfruaorshell
- Category: Prose
- Hits: 2487
It was at that point that I noticed everything. The trash falling over the lip of the can. Wrinkles in the sheets no longer moving. The car driving by outside. The kicking-in of the heating system. It was stuffy in the room. It was always stuffy in the room. It was that way the first time we walked in. It was at an open house tour. You commented on how much work the place needed. All I could see was the original crown molding. Character. So much Character. You smiled and six months later we moved in.
- Details
- Written by: Gibbleswick
- Category: Prose
- Hits: 2524
The snow had lingered time enough to accrue all all manner of impurities. The passing of the days allowed layers of snow to dance towards the earth and initially dust, then blanket the town and loose the purity of the silence with which it had fallen. The impurities crushed and solidified by the feet, tyres and ploughs of a town determined by the importance of all menial and meaningful activities and engagements.
