Response to photo prompt above for April 4 Story Challenged in 99-words hosted by Charli Mills for Carrot Ranch Literary Community.
“These creatures are quite ruthless in their pursuit of breakfast, lunch or dinner. They will not give up until they have a tasty treat in their little beaks; mainly me! They are ravenous little beings whose only purpose on this Earth is to eat me and those like me.
My name is Georgio Piccolo Francis Worm and I am, a worm. Thus the name. I’ve survived the longest, so was chosen to teach the little wormettes how to remain free of a certain death by mastication, although the little chicks do not actually chew how horrible to be …. Aheeeeeeeeeeee!!!”
It was in one of those malls, the kind we used to go to in the not so distant past to do our shopping, especially for birthday and Christmas gifts. I was shopping alone with my son, then six years old, so he could buy gifts on the sly for his sister and father.
Those were also the days when my adorable little boy actually wanted to hold my hand. It was a beautiful Christmas season and also one of the saddest. It would be the first Christmas in my life that my mother wasn’t in it. Mother passed away eleven months before, a year in the upcoming month of January. She was determined to hold out until Christmas because she loved it so much, that’s what everyone said. I believed she loved Christmas so much, she tried her very best not to discolor the season for everyone. Not only that Christmas, but future Christmases too; and she did it!
My son wanted to buy pierced earrings for his older sister, “real gold ones,” he said. That is why we ended up where it happened. We headed to the jewelry department, just strolling along hand in hand, enjoying the bright, sparkling Christmas decorations.
Taking a short cut through the locked cases of the fragrance department, my son abruptly stopped dead in his tracks nearly pulling my arm off, figuratively of course.
The look on his face was not only incredulous but beatific. His eyes, misty at first grew bright, clear and a good bit bigger. He pulled on my hand, until I squatted down in front. I asked him what was wrong and his answer made my heart swell to great uncomfortable proportions and tears to stream down my face.
“It’s MiMi, I smell MiMi!” he said excitedly. I told him smoking was not allowed in this part of the store and he said, “No, the real MiMi!”
I assumed he smelled cigarette smoke as mother was a heavy smoker her entire life, literally since the age of nine if not before.
He held back and asked me if I smelled her. I started to tell him no and shake my head when a bottle full of amber liquid sparkled in the cabinet right beside him and caught my attention. I was mesmerized.
My little boy did smell his Grandma. In the locked, glass case right beside him, was a large, very expensive bottle of Shalimar perfume. At that time it was one of the most expensive perfumes this major chain carried, which is why it was locked in the center cabinet level with my sons nose.
My parents were far from wealthy, probably considered lower-middle class and Shalimar Perfume was nothing but a dream for my mother. Yet, one year for her birthday, my father found a way to buy one ounce from the department store. He continued to buy her Shalimar perfume about every ten years or so. As those years went by and they grew into middle-age, my father could afford to buy her a little more and the fancy Shalimar bottle, not just a little vial. She did not dab-a-do-ya every day, but in fact, only put the barest amount on for special occasions.
This is part of the reason I was so very shocked that my son recognized the smell above the smell of those other high end perfumes and spoke about it. I lifted him into my arms and held him tightly. After a moment he asked me if I was sad, I was crying. I told him no, they were tears of joy that I had such a special baby boy.
The sales associate must have seen or heard part of this and asked us if we were ok. I relayed the story and a moment later she opened the locked case, bent down and retrieved the bottle of Shalimar. She allowed both of us a little sniff before replacing the bottle and walking away quietly.
A liquid ray of memory enveloped me. We were once again standing in the kitchen with Mimi while she cooked Christmas dinner.
I kindly thanked the sales associate and continued to shop for my son’s big sister and father; a warm glow in our hearts and wistful smiles on both our faces.
EPILOGUE: This memory is more the sweeter because now my son is thirty years old and we are estranged. It’s been nearly two years since I’ve heard from him or seen him and I have no idea why. I’ve heard rumors from others about misconceptions and misperceptions after his father passed away, but since he won’t answer my calls or e-Mails and he’s moved several hours away without sharing his new location, I can only wait and … hope. 🙏
In response to word prompt CONSPIRACY provided by Nox at The Daily Spur
Dara knew it, she’d had him pegged ever since she’d arrived and had been accepted into the fold, as it were. She couldn’t help herself; she followed him throughout the massive hallways always supremely aware of which door he entered, how long he took inside and when he exited.
It wasn’t like he was hard to tail, so to speak, not with a tail like that and besides, he was huge. Massive really. Of course, the color of his skin, um, scales shone brighter and slimier the further down the hallway he went.
As the hall became hotter and hotter it became more and more difficult for Dara to follow, but she was determined. Only two doors left. She knew the last door opened onto a very private elevator that only descended, but the door before that one presented a mystery.
Dara was positive she was onto something. If she proved her conspiracy theory, not only would she be the most celebrated journalist of all time, but mankind would be forever changed as well. There would be no more guessing, no more religious uprisings or wars, it would all be exposed in black and white soon, by her.
The door opened wide, allowing his heavy bulk entrance into the room. Dara slid in behind him on her stomach, surprised at how quiet she could be. The room was dark, smoke filled and smelled of something quite foul. Dara covered her mouth to keep from retching and thanked the heavens for the darkness.
A gigantic oval table took the center of the cavernous room. Fireplaces on all six sides roared loudly as fire devoured big chunks of decaying wood fed to it by underlings. Every chair was filled. Dara counted 16, no 24 chairs all together and each held something no sentient being should ever see.
Dara’s stomach roiled. Seated right beside the giant red one was the wavering figure of a man, a creature really, every high school girl and boy know the name of before they ever finish their studies. A man so vile and so evil, to say his name out loud would bring down misfortune and pain on the person voicing it. The most depraved, violent and heinous leader in the history of mankind.
Joseph Stalin sat to the beasts right. To the left of the beast sat a small, almost fearful man whose visage seemed to wink in and out. A part of his skull was missing but still, he was easily recognizable as Adolph Hitler. So it went that around the table sat the very worst humanity had birthed, nourished and eventually vanquished.
It was the strangest sight to see these people, not really people Dara surmised; but the souls of what used to be people sitting here calmly conspiring to cause the downfall of humanity.
Yet, as unbelievable as that was, what they were doing was even worse. Each vile ex-leader had attached to their hands, if they still had them, or to whatever part of their body they could maneuver, a full set of barely visible puppet strings.
Dara allowed her eyes the freedom to follow the clear, crystalline tethers to their destination far below on Earth. There, dancing to the tune of each macabre puppeteer, were the worlds most prominent leaders, speakers, religious icons and zealots. Completely controlled by evil.
Response to prompt by Charli Mills for Carrot Ranch Literary Community. In 99 words (no more, no less), write a story about disappearance.
It was here, seemingly only a few moments ago. Yet, neither could find it anywhere. They searched for it together and they searched apart. Neither one could believe they had lost it and it was gone.
Deciding to search one last night; the searching was awkward, stilted and definitely not how it had been. There was no team-work, no coordination. Their basic understanding of how to work as one unit no longer existed.
They sat upon the bed just looking at one another. The disappearance of their love had gone unnoticed, just as the disappearance of years had.
It was supposed to be a straight forward experiment, certainly there was no perceived danger prior to implementing the procedure.
Dr. Kym informed his staff, his colleagues and the entire Board about the pending experiment, the specifics and the predicted conclusions. They sat enraptured as he laid out the basic principles upon which he had built his theory. It all sounded so good.
Until it wasn’t. Dr. Kym planned to integrate the human psyche into the many layered and complicated nervous system of Earths most common fungi, the mushroom.
What he had not planned on was a retaliatory strike!
Response to word prompts provided by The Sunday Whirl (dawn tips stretched awoke mists off quiet shouldered blur again laughed whirred)
quiet laughter whirred the mists tips of early blooming tulips shouldered through the blur of old snow drifts stretched to touch the dawn returning to turn off the cold weather months and welcome once again Spring!
If I should remove my mask Would you still love me? To gaze upon my face barren and plain Would you dare even whisper my name?
If I bared my heart revealing all the mistakes the failed tries at a life-long love and one true mate Would you still love me? To see the all the scars and heart break memoirs?
And should I expose all that I know from depravity to heavens pure love Unimaginable pain to erotic release Will you tear me to shreds leaving me alone with my hurt piece by piece?
If I removed all the glue to show all of me to you – Would you still love me true?
They met discreetly, quietly and in near total silence twice a week. If both parental sets left at the same time, they’d risk a third rendezvous but, that had only happened a very few times.
This was one of those times.
She: “I’m so happy you found this place,” she sighed, sliding up against him, noticing he was hairier than usual.
He: “My change is coming,” he hesitated then continued, “do you have everything ready? We will have to move quickly once it starts and pray we aren’t discovered, not until it’s too late for them to do anything about it.”
She: “Yes, but if my father discovers us before we are truly joined, he will kill you,” she whispered the dire warning.
A leaf shook, then another. A male Luna moth emerged. Enraged he pushed the butterfly worm off the leaf and carried his errant larvae home.
Gypsie’s Wonderful World of Words 
