____________________________________________________He is not what he appears to be, that one. He is not a sexy pussycat nor a cuddly kitten; although he would have you believe it to be so.
So many taken in by that lopsided smile and those cats-eyes that can not look directly into yours. It is not because one of those murky green eyes, that left mismatched one, is a lazy eye; though that is what most everyone thinks. Oh no! He can not look you directly in the eye because he knows you will spot the lie behind them, even the lazy one!
And a lazy eye can not hide that which he has atop his head. Can no one else see? Look closely my friend, but not too close! See there, right between his ears, those nasty protrusions? Not hair tufts, not multicolored hair swirls. No! Look fast and look hard, then run away as quickly as you can! Those are not tufts or swirls at all, those are horns! Devil’s horns to be sure!
Whom does that felonious feline serve? Certainly himself, that much is obvious. Dare not touch the beast, for he will most assuredly lure you to your unearthly demise with promises of love, affection, attention and the pleasure of stroking his deceptively luxurious fur. Once touched, the toucher will find he or she can not withdraw the hand speared by the creature’s short-poisonous spines.
Beware that one my friends. Leave him to his duplicitous ways lest you become one in the same, as him!
“Kekenâtethiwa, kekenâtethiwa!” she said in her, in our Native tongue.
“Hurry up, hurry up child!” She said again in English, laughing as she pulled me along.
We moved quickly through the field, heavy now with ripening maze. Down a slight incline and then a hefty hike up the side of a grass laden incline that was steeper than a hill but not quite a mountain, on this side anyway.
The other side saw a sheer drop off of untold thousands of feet with rocky outcroppings and the occasional mountain goat or two perched stable- legged on barely there ledges, eating their fill of sweet grass.
It was on that side that Grandmother and I made our way precariously to a well-worn ledge and sat down to wait. Neither of us spoke, our companionship and union of spirit set long before either of us had been born.
It was not long at all before the moon, full and rosey pink, began to rise just over the first mountain peak. It was so big and so bright that it frightened me.
“Nothing to be afraid of my child. She’s as natural as well, as nature!” She chucked at herself before continuing.
“Do you remember why she’s called Têhimini Tepehkikîshethwa child?”
“Strawberry Moon, Grandmother?” Proud of myself for understanding her. “Yes Grandmother, because it’s pink!”
“This is true child,” she winked at me for my effort. “But why would she turn pink at this time of year, do you know?” Grandmother asked softly, her eyes transfixed by the ever-climbing pink orb.
I looked up at her with wide, curious eyes and shook my head no.
“The Great Manetôwa placed her there to tell us when to plant and when to harvest. When the tides will swell and when they will ease. She turns pink on the Solstice of Summer to remind us to pick our strawberries when they are juicy and ripe before they rot in the heat of Kîshethwa,” she said.
“The Sun?” I asked. I received another wink for that and smiled lovingly up at this woman who was the sun, the moon and the stars to me.
As the strawberry moon rose over the mountain, as it had so many times before and would for so many more; I could feel my grandmother’s spirit sitting beside me so strongly, I almost reached out for her translucent hand.
“Nîna tepânêwa kîna,” I whispered to her.
“I love you, too,” she winked and slipped away with the strawberry moon.
You have THREE DAYS (AM Friday-PM Sunday on the East Coast) to submit your entry. Include social media links/handles/anything you want to promote (Twitter, FB, etc) & word count in the comment with your submission. Submission must be between 150-300 words. All stories are property of the authors. Winner will be determined via reader votes on Mondays. _________________________________
The Lout’s
Conversation between two friends.
“I can not get over it, I mean I thought that person was so cool and well, nice!” Jerri said.
“I know right! I mean talk about having everything and then throwing it all away. What kind of a lummox does that?” Kelsey asked.
“Lummox, that’s a good one Jerri! Your nice way of saying a complete and total dolt?” Jerri laughed.
“Well, if the shoe fits, right? Honestly though, it would take a true bumpkin to cause that marriage to fail, I just don’t get it.” Kelsey shook her head despondently.
“Don’t take it too personally Kelsey, celebrities get married and divorced all the time. They don’t live in the real world. It’s why they act out, use drugs and alcohol and basically misuse and abuse each other. I say they’re all a bunch of buffoon’s if you ask me.” Jerri said.
“I don’t think it’s pc to use buffoon’s anymore Jerri, you know? But I get your meaning though. To have that kind of talent…” Kelsey began.
Jerri interrupted, “… and to be born with those looks! Aye yi yi!”
By Gypsie-Ami Offenbacher-Ferris (Flash fiction in 100 words exactly.)
Gardening is my relaxation. Flowers are my heaven. I love the little critters that arrive in spring. The anoles, the crickets, snails and slugs. The birds and fireflies. Turtles sometimes and frogs always.
Hop hop hop. Right over my flip-flopped foot.
“Oh, hello!” I exclaimed.
Hop hop hop, he stopped. I followed. More hopping. I kept following. He took me to my lovely porcelain, vibrant blue bird-bath water fountain and waited. Thinking he wanted water, I lowered my hand and he hopped right in. Once on the edge, he turned to face me.
They felon had been banished to the back-country. The chilling trip was an unknown, yet he had heard stories. UuikPinpricks of information came down the in-house communication network dubbed, ‘the slithery string,’ about the place unmanageable inmates like him were sent and never heard from again.
He had tried to miss the deportation wagon by hiding out in the laundry room, but the lid of the basket she had stuffed himself inside wouldn’t close the right way and in the end, he had been discovered.
Now he was handcuffed to ithe seat in front of him on what looked to be a dilapidated but school bus with two beefy prison guards on either side of him to insure he stayed put.
They bounced around uncomfortable in the semi-darknessz, dusk had just fallen. The old bus made a sharp right turn, hit several potholes and finally stopped. Before the bus stopped bouncing from the rough ride, the guards were manhandling him down the stairs and out of the door. He looked around confused, until he uh wedHuhis brain processed what his eyes were telling himo. A rickety yyuiold sign hung above the abandoned graveyard, but the words were still legible. ‘The WeBack-Country’ was painted across all yyyuuoooooooooookookokkvery Different dry and broken piece of rotting timbery. His distraught scream went unheeded.
Gypsie’s Wonderful World of Words 