The Bettermost Drabblefest: Please Join In!

[mariez]

Home

His face broke into a grin and he quickened his pace, almost running now, stumbling a bit on the uneven ground.  They grabbed for each other in a desperate hug, sighing, murmuring, laughing a bit. He held on with all his might, not wanting to let go. He knew in his heart that there was no place in the world he would rather be than in these arms, because there really was no place like home. 
 
~~~~~~
76 Words

[Lumière]

Hiya! My dabble....

After all..

Today,
he sang in the shower
He never sings. Ever.
He even whistled as he dressed.
He wore his clean jeans
and his best Sunday shirt.
He even polished his boots.

He looked out the window
for what seemed like days,
still no sign.
Beer after beer, yet
his nerves were still frayed.
He was starting to sweat
into his clean shirt.  Shit.
His tummy was getting uneasy.
Still no sign.

He didn’t dare think of how he’d feel
if he didn’t show.  Better not.
He fell into restless sleep..
he saw Jack then,
nodding off by the campfire,
his boot too close to the flame. Again.
‘Shit Jack, one of these days,
you’ll set yourself on fire!’
He patted him on the shoulder,
‘Wake up, Jack, wake up..’

He opened his eyes slowly,
he heard a truck roll in..
Beer and ciggies forgotten,
he leapt to the window
his heart jumped a mile.
He didn't let me down
he made it home after all...
Jack fuckin’ Twist!

[MaineWriter]

We seem to have 6 prompts today...3 from me and 3 from Marie! That's a first....

Have at it, everyone!

Leslie

[Lumière]

Good morning all,

• picnic table
• sunflower
• priorities

Have fun,

L

I missed these too! 

[mariez]

We seem to have 6 prompts today...3 from me and 3 from Marie! That's a first....

Have at it, everyone!

Leslie

OMG!    How did I miss those? (And - DUH -  now I realize Marl used them in her drabble - I thought she was using old prompts!). 

Sorry, Leslie! 

(Marie slinks away in embarrassment.....)

[Clyde-B]

   
    * picnic table
    * sunflower
    * priorities


   The picnic table with its meager fare: one fried chicken, a small bowl of potato salad, sliced tomatoes from the garden and enough biscuits to stretch it for five people.
   The littlest boy, turned four last April, playing in a patch of sunflowers tripped and fell and started crying.  His mother headed toward him.
   “Woman, leave him be, it’s just a scratch.”  His father turned. “Didn’t I tell you little boys don’t cry.”
    “You have to be so rough?”
    “Woman, if he don’t toughen up, the world’s gone a eat him alive. Where’s your priorities?”
    “Ennis, honey, come and eat.”


     100 words


 

[Clyde-B]

    * "There's no place like home..."
    * whistle/whistling
    * restless

       A hot windless night, somebody had their radio tuned to an old music station.  “There’s no place like home...” 
       Ennis wondered what that felt like.  All these years working other peoples spreads, living in other people’s houses.  Even when he was with Alma and the kids they’d never really had anything.  Somewhere in the distance he heard a train whistling.  Everbody in a big hurry to go... where?  Never had been the restless sort, but somehow wound up living that life anyway.
         He leaned back, closed his eyes, started to drift off.
         We could a had a sweet life together...



        100 words

[Clyde-B]

OMG!    How did I miss those? (And - DUH -  now I realize Marl used them in her drabble - I thought she was using old prompts!). 

Sorry, Leslie! 

(Marie slinks away in embarrassment.....)

Ya tryin a work us to death here?  Turnin this into some kind a writer's sweat shop? 

And on a Sunday too!

(Just kidding!  The more practice the better!  )

[ifyoucantfixit]

        Ennis becomes aware of the need to relieve himself.  He doesn't want to
move from his soft, and warm cocoon.  He wishes to feel the dream instead.  Jack is holding him, they are looking into each others eyes, they can smell the
rain, and the trees.  Feel the breeze. The spring flowers, and have the restless  feeling of the mountains.  The mountain is their place. It feels like home.
       Then he hears the loud pounding on his door.  "Shit," he mutters, as he staggers from the bed.  He grabs his faded jeans from the floor, where he left them.  In the same configuration they were as he stepped out.  He placed his feet in each side of the pants and jerked them up to his hips.  Grumblin, as he staggers fumblin with the closure, to the sound of banging yet again.  "Hold up there,"  he warns.  Trying to get his sex directed mind back to the present.  "Dammit, who in hell"     As he grunts who could it be, this early on a Sunday morning? 
       He opens the rattley door.  He look quizzically into a face he recognizes, but is startled by its presence. " Maam" he shies.   What can I do for ya?"

200 wds

[Lumière]

"writer's sweat shop" ... very funny, Clyde! lol.

Still, 6 prompts are better than three. ;-)