Flowers @ Small Stories and Stuff

Well, here it is Sunday, so yesterday must have been Saturday Centus. I know you’ll all understand that, yesterday, I worked a 12 hour shift, my third in a row, and that when I reached home, I ate a bag 100 calorie kettle korn, a handful of nuts, brushed my teeth and fell into bed with my 3 best friends. I slept for 15 hours. No, really, I did.

Each week, our Schoolmarm with a Heart, Jenny Matlock, hosts a meme called Saturday Centus. To learn all the rules and get a feel for the entries, please click the Saturday Centus button on my sidebar. You will not be disappointed.

And, please, take a look at Jenny’s blog “...off on my tangent...” She is a wonderful writer.


This Saturday’s prompt?

“April showers bring May flowers.” This is my offering for this week. It is in italics.



Arrangements of flowers decorated the house. The date, April 10, 1955, 36 hours since Estelle’s husband died in a car crash.

She and her four children, the youngest two months old, rode to the church in silence. Grandmother smoothed the childrens’ clothes and hair.

At the church, the perfume of the flowers assaulted Estelle’s senses, making her almost swoon, but she was not a woman to swoon. Head high and carrying the baby, she passed the open casket and made the other three look at their dead father.

“April showers bring May flowers?” She would never enjoy flowers again - never.



“(Estelle” was my mother).


© cjschlottman

48 Hours Missing

Nearly a week late for Six Word Fridays, here I am at last. Melissa at “Making Things Up” has already posted the word for this week! Last week her prompt was the word “again.” To participate and read the posts, just click on the Six Word Fridays button on my sidebar I have read several of the posts and must say I a little intimidated by the works of the others.

Undaunted, I plunge ahead with my contribution. I will be writing a poem with six syllables per line.


Again, fear and dread come
to throttle me out of
the peace I have found for
just one moment in time.
Again, paralyzed with
fear, I shriek the silent
scream of my much wounded
heart, heavy with the sting
of not knowing, spilling
tears and fears through my core.
Missing, he, my only
son, poisoned by illness
and drugs to keep him sane.
My mind, a toxic land-
fill of past loss, can but
imagine him alone
in danger of himself
at the mercy of those
who would suck the very
marrow from him and leave
him a pathetic pile
of wounds and confusion.
After forty eight hours
again, there is word of
his appearance miles from
home, in hospital. I
remember to breathe and
wonder when this season
of fear will reappear.



© cj Schlottman

Exit 181 @ Small Stories and Stuff

I do understand that it’s Tuesday. I do understand that if I wait this late to post on Saturday Centus, I will not have as many visitors as those who post early. But I’m here, ready to wade into the pool with all the other Centusians. Each Saturday, Jenny Matlock from “...off on my tangent...” assigns us a prompt from which we are to create a small story of 100 words or less, not counting the number of words in the prompt. For all the rules and to see all the entries, click on Saturday Centus on my sidebar.

This week’s prompt?

“Exit 181, 1/2 mile ahead...”

So, here goes.


I have no idea where to start with this prompt. My imagination is in the shop, getting a much needed tune up. The realness if my life has recently run amuck, mowing down my creativity. So typical of me to swing high and low.

Yesterday, I loaded up my dogs and took my car out on the highway, rolled down the windows, opened the sun roof, breathed deeply of the spring air. When I saw the sign “Exit 181, 1/2 miles ahead,” I realized I was 173 miles from home with three hungry dogs and no money for gas.


© cj Schlottman

A Pitiful Poem @ Small Stories and Stuff

Each week, Jenny Matlock of “... off on my tangent...” assigns us Centusians a prompt from which to construct a 100 (or less) word story. No photos are allowed and the posts must be PG. This week, she mixed it all up my assigning a poem that rhymes! I don’t write poems that rhyme, so this will be a challenge for me. If you’re new to Saturday Centus, you will find all the rules as well as the posts by clicking on the Saturday Centus button on my sideboard.

This week's prompt? “I’m not a chicken...” Following is my pitiful attempt to make a poem out of it.



I’m not a chicken, my dear.
Try to scare me if you dare.
Chase and me I’ll disappear,
maybe ride off on a mare
or make a famous career
searching for treasure so rare.
I’d make a great pioneer
not stop to give a small care
if you’re bringing up the rear.
Jenny, I’m losing my hair!

(I'm totally embarrassed, but since I'm not a chicken, I'm posting anyway).

I am going......@ Small Stories and Stuff

Imagine this - me, actually posting on Six Word Fridays on, well, Friday. Im glad to be off work today. I work three 12-hour shifts a week, so when I’m working, about all I do is sleep and work. Melissa’s prompt this week is the word “go.”

So, here I go...........six lines, each with six syllables.

I am going to France
to Aix en Provence where
Cézanne painted and turned
the art world on its ear.
I'm going there to write
the best words of my life.


© cj Schlottman

Cooling Off @ Small Stories and Stuff

It’s Sunday, so yesterday must have been Saturday Centus, the day our esteemed leader, Jenny Matlock of “... off on my tangent...” assigned us Centusians a prompt from which to construct a 100 (or less) word story. No photos are allowed and the posts must be PG. (This one is PG-13). This week, she threw us a crumb, as it were, and assigned us an innocuous prompt: “The curtain parted.” I just know there will be many different takes on this prompt, so here’s my contribution, so I can get to reading the others. You will find them and all the rules by clicking on my Saturday Centus button on my sidebar.


Cooling Off



Each on opposite sides of the bed, they jockeyed for the upper hand.

As usual, the argument started over nothing - he forgot to take out the trash. Then it morphed into that nonsensical place where all past sins are reviewed. She began chanting a litany of his recent misdeeds.

As for him, he held back nothing, ticking off her faults on his fingers.

She turned her back, undressed, started a cold shower, stepped in, sharp cold needles of water stinging her face.

The curtain parted, and with a sheepish grin, he asked, “Why don’t we cool off together?”


© cj Schlottman
03/20/2011

On The Wings of Love

03/17/2011

For today, Melissa has asked all of us who participate in Six Word Fridays to write something about hope, especially for the people of Japan, who are suffering so much loss and who may even be exposed to radiation that will make them sick in the future.
At times like this, hope seems unattainable, but as time passes, the pages on the calendar will drop away, and healing will begin. The irony that this quake and ensuing tsunami could happen to Japan, a nation once exposed to radiation by the bombing of their country, is remarkable.
For more information on Six Word Fridays, please click on the button on my sidebar.

Here is my contribution based on hope:


On The Wings of Hope


Hope is in not made of
things or even food and water
or preaching or praying out load.
It is not ours alone but
all of mankind owns it also.
It is deep in our souls
buried in our brains and hearts.
There is no thing called hopelessness.
We must finds hope’s source by
introspection and willingness to set aside
our safe and warm and comfortable
selfishness and reach out to others.
When we send hope to Japan
it becomes real to us and them.
It travels on wings of love
continues on to Haiti and Darfur
and North Korea, Libya and Egypt
in time making it’s way back
to us so we can send it out again.

© cjSchlottman 03/17/2011