.
This Show Case features four pieces submitted in response to our seventieth Writing Prompt: Refuse. You can see responses to each prompt in the drop down menu for the Show Case page. Try an item. They are all delicious. We hope they stimulate your mind, spirit, and urge to write. Maybe they will motivate you to submit a piece for our next prompt, which you can find on the Show Case home page.
Thanks for your dedication and interest in this feature. And please share this Show Case with your family, friends, and other writers.
.
Tanka for This Tree
by Mellow Curmudgeon
Old branches long gone:
broken by wind; cut by saw.
New branches coming.
~ ~ ~ ~
Refuse to die? No can do.
Like this tree, refuse to quit.
Sweet Terror
by SL Randall
There’s a terrorist living in my house, and I raised him.
I’m not proud of this accomplishment.
I wonder, where did I go wrong?
He’s such a sweet boy.
Yet …
Apparently, the stuffing in my couch is offensive and must be removed with violence.
Where did he get such ideas?
My main suspect is the Barred Owl living out in my woods. I caught the wizened old coot hooting near my boy’s overlarge ears. His eyes alight with tales of the hunt encouraged my boy to seek for living treasure.
Oh, the hunt. Unfettered joy, chasing down hapless critters.
That poor mole, we have a memorial scheduled this afternoon. Right now, I need to address a grievance from a pair of birds. Something about their nest being disturbed and their children traumatized. That couldn’t be my boy!
Hold on.
That conniving old hooter wanted a dog to flush out his dinner.
“Put that bunny down!” I command as a clutch of kits flee from beneath my boy’s paws.
I refuse to think any of this would have occurred to my sweet, gullible boy on his own. That bright-eyed pooch who rests his chin on my knee, eyes full of love and respect. That gentle soul who naps at my feet while I work.
It’s the owl’s fault.
It must be. It certainly wasn’t me!
Opportunities Aplenty
by Mimi Speike
“Well, Tum Thee1 of Glynneath Wales, I know for a fact ye be Tom Dee, thieving nephew to Doctor John Dee. State yer business, as if I didn’t know. Ye’d have me to turn your stollens into quick cash, as I did with that brooch I took off ye a bit back. Gifted ye by yer step-ma! What’s th’ story this time?”
“My story, Mister Mayhew,” spits Twm, “my story this time–the items are owed me! I was enticed to London with vile lies. He ain’t my uncle, by the way. He’s cousin to m’ tad.2 Distant cousin. Why’d he take me in? Free labor. Me under his roof, he dismissed two servants.
“It’s three years I’m plotting my get-away. Not penniless, not after what I’ve endured. Some days past appeared at Windy Hill a filthy little beggar bearing a note, in a cipher! Odd, but Doctor Dee assists Sir Walsingham in his service to the crown. All sorts turn up. Well, Unk was off to one of his ‘evenings’, no one and nothing detaining him. The boy was put up for the night. Ha! Here’s me chance, says I. I fill a pillowcase with items I’ve long had my eye on, stash it on the property. Jack Daw, sent on his way at peep of dawn before my uncle got himself out of bed, he’s the culprit, most certainly. I’d intended to bide at Windy Hill another many months, to divert any thought of suspicion from myself but, presented with the perfect opportunity, my mind changed in an instant.”
“You know opportunity when it presents, do ye?” croons Scooch. “I should hope so. Dee’s papa were a wealthy man. Yer snatch has to include pieces that would go quick, normally. New-prosperous climbers are eager to get their paws on stuff that screams ‘old money’ without ’em claiming it outright. One grandpapa may have been a chandler, but another was the secret spawn of nobility. Them idiots are m’ best customers.
“Thing is, a list of missings is already circulating. I shop yer junk around right now at more ‘n usual risk. Special-unique items got t’ be sat on for some considerable stretch of time. I’m a businessman, m’ friend, not a fancier of oddities, glad to set them on me night table and admire ’em. I do not lay out money as don’t recoup in a reasonable period. I do, however, see another way. I give ye a try-out, small chores, a modest but guaranteed allowance, my usual deal. If it works out atween us, yer polish, that pretty face, them nice manners–ye charmed well enough in th’ big room ’til ye turned pain-in-th’-ass rowdy–ye might could be of excellent value to me, and tip-top rewarded.
“How do this strike ye? I foot yer living expenses, housing, tailor, th’ works. Ye have a purse that allows ye to decorate the smartest dining-rooms, where ye dazzle elegant young ladies and, more partic’larly, their well-connected mamas. I expect ye’ll be useful in many ways. We start yer audition, let’s call it, with an immediate ask. I require an apparel suitable to a nob, age ten or so. Deliver me also one as fits into it.” Scooch grins. “M’ wife, sir, is put in charge of a certain musical-inclined critter, ye know who I mean, do ye not? Doctor Dee’s request of her, to dress th’ thing for the Queen’s masquerade ball. An Irish brat–he must be Irish–figures in it somehow. That’s all what I know of it. But for this: Lucy expects to make her name off it.
“I got plans for the prodigy m’self, big plans. Lou adores the beastie. He adores her, is on top of her the instant she sets down. Me he ignores, won’t have me near him. How to seduce him away from her? I got a dandy of an idea, that’s gonna set me up for life. Me. Not us. Me. Lou don’t know it yet, but I mean to cut ’er loose, the blasted nagging know-it-all. Oh, I were under her spell bad once. Ya! Since we was tykes t’gether. No longer.”
Twm leans across the table, doing his darndest to conceal his full-blown glee. “So happens,” he whispers, “I am good friends with him that trained the marvel. Jack Daw, of Jack Daw’s Animal Comedians, would be glad to tell that tale if you’d care to hear it. He’s talked my ear off with it. You may thank your stars that, to the extent that a cat may feel beholden to anyone, it’s Daw who has the sweetheart’s true allegiance. I’ve a more-than-decent touch of my uncle’s talent in the way of prediction, it runs in the family. My gut tells me you’re onto something big. Take me as a partner in your venture and use the animal as you will. Jackie will see to it he falls in line.”
* * *
- Twm Dhu is correctly pronounced Tum Thee.
- Tad: ‘father’ in Welsh.
.
Refuse
by S.T. Ranscht
WRITERS CO-OP: A WRITER COMMUNITY FOR YOU. 
Leave a comment