Photo Credit: Barbara W. Beachum, 2015

“The A&B Building was made entirely from driftwood.” It wasn’t  always so. 

Camp Skagway’s Alpha Beta Club had commissioned Mr. Julian P. Reed, self-appointed jack-of-all-trades, to fashion a sign of driftwood for the front eave. 

“I can build anything,” he boasted, and proved it too, when he completed the job to everyone’s delight. The club treasurer paid him in cash money, as he had requested, and they parted ways. 

One evening, a member noticed Mr. Reed rummaging though the dumpster for table scraps from Miss Sadie’s Cafe. He immediately shared his discovery with the others. A quick motion and second later, it was unanimous. Mr. Reed would be commissioned to build street numbers, A&B logos (several), window and door frames and…

It was a big important job, perfect for a certain Mr. Julian P Reed, that took years to complete. 

And that is how the A&B Building came to be. 

kat ~ 28 September 2015

(150 Words)

In response to Monday’s Finish The Story Challenge 9/28/2015. Click HERE to learn more. 

Photo Credit: Graham Lawrence

Distant onlookers might imagine her canvas to be awash in strokes of subtle greens and vibrant reds. Bouquets of lush roses captured in still life. It makes perfect sense to assume such a thing. 

But a closer inspection reveals the stunning portrait of a fragile doe-eyed child. 

I have heard she comes here regularly to paint her face again and again, here in her favorite place. 

How she loved this garden. How she adored the sweet fragrance of roses! 

She likes to remember her here, each brush stroke of oil recalling the beautiful moments of a life too soon stilled.

kat ~ 27 September 2015
(100 Words)

100 Word Story in response to Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers (FFfAW) weekly challenge. To see more stories click HERE.

A 100 Word Story in response to Friday Fictioneers Photo Prompt. You can see the details and other stories by going HERE.

PHOTO PROMPT © The Reclining Gentleman

Of all the ideas she’d ever idealized, this was the worst. There would be no impressive swan dive into the deep under pale moonlight, to the tune of The Band Perry’s dirge, “If I Die Young” piping through the earbuds of her iPod.  A detour had diverted traffic across the bridge.

“Give me a break!” she mumbled.  It was always something. In truth, it was drama, not death, she craved most.

Like the time she swallowed a bottle of pills that turned out to be laxatives. Her half-hearted attempts to end things were always sabotaged by her worst enemy. Herself.

kat ~ 25 September 2015