Category: Writing Prompts

The Fat Cat and the Red Balloons

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A Wayne Donald & Kinley Chris Adventure

Photo by  Reba Spike on Unsplash. The image depicts a fluffy tabby cat floating through the air. It appears the cat is suspended in midair by ten red heart-shaped foil helium balloons, the strings of which can be seen near his midsection. The sky in the background is a deep blue, with clouds scattered throughout.

“Kinley Chris, you see that fat cat anywhere down there? Grandma said it rushed outta the art room after knockin’ over her famous vase, and now I can’t find it nowheres!”

Wayne Donald shouts from the top of their ancient staircase down to her sister near the basement. She is standing on her tiptoes with her right hand on her hip, rocking back and forth on the balls of her feet.

“Wayne Donald, girl, you better stop that yellin’ at the top of them stairs like that before Grandma come huntin’ for ya. I don’t see that fat cat down here, and it shouldn’t come this far anyway. Check the bedrooms and then the two guest bathrooms. It’ll probably pop up again when it’s supper time.

Wayne Donald searches each guest bathroom, bedroom, and then circles back around to the staircase, wandering down the hall toward their grandmother’s bedroom. With each step, she grows curiously curiouser as to where their tabby could be.

“Bruce Dennis! You fat cat, where are ya? BRUCE D-E-N-N-I-S!!! Where are ya, Bruce Dennis?”

Just like the girls, their fluffy and pleasantly plump tabby cat is double-named with what most people would consider a name fit for a man; however, the cat is female. On a somber and stormy night, the cat, who was then a kitten, found its way to their front door. The girls heard something scratching at it lightly. They begged their grandmother to walk to the door with them to see who it could be. When they peeled back the squeaky door, to their surprise, the kitten sat there with the most pitiful look on its face. The girls pleaded to keep it, and their grandmother approved.

They screamed names back and forth until finally, Kinley Chris chose the name Bruce, and Wayne Donald selected Dennis. Their grandmother nodded and tutted them with her hand to get the girls out of her hair. Bruce Dennis had become a part of their family.

“Bruce Dennis! Brucie! Where is that cat?”

Wayne Donald walked deeper into the bowels of her grandmother’s bedroom and slowly approached the old window. Upon looking outside, she gasped. Hanging at least 450 feet in the air was Bruce Dennis, tied to a bundle of red balloons. Wayne Donald almost fainted.

“Kinley Chris! Get up here right now! I say, get on up here!” She took a moment to breathe and then scolded Bruce Dennis for being outside. “Bruce Dennis! Now, how in God’s holy name did you get out there? Where’d you get them balloons?! KINLEY CHRIS!!! I SAY, GET UP HERE NOW!”

Kinely Chris raced up the stairs, taking them by two, and ran to their grandmother’s bedroom. If she had been any faster, smoke would be at her heels.

“Wayne Donald, I declare, you’d better have somethin’ serious for me callin’ my name like you The Law.” Wayne Donald looked at her big sister, her big come-hither eyes stretching wide as the Nile River. She huffed and pointed to the window.

“Kinley Chris, you just go on and look out that there window. You just look. Bruce Dennis is floatin’ up toward heaven.”

“Bruce Dennis is doing WHAT?!”

The girls stood at the window, both of them flabbergasted by the scene before them, and shocked at just how peaceful their fat cat appeared. They looked at each other and within seconds knew exactly what to do…

“GRANDMA, BRUCE DENNIS IS ALL RED BALLOONED OUT AND IS ON HER WAY UP TO HEAVEN!”

Their grandmother sat peacefully in her art room, playing her jazz records and tapping her feet. She tutted the girls silently to herself and shooed their summoning with her hand.

She would not be moved.

This piece is my offering for this week’s Melissa’s Fandango Flash Fiction Challenge, #347. As soon as I saw the image, I knew I wanted the girls to make another appearance. You can read their debut here.

Sunday Cries of Opposition on a Monday Morning

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A Cento

AI-Generated Image: The photo shows People of Color standing defiantly outside, in the open, waiting for something to happen. Perhaps, change?

I AM tired of work; I am tired of building up
somebody else’s civilization. 
The beer company
did not hire Blacks or Puerto Ricans,
so my father joined the picket line 
Steadfast and awful, my tall father
Hit hard as a hailstorm. He’d leave marks. 

You ain’t gonna be able to say a word
If I land my fist on you. 
Like men we’ll face the murderous, cowardly pack,
Pressed to the wall, dying, but fighting back! 

The mob arrives with stones and sticks
to maim and lame and do me in. 
It has been a
hard trudge, with fainting, bandaging and death. 
come celebrate
with me that everyday
something has tried to kill me
and has failed. 

she say, she don’t know how
she’d get along without Beulah 
show me someone not full of herself   
and i’ll show you a hungry person 
let snow soothe you
make your healing water
clear sweet.

What I want should not be confused
with total inactivity. 
I bit sweet power to the core.
How can I say what it was like? 
Remember what
the world is like
for white people. 

This is my first Cento. I knew the topic I wanted to write about–knew the theme instantly (mental exhaustion from oppressive regimes and how the system is still designed to benefit the majority over minorities). I reflected upon the indomitable Writers of Color to be able to express the point I intended to get across. I researched writers, poems, and pieces of prose before compiling lines to build stanzas that, in my humble opinion, flowed seamlessly. I hope I created that.

Inspirational Works:
Tired by Fenton Johson, All Poetry
The Sign in my Father’s Hands by Martin Espada, Poetry Foundation
Duplex by Jericho Brown, Poetry Foundation
The Ballad of the Landlord by Langston Hughes, All Poetry
If We Must Die by Claude McKay, Poetry Foundation
Loose Woman by Sandra Cisneros, Genius
To Black Women by Gwendolyn Brooks, Illinois Poet’s Forum
won’t you celebrate with me by Lucille Cliftion, Poetry Foundation
Stagerlee wonders by James Baldwin, Poetry Foundation
Poem for a Lady Whose Voice I Like by Nikki Giovanni, Poetry Foundation
Appalachian Elegy (1-6) by bell hooks, Poetry Foundation
Keeping Quiet by Pablo Neruda, Quantum
Eve Remembering by Toni Morrison, Poets.org
If You Are Over Staying Woke by Morgan Parker, Poetry Foundation

Have you gotten your copy of my new book: a collection of serial tales & flash fiction, Séduire (E-Book and Paperback) yet?

I recently signed up to write on Substack as well. Poking the Bear’s Belly for Fun is a place of healing as I speak about the most recent events with a previous place of employment, as it pertains to racism and discrimination, growth from the transition after resigning from that company, and life’s foibles and overall experiences. I welcome your visit.

The Other Fantastic Four

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Flash Fiction: Fandango’s One Word Challenge (#FOWC)

AI-Generated Image: The Other Fantastic Four.

Zeyla snuck out on a blistery cold night–escaping the sheltered lifestyle her parents invented for her. Her best friends Catarina, Shiloh, and Bree awaited her arrival. Even in the darkness of the forest, her hair greeted others before she could make an appearance. It was as wild as the woods, and long, like weeds that hadn’t been tended for weeks. Yet, there was something so incredibly demure about her–something inviting.

She floated into the heat of their embrace. Each one took a turn laying their hands on her, examining Zeyla for signs of tampering or further parental distress. She leaned into their powerful, enveloping arms. The plan was to evade checkpoints, hop on the next ship chartered for Aruba, and blend in–in a new country.

Everyone who knew them wanted the women banned from public spaces and fought the town’s authoritarians for years to make it so. Superpowers had been labeled passé, yet Zeyla and her best friends flaunted theirs as if the new rules did not apply to them.

Zeyla, within seconds, could morph into two different versions of anyone standing in front of her. Catarina blew coal ash from her mouth–up to 500 feet. Shiloh could enter the body of her opponent, puff into a gigantic ball, and telepathically order them to spontaneously combust. And, Bree?! Well, Bree’s superpower was the most unsuspecting of them all…she could shape-shift into her opponents’ grandparents, and use this when it was most necessary. After all, what person of sound mind is going to kill their grandparent?

The four of them knew they were no longer wanted in their home country. They had heard the whispers–saw the evil looks on their neighbors’ faces. It was only a matter of time before a riot ensued. Orchestrated by the mastermind of the group, Zeyla, this plan was a surefire one.

All they had to do was survive for five days away from home–away from their power source, and if they did… their superpowers would remain forever.

Aruba doesn’t know what’s headed its way.

**Musical Selection for this story:

Bishop Briggs, White Flag

This flash fiction piece is in response to Fandango’s One Word Challenge, and the word is “demure.”

Have you gotten your copy of my new book: a collection of serial tales & flash fiction, Séduire (E-Book and Paperback) yet?

I recently signed up to write on Substack as well. Poking the Bear’s Belly for Fun is a place of healing as I speak about the most recent events with a previous place of employment, as it pertains to racism and discrimination, growth from the transition after resigning from that company, and life’s foibles and overall experiences. I welcome your visit.

Wayne Donald

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Flash Fiction: Melissa’s Fandango Flash Fiction Challenge

The image depicts the corner of a room with bright green walls and ornate stacked moulding in white and gold. We see part of a chandelier hanging from the ceiling. A sofa with green and gold striped fabric and gold trim sits against one wall. Various artworks of different sizes adorn the walls, some framed in gold and some black. Photo by Elif Gulgac on Unsplash.

“Where the hell is Wayne Donald?!”

Kinley Chris yells from across the salty shore. Her younger sister shot like lightning from their grandmother’s front porch to the mouth of the beach when she heard the fireworks.

To try and coax her home, Kinley runs at full speed with a bag of gummy bears dangling from her back pocket–her sister’s favorite snack.

“Wayne Donald! Wayne Donald! I’ve got your favorite snack! Come on out here. I ain’t got all day!”

The girls are the two most oddly named children at their school–in their neighborhood. Wayne Donald, the youngest, at age 7, is a blonde-haired, green-eyed turbo train of unbridled anxiety. Kinley Chris, 13, is cinnamon sunshine with a pinch of “Don’t waste my time”, and their personalities speak before they do.

Plainly put, they don’t need an introduction.

The girls’ grandmother sits in her art room, rocking back and forth to the sound of the island’s fireworks.

No one is allowed in this room, not even her husband (not the girls’ biological grandfather). The room is both peaceful and creepy. It’s a vibrant green with a cream and gold ceiling, and has Art Deco-like furniture. It smells like a scene from a Foghorn Leghorn cartoon married to last night’s dinner. The girls gladly stay out of it.

“Wayne Donald! Wayne!!! Girl, where are you?! It’s getting dark, and I’m cold as the teats on a mama polar bear!”

On the pier, directly behind the viewers, Wayne Donald appears. She is wearing a snaggletoothed smile and sea-soaked clothes.

“I’m right here, Kinley Chris! If I was a snake, woulda bit ya!”

The little girl races to her older sister, slaps five with her, and snatches the gummy bears from her back pocket.

“If that was all I had to do to get these here gummy bears outta ya, Kinley, I woulda did it long ago.”

She leans into the tight embrace of her big sister, and they plop their tired bodies on the muddied sand.

“If all you wanted was some candy, Wayne Donald, all you had to do was ask.”

The girls’ grandmother lifts the window in the art room and calls them home. Her wretched voice echoes along the beach. They race each other back to the long-winding porch and float through the front door.

Tomorrow’s adventures await.

This piece is my offering for this week’s Melissa’s Fandango Flash Fiction Challenge. The name, “Wayne Donald,” came to me first, then the image of the little girls, and the story wrote itself from there. I love these challenges, and I am grateful for them as kickstarters for buried creativity.

Rengay Collaboration

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The Skeptic’s Kaddish Poet & Tre

Hello, beautiful people. David at The Skeptic’s Kaddish and I collaborated and produced a pretty decent rengay that I’d love for you to spend a little time with.

It was fun creating with David, and the finished product gives me joy.

I needed a bit of a mental literary task, so I was happy to get the invite from David. He’s an extremely talented writer who has many bags of poetic tricks up his sleeve.

Here’s a sneak peek:

tll- rainy days are gifts
they hide tears I’ve been shedding
fruits of labor lost

db- dew seeps into severed crowns
black rot spreads despite soft hands

tll- dank air surrounds me
enchanted for a second
but no prince charming

db- midnight carriage stops

Follow the link below to go on a Broken Enchantment adventure.

Peace and blessings.

Electric autumn; Broken enchantment, or: A rengay

Damien’s Last Call

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Melissa’s Fandango Flash Fiction Challenge

The image depicts a close-up of a payphone on a wall. There are stickers on the phone that read “4 MINUTES FOR $1.00,” “LOCAL CALLS 50¢,” and others. Photo by Nellie Adamyan on Unsplash

He stood at the pay phone, short on change and on love, and waited for the last seconds to tick by.

“Please insert $0.50 to continue.” The automated voice chimed in before Lacy could complete her sentence.

The two of them were like peas in a pod. Damien, with his wild antics, and Lacy, with her calm demeanor. Opposites attract, and they were inseparable.

Who would have ever thought Lacy would be on the other end of what would have been a collect call, but Damien had $0.50 on him to spare. His last bit of change for a woman who changed him.

“I should have stayed outta that store, Dame. Ain’t no changing it now. I did what I did.”

“It’s supposed to be me! I’m supposed to be in there! Not you! Not you, Lace!”

The automated voice chimed in once again to remind Damien of the pressing need for more money for the call. Please insert $0.50 to continue. Please insert $0.50 to continue. Please insert $0.50 to continue.

“I AIN’T GOT NO DAMN $0.50, OKAY!”

Damien banged the receiver’s cradle with the handset three times to match the automated voice’s demand. The last words he heard from Lacy before the call was cut short were, “I’ve done time for both of us.”

He dropped to his knees, held his head in his hands, and sobbed for the love of his life.

The execution was scheduled for 10:00 AM sharp. He had forty-five minutes to save her. The spare change he had to make the call to her was his last.

David T. Pulman, Jr., Esq., sat in his oversized office chair, his hands folded perfectly in his lap, his hair slicked back in a greasy ponytail, and waited for the phone to ring.

It didn’t.

Time of death: 10:05 AM.

This flash fiction piece is in response to Melissa’s Fandango Flash Fiction Challenge. I couldn’t let this one pass when I saw the pay phone as the image from which to create. If you want to try your hand at it, go for it!