Category: Writing

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.

Flying Time

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Rapid Rhyme #1

Caison Michael’s 8th birthday celebration. My little Munchkin Man is 8 now! *SOBS* Photo Credit: Tremaine L. Loadholt
Flying Time by Tremaine L. Loadholt

He’s eight now,
Time flies, wow!
Can’t keep my emotions intact
The little ones are growing so fast
I remember diaper-changing days,
Now that period has flown away.
I watch as he sprouts to the sky,
His beauty and loving heart soaring high.
Could it be just another year,
One destined to leave me in tears,
Or is it a momentous occasion,
A turn of time with persuasion,
And a final blow to my chest, OUCH!

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.

12 Hours

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The body works hard
Time’s priceless
Money-hungry days

Everything’s sky high
Overtime
Increases savings

Dying on my feet
Will save me
Last chance at this life

Modern-day misfit
Making do
Twelve-hour shift’s over

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.

back from Thailand & moguls get away with everything

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Two poems shared on Substack notes

back from Thailand

the crush just came
back from Thailand;
my phone is flooded
with pictures, videos,
and moments she shared with
beautiful people who
are more concerned
with nature, clean
eating, and knowing
their history.

I ask her, “Do you
feel changed now
that you’ve gotten
out of this country
for a while, and
breathed in the fresh
air of another?”

there’s silence, instead more
pictures and videos
are shared with me,
and that’s all the
answer I need.

moguls get away with everything

when you’re a mogul, the time
never fits the crime.
money and influence
can form gangs of
blackmail, and people in positions
of judicial power will crack.

it’s a game; players
learn their place or
find out how useless they are.

no one knows the
definition of loyalty
anymore and oaths
are laughable at best.

and they wonder why
silence is preferable
when the body has been defamed.

people in power
hear the stories, but
they don’t listen.

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.

Sometimes, I Just Need Poetry

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An audio lamentation for Jernee and this battered world of ours

Jernee Timid’s paw prints, courtesy of our vet’s office. Photo Credit: Tremaine L. Loadholt
Sometimes, I Just Need Poetry by Tremaine L. Loadholt

my baby’s prints came today…
her paws…
I’d been waiting for them
since the 12th of September.
a lovely sympathy card
accompanied the red pieces
of art, neatly tucked behind them.
every member of our vet’s office
signed it.
their words and names crowding
the corners.
I smile. I cry. I remember the
best part of my life
no longer exists.

I stand at the edge of
my kitchen, shifting on
the balls of my feet. I am
shaking. I tilt my head to
look at each print, and the
smell of Jernee wafts across
the room and lingers in the
hallway. she’s still alive
in me; she hasn’t let go.
or, maybe I’m still holding on?

Zumi pats at the glass of its
terrarium, bargaining for my
attention, and I rush over to
see what the fuss is about.
food? check. water? check.
I think it just wants to hear my
voice, so I call its name in
a sing-songy way to appease it.
Zu-mi, Zu-mi, Zuuuumiiii.
what a silly tortoise you are.
it looks up at me and then
walks with urgency to its
hidey-hole.
we all need comfort.
tortoises are not exempt.

our home is quieter than it’s
ever been. the tapping of
paws are no longer morning
gifts or late-night signals of
an impatient senior dog who
“had me at, hello.”
I don’t know what I’m doing
with this life of mine now,
I’m just mulling on—making do.

I say that all I need is work—to
keep busy, but I think I am
telling myself this because I
am afraid of what will happen
to me if I sit down and focus
on every passing thought of
a love that was the greatest
love I’ve ever known.
where will I land if I
give my heart permission to
break and stay broken?

is there a name for people
who are no longer whole
without the pets they spent
nearly two decades becoming
one with? I don’t like having to
answer the same questions
every other day: “How are you?”
How are you holding up?”
“What are you doing with
yourself now?”

I wish there was a perfect way to
say, “I am cracking and folding
into myself because somehow
I no longer feel safe alone
with my brain, heavy heart,
and dying soul. somehow, I
no longer feel safe in this
body. something is not right.
something is not right.

it’s more than losing Jernee,
it’s all the ick of the world
that is seeping into our
skin, making our veins its home.
we’re trapped.
so, sometimes, I just need poetry
when everything is wrong
around me, and there’s no
guarantee it’ll change.

I need poetry to help me
remember who… and why
I am.

Originally published in Poking the Bear’s Belly on Substack.

Poem for an Image

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#8: Playing Catch-up

Birthday Gifts for Caison and Jaidynn (my baby cousins). Jaidy’s birthday was on August 11th, and Caison’s birthday is October 7th. Jaidy’s gifts are called “Just Because” gifts in her card, but I could not afford to get her anything for her birthday this year because Jernee was so sick and in and out of the Emergency Vet, and my poor pockets had been SCREAMING bloody murder. Photo Credit: Tremaine L. Loadholt

caring for my dying love made
my pockets thinner than
before–I missed Jaidy’s birthday.

it’s a blow to my pride to
not be able to shower my girl
with gifts on the day she was gifted to us.

making up for it at the same
time Caison’s 8th approaches
will push my heart to higher heights.

she knows where I stand.
she remembers every offering of
love she has ever received from me.

now that there isn’t a mouth
begging for money I can’t get
from trees, the babies shine brighter.

I’m playing catch-up, and I
am not ashamed to admit why I
couldn’t give what I wanted to.

I am not ashamed because life
happened upon me in a way
I never thought it would.

Death costs an arm and a leg,
and after you’ve run out of those limbs,
there aren’t many more to give.

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.