Escape.

ships

© Fatima Fakier Deria

 

The scene: chaos.

Every boat that could float was in the marina. People fleeing in hoards.

Why?

A coup-de-tet flipped the government. Already, people watched their liberties dwindling slowly under the pressure. It was an atmosphere of fear and paranoia, and people running scared.

Then, it happened. The big ‘It’.

Suddenly, the airports were closed.

The trains were locked down at their rail yards.

Fuel was rationed only to the few rich executives of major industry.

The only means of escape, the waterways. If you were lucky enough to get to a marina before the ships were gone, that is…

WC: 100

“What we do to the least of these…”

DSC_0436

From photo left on table after Lenten Bible Study.

So, we’re doing a Lenten Study. It involves a discussion of some world issues, and focuses on the people in our society who have been lost, abused, neglected, forgotten and reminds us that what we do, or don’t do, for the least of these does not escape God’s notice. The discussion has, at times, become quite heated and at others tearful and brutally honest. After the first week, some photos were left on the table, I asked, the leader said “Have at…take all you want” so, I did. The faces touched my heart, their stories even more so.

So, one of the pics was of this little Chinese girl. We talked about the infanticide that happens in that country. We also talked about Thailand and Africa with it’s sex tourism/ human trafficking issue. We discussed “White Slavery” (mostly women forced into prostitution) throughout the world. As a result, and as a future memory aid to the discussion, I felt a strong desire to enter this little girl into my sketchbook.

For the original photographer (no idea who you are), I thank you for capturing such a beautiful little angel for us. I mean no infringement whatsoever (though I’ve been rather cruelly flamed and lamblasted by fellow artists for this piece). If you see this, let me know so I can give you proper credit. With much respect intended. It’s not often that a photo touches me this deeply.

P.S. On a personal note, as far as art is concerned… I  haven’t drawn this well in decades (since the 1996 car accident and resulting head injury). There are many who have followed and encouraged me to take my art seriously and to take the time to do it from my heart. This piece, I will ever and always keep as a reminder of their hope in me that I could regain those lost skills. Hubby says I should frame it and hang it over my desk to remind me of what I CAN do.

Three Roads Converge…

Capture

Kampala, Uganda, Africa google map image for What Pegman Saw.

1986

We’d walked this road for hours, jungle a handsbreath away. Axle breaking ruts filled with muddy water. Our situation was grim. We’d lost our packs two days ago. Ambushed. We were lucky to be alive… but we wouldn’t be much longer if we didn’t find drinkable water soon. Imagine dehydrating to death in the middle of a bloody rainforest!

‘Don’t think about it.’ Stephen said as he reached out to touch my shoulder.

I rolled my eyes. How did he know? How did he always know where my mind was going.

‘We found the road. There wouldn’t be roads without people. The jungle would take over too quickly.’ He paused, wiping his brow as the jungle broke into a clearing where three roads converged. ‘See, signs of civilization… literally.’

I looked at the little signs, bursting into tears as I realized what they were.

Name.

Date – hyphen – Date.

wc:150

Thank you once again goes to What Pegman Saw for taking us to the beautiful continent of Africa and giving us a glimpse of the land of Uganda and it’s people. If you’ve enjoyed this little story, morbid though it is, then please, come out and enjoy some others at: https://whatpegmansaw.com/blog/ . Just follow the prompt tag to the little blue frog… your adventure awaits.

 

 

To Be So Loved… and then some more!

grand-anse-beach-carribean-journal

C. Carribean Journal

 

I never thought that a story written as a challenge from a friend would turn out to be such a rewarding experience. The story opens with a young girl of fifteen leaving her family, her home, and even her country to start a new life on a distant island. OldMan, who started me on this writing adventure is just eating it up as quickly as I can write it. I am shocked and amazed at all the readers who’ve come along and joined the ship as it travels on this journey. I thank them from the bottom of my heart! 🙂 ❤ Your continued likes are an encouragement to this venture.

Due to space limits, I had to move the story to it’s own page. If you’re interested in the most recent serial you can find it here at “To Be So Loved” : https://exoduschronicles.wordpress.com/2017/03/16/to-be-so-loved-34/.  You can find the story from its beginning in the Archives on the right hand side of the page. I love likes, and especially love comments. Thank you again for your continued support.

 

The Atomic Clock

jenniferpendergast

C. Jennifer Pendergast

The rusted hulk was transported all the way from Terra Firma, decontaminated, and then mounted here. Humans still came and flocked around it, their children listening to the old stories.

‘We destroyed our world… This is the only thing that can save it.’ Mother explained.

‘But – but… It’s all rusted and doesn’t work. How can it save anything?’

‘It is a reminder to all of us who are left. Time heals all wounds, and only time will heal our world. Until then, we must live here, in this sphere and watch our world spin below.’ Mother choked on a tear.

Wc:100

 

If you would like to join the 100 word weekly writing craze known as Friday Fictioneers, please join us out at the blog of our lovely hostess, Rochelle Wisoff-Fields. We love to see you stop by, and maybe even share a story with us.  You can find us all at: https://rochellewisoff.com/2017/03/01/3-march-2017/

“Crispy”

Lunch!

PHOTO PROMPT © Shaktiki Sharma

 

‘Catch it…Quick!’ She squealed.

He snatched up the grasshopper and held it, dangling between his fingers. ‘What do you want with this ugly thing?’

‘Just keep ‘hold of it and come on.’ She rushed him inside the building and up to their apartment. ‘Don’t let go of it.’

He stood between the kitchen area and the living room area of the dinky efficiency apartment, watching her grab a skillet, throw in some butter, and set the heat to high.

‘Seriously?’ He asked as he put two and two together.

She paused, lid at the ready. ‘Oh, yeah, tastes like chicken.’

Wc: 100

If you would like to join the 100 word weekly writing craze known as Friday Fictioneers, please join us out at the blog of our lovely hostess, Rochelle Wisoff-Fields. We love to see you stop by, and maybe even share a story with us.  You can find us all at: https://rochellewisoff.com/2017/03/01/3-march-2017/