Making the Best of It

PHOTO PROMPT © Ronda Del Boccio

Alissa unlocked their apartment door, tears stinging her eyes. Stupid car. Goodbye anniversary dinner; a grocery trip was out of the question. 

She stared at her sparse ingredients. 

Ohhh! Lentil bread? Lentils, cottage cheese, baking soda. Doable. And that onion soup mix…with risotto…yes. She dislodged a chicken breast from the freezer and began to cook.

“I figured we’d have to eat out!” Russ’s booming voice an hour later startled her. He gaped at the china and candles.

Alissa laughed. “Out might be good…” 

“No way.” He kissed her. “You’re miraculous. And food made with love is best. Always.”


As always, many thanks to Rochelle Wisoff-Fields for hosting Friday Fictioneers! Stop over and read a wonderful array of 100-word-fiction pieces based on this photo prompt!

The Rusty Bridge

PHOTO PROMPT © Sandra Crook

The Rusty Bridge

Bridges always make me think of Rusty. 

He sent letters til I was 10, telling of his adventures.  I kept a list back then, updating it every time he wrote. When I turned 18, I would follow in his footsteps. Yellowstone Natural Bridge was the last place he mentioned before we got the life-shattering call. 

I ended my list, put it in a tin can deep in my closet, and decided to take a safe path instead. 

Yesterday, I found the list.

“I lost my life in a different way, Big Brother,” I moaned.

This evening, I bought a backpack.


Many thanks to Rochelle Wisoff-Fields for hosting Friday Fictioneers! One photo, 100 words… Why not join us?

Has anyone else been struggling with posting comments lately? Not that you’ll be able to answer if you are :). I’m having the worst luck getting comments to take…

To the One Who Didn’t Realize What She was Getting Into

The adventure you’ve chosen
Is a hard one—
Others have lied;
I will not.
The things you encounter
Will paralyze.
You’ll be clueless
Where to go,
How to act,
Which way is up.
You’ll feel stuck
Under water
Fighting your way
For breath,
But you won’t know
Which direction
Leads to air
And which to sludge.
You’ll chose
And struggle
And hope.
Things will be
Excruciating,
Unfair.
They’ll chase you
To a panic.
You’ll finally see
A flicker of something
—sunlight—
And fight forward.
You’ll just make it
To the surface
Where you’ll breathe,
Deeply
—folded in brightness—
Just where you need to be.

To The Girl Who Couldn’t Drive

Not driving a car made you less
Like the rest; I can attest this is true.
And living your life with these limits,
Led to doors you preferred not to choose.

But the unwanted path led to people
You won’t have otherwise known.
And things in your life you neglected before
Are thing that have flourished and grown.

Don’t look at this thing as a limit,
Though it will be hard for a while,
Just see it as something that sets you apart,
And not as a staggering snarl.

Often the that things that confine you
Aren’t what hurt you; they simply define.
Like an artist entangled by choices
Is set free by some limiting lines.

To the One Who Confused Peacekeeper and Peacemaker

The peaceKEEPER
preserves things as she finds them
And tries not to cause trouble.
Though not the instigator,
The peacekeeper is often part of the problem.
Sometimes she will do anything,
Even the wrong thing, to avoid
Fights, conflicts, fusses, strained feelings in the moment—
Without vision for the longterm impact.
But evil flourishes when people who can stand up, do nothing.

The peaceMAKER
Sees what needs to be and works at it.
She prays for wisdom—but doesn’t always get answers.
She works to reconcile people—and often fails.
She tries to speak truth—even when it scares her.
She recognizes that there are times
When she needs to make waves to make peace.
And she must stand up for what is right, even if it hurts her.
Anyone can love peace, but making peace?
That skill is painful, but worth learning.

The Third Road Diverged

The road has diverged in a crimson wood
And I don’t know which way to choose
Neither one points where I think I should go;
Lost, I stand in the dusk, confused.

The glittering sun is my only gold;
The North Star, my guide and lead.
Not all those who wander are lost, I hear,
Yet many who ramble aren’t free.

But I haven’t the time to ruminate
On what is or what ought to be.
The only real choice is before me:
I will stomp a new path through the trees!

To the Young Woman Who Feels Like An Alien in Bars

You’re feeling the fool now and wishing
Yourself more—like all of the rest.
You want to fit in and be trendy
But you feel something wrong when you’re pressed.

Your waver’s not weakness; it’s wisdom.
Your eyes see the truth: There is more.
If you don’t step away, you’ll be lost, dear
Pulled into a meaningless whirl.

Don’t waste time with self-criticizing,
Supposing it’s you who can’t stand.
Set standards for him and hold to them
Don’t build a foundation on sand.

Your doubting, this time, is not weakness;
It’s knowing this isn’t your stop.
There’s no shame leaving places behind you;
Ignore foolish pressure and hop.

You must be aware: People chatter.
It’s funny that you haven’t met
Those who speak twenty ways in a minute,
Raise opinions like gamblers grow debts

Will you ruin your life with one comment?
Never read deep in those drunken words.
They’re empty and worthless; don’t let them
Beat you to a pulp; hold that sword.

They can talk, but you don’t have to listen.
And you don’t have to trek where they go.
You knew it; you just wouldn’t say it.
Why not? Trust you might truly know.

That sense wasn’t fear; it was vision.
You knew you were in the wrong place.
Dull, pointless and dumb—artificial—
A futureless swamp to evade.

It doesn’t come round all that often,
But you’ve heard that small voice in the past.
You’ve met it while hiking in forests;
That’s the input you want to hold fast.

I hope you will let her grow stronger.
The voice that thinks deeply and far
And who knows she was made for a reason.
Who walks her own path, not the bar.

To the One Trapped in Jealousy


Jealousy is like a sore
That when you pick
Just festers more.

A simple way to break away
Is still your mind
Then calmly say:

I will not talk about these things
They’ve nothing more
Than hate to bring.

Help never comes through ugly thoughts
Through brokenness,
Polluted taunts.

In bitter views I will not die
Trapped in a maze
With all your lies.

I will not keep your company
I’ve learned, and now
I will break free.

Truth is, the things we like to feed
Are what grow strong
And are what breed.

I choose to be content and live
With thanks and joy
For what life gives.

To the One Making Excuses


Have you ever considered this?
You might be the one
Standing in your own way.
Maybe all of the things
You want most in life:
The friendships, the goals,
The fulfillment you chase,
Are behind that one door
That you’re afraid to open.
The knock you’re afraid to answer.
You have all sorts of thoughts,
Supposedly smart,
About people you’ve met before
Who come from there.
They are fake, unfriendly, shallow.
But those people aren’t Him.
And you know it.

You’ve thought about this.
I know you have.
You think too much
And act too little.
It’s like you’re on a train.
You sit and think and think
about whether or not
this is your stop,
until the door is closed
and that station is passed.
Then you think about regret,
Think so much
About the last station—
What could have been—
That you miss your next chance.

Change the order.
For once in your life,
Just get up and go.
Step off the train,
Even if you aren’t ready.
Step out on the platform,
Even if you aren’t sure
What you’ll do when you get there.
The what ifs
Are more dangerous
Than the what is.

And don’t get tangled up
In those what abouts…
What about people who
Might ruin their lives
By using this advice?
What about someone
Who might misunderstand,
Do something stupid with it?
What about them?
They aren’t in this conversation.
You don’t speak for them.
And, by the way,
You’re making an excuse—
Don’t huff and puff;
You know it’s true!
You have a place to be
And you’re wasting something
You’ll never get back—time.

To the Girl Who Doesn’t Easily Make Friends


“You’re full of foolish thoughts, you know,
Some too fast, some too slow,
Some too shallow, some too deep.
Read the room.
You’re so…unique.”

“Why can’t you talk like all the others?
Dress like them? Why don’t you bother
Fitting in? I think you could, it’s true.
But you’re so different.
You’re so…you.”

Child, don’t heed the voices;
The right friends will come along.
They won’t be assigned, like a locker at school,
They’ll be sewn to your soul.
You don’t just…choose.