Speakeasy #159… THE LEPIDOPTERIST

The Speakeasy #159… THE LEPIDOPTERIST

Somewhere in Chicago a telephone rings…

“Hola, Gringa!”

“Hi, Ethel. Let me guess, we’re eating Mexican food today.”

“Si, mi hermana. Arturo’s is having a burrito sale. It’s on me.”

‘On me’ coming from Ethel meant she wanted something. Cheryl was proud of her friend for sticking with the Spanish class she had found in the PennySaver, but she was not about to tell her. Most of Ethel’s ‘projects’ lasted a week at best, and it had been a while since the ceramics fiasco.

“Let me guess. You have a new hobby.”

“You know how I’ve always been interested in Entomology, I’m going to be a Lepidopterist!”

“So now you’re taking Latin? What the hell are you talking about, Ethel, some English please?”

“A butterfly collector, Cheryl. I’m going to be a Butterfly Collector!”

“Okay, first of all, where are you going to find a butterfly in the city? Second, how does this involve me?”

“I’ve already collected one.  You know how I can’t harm animals, I need you to stick the pin in when I mount it.”

“Oh right, the PETA thing. All right, I’ll do it, but only after Arturo’s.”

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Western & Armitage…

“Uno burrito pollo con extra salsa y beanos, por favor.”

“I’ll have a number seven, Arturo, thanks.”

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Later on the third floor of a brownstone in Wicker Park…

“It’s kind of drab and not very pretty, Ethel. I didn’t know you had a net, where did you find it?”

“I used a jar, Cheryl. It was on the back porch by the light. I don’t want to hurt it and besides those beady little eyes give me the creeps. That’s why you have to do it”

‘All right, give me the pin. Where do you want it?”

It fluttered for a moment, magnificent in its struggle, then wilted and lay still.

“One thing, Ethel. I hate to break your butterfly bubble, but I’m pretty sure that’s a moth.”

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Speakeasy Managing Editor Suzanne Purkis has issued these instructions for this week’s entry in the writing contest:

• Submissions must be fiction or poetry.
• You must include the following sentence ANYWHERE in your submission: “It fluttered for a moment, magnificent in its struggle, then wilted and lay still.”
• You must also include a reference to the media prompt.  An American Silver Fox  by John James Audubon

The sentence is courtesy of last week’s winner… A Z Gringa in the Bleached Bone Valley.  Her story is called No Time For Patience… I loved it, and you will too.

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Incidentally, if ever in Chicago… Check out Arturo’s Tacos in Bucktown.  Fond memories of fabulous burritos after closing the bars…

Speakeasy #156… EASTER HARES by Ethel & Cheryl

EASTER HARES

“Hi Cheryl, it’s Ethel.”

“Why do you insist on announcing yourself every time you call? Don’t you think I know your voice? My phone says who it is anyway. Did you start the poem?”

“Yeah, how’s this… ‘Back-to-back they faced one another, Drew their swords and shot each other’?”

“Ethel. It is supposed to be an Easter theme. Besides, I think that ones’ been done. How about this… ‘Two young hares, rump to rump like dueling pistols, crouched by the gate’.”

“Well the rabbits work, I guess, but why do they have to have guns? How about bows and arrows if they have to shoot something?”

” I could see bows and arrows. Ethel, it is supposed to be a dark piece, they should be shooting something.”

“Wait! Cameras! The rabbits have cameras and they are shooting pictures instead of people. The rabbits are blackmailing people instead of shooting them!”

“That is the stupidest thing I have ever heard, Ethel. No one said anything about people. They should be shooting chicks. Ambushing baby chicks. Besides, how could they work a camera, their paws are too thick.”

“Very funny, Cheryl. Then how could they pull the trigger on a gun, if their paws are so thick? I think we should enter the egg dyeing contest instead of the poetry contest.”

“Maybe you’re right, Ethel, who ever heard of a dark Easter anyway?”

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Ethel & Cheryl ‘borrowed’ the Young Hare from Lauren Mortimer, a fabulous London illustrator.  Please check out her work.

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This week’s Speakeasy submission had to included this line by Alien Aura (last week’s winner) to be used anywhere in the story: “Two young hares, rump to rump like dueling pistols, crouched by the gate.” Editor Suzanne Purkis also instructed us to make reference to the media prompt, which this week is the song Glory Box, by Portishead, which you will find below.

<http://youtu.be/yF-GvT8Clnk>

Friday Fictioneers: CHERYL DOES A JIGSAW

CHERYL DOES A JIGSAW ~ A Drabble for FriFic

“Hi Cheryl, it’s Ethel. How’s the puzzle going?”

“It’s a bitch, that’s how it’s going. You know how I like to start with the corners. Why in hell would you give me a round puzzle? And so much purple! You better get over here and help me.”

“It’s fuchsia, Cheryl. That’s fuchsia flowers from Hawaii.”

“So I gathered, Ethel. They’re pretty, but a butt load of fuchsia pieces to put together and no corners to get me started, so get over here.”

“Okay, shall I stop off at Pizza Doug’s and pick something up?”

“Great idea, round puzzle… round food!”

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Interesting photo prompt from Captain Douglas M. MacIlroy… wearing his diving helmet while terrorizing children on the Big Island.

Check out Friday Fictioneers to read other stories, and be sure to read Rochelle’s.

THE ROAR OF THE GREASEPAINT

THE ROAR OF THE GREASEPAINT… A Drabble

“Guess what, Cheryl? I’m in a play!”

“Let me guess? Are you acting or a prop?”

“Haha, very funny. I’m going to be Dorothy Gale! Betty is directing at the Senior Center.”

“Wait a minute, Ethel. Dorothy is a young girl? Why in the hell are you playing her, won’t that seem a little weird? And, how are you going to remember all those lines, you can’t remember a grocery list.”

“You’re going to cue me, Cheryl. I’ll look young, because everyone else is way older. I’m the star, it’s my chance to shine.”

“Just don’t break the Spotlight, Ethel!”

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This week’s photo prompt is from Kent Bonham… check out his blog for the real story of the lights.  To see other Friday Fictioneers stories, head over to Rochelle Wisoff-Fields blog. 

Trifextra: Week 105… “GOOD-BYE”

GOOD-BYE

“Dammit, Cheryl, I need more than 33, why can’t I have 333?”
“Well, they said 33, and you know them, Ethel. Why don’t we just say this…”

Thanks for the memories, we’ll never forget you, Trifecta. 
You introduced us to a new writing world.
Inspired us to be daring, be better writers.
We’re so glad everyone liked us.
Good Luck!

“Okay, that works I guess, but I’m still not happy, Cheryl.”
“You’re never happy, Ethel. Say good-bye.”
“Good-bye.”

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Goodbye… Ted

THE TRIFECTA WRITING CHALLENGE

Trifecta: Week 114… GOODBYE

“This news does not satisfy me, Cheryl.”
“What’s that, Ethel?”
“Trifecta Writing Challenge is folding their tent. I loved the writers and their stories.”
“Me too. They won’t stop writing, we’ll find them.”

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Here is this week’s prompt… Using the third definition, your piece must be exactly 33 words.

SATISFY  (transitive verb)
1a : to carry out the terms of (as a contract) : discharge
b : to meet a financial obligation to
2: to make reparation to (an injured party) : indemnify
3a : to make happy : please  

 b : to gratify to the full : appease
4a : convince
b : to put an end to (doubt or uncertainty) : dispel
5a : to conform to (as specifications) : be adequate to (an end in view)

This news does not satisfy me either.  After three  years, The Trifecta Writing Challenge comes to an end this month.  The Brainchild of Lisa Harvey, TWC has been a solid weekly platform for writers to strut their stuff.  Prompts always challenging and never boring, the number of writers submitting entries swelled, sometimes reaching 100.  That’s a lot of stories.  I don’t remember how I found TWC, but I’m glad I did.  I had been writing 100 word stories based on a photo prompt for Friday Fictioneers, many of who write stories here, and I got up my courage to submit a story to TWC… the cruciverbalist… was my first.  I learned so much about writing and gained new confidence by reading and writing at The Trifecta Challenge.  And, not only that, but I’ve made some good friends.  I’ve started submitting some stories at yeah write and still take part in FF.  I have fond memories of my time at TWC and thank the editors for all their hard work. I’m sure we’ll meet again.  When I told Ethel and Cheryl they were not happy.

Ted

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THE CUBAN DIARY… WHERE THE REVOLUCIÓN STARTED!

The Foreign Correspondent and her Mother

WHERE THE REVOLUCIÓN STARTED!

The Comandancia in the Sierra Maestra, near Bayamo

 I hike on the orange path, climbing over large rocks embedded in the dirt. I am almost wading through the slick mud. The weather is cool, refreshing to hike in. The view from the edge of the path is breathtaking, I could spend the whole hike just looking over the side into the valley below.

After about an hour of walking we reach a flat space that the guide says is a place for the helicopters to land. We walk past the helipad and get to a small wooden building, our guide opens the doors and we walk inside. It is dark inside, until our guide flings open the windows and grey light begins to fill the small room. As my eyes adjust to the dim light, I see that it is some sort of museum. There are old typewriters and a sewing machine. In the middle of the floor is a 3-D map of the Sierra Maestra. On the map there is a miniature flag, not the  Cuban flag, but the flag of the revolution, red and black, with 26 de Julio (26 of July) on it, marking the spot where the Comandancia is. 

By the wall, is the memorial plaque for a soldier who died before the revolution ended. The memorial is a simple cross made of what looks like driftwood, with his name and the date he died engraved in Spanish on a tin plate that was probably his.  

When we leave the museum our guide closes the windows and doors enveloping the room in darkness again. We continue on, and soon the guide stops and points to a place where there is no grass and there are rose bushes and says that it’s the grave of the man whose memorial we saw in the museum. We move on and come to the house of the secretary, it’s empty except for some shelves built-in to the walls. After this we reach steps made of the trunks of small trees stripped of their bark. We traverse these steps carefully as they are wet and slippery. After about ten minutes we reach another building, this one the guide also had to open, inside there is a kitchen and a bedroom, our guide explains that this was Fidel’s house.  We all got our picture taken with it, but we couldn’t go inside. We leave the house and pass a small building which the guide identifies as Fidel’s outhouse, so of course my papa has to get his picture taken with it.

We move on and reach a building with the letters ACTL above the door, they stand for Administracion Central de la Tierra Libre (Central Administration of the Free Land), the former headquarters of the Revolution is now an old structure on the verge of collapse, it seemed amazing it had stood this long. After this we leave the Comandancia. It’s another long hike back to the car that brought us to the trail head, interrupted only by a short coffee break on the way down.

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Our Foreign Correspondent, Ula Grace, reports on her visit to Cuba with her parents Krista and Steve.

To see other stories… THE CUBAN DIARY

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For my friends on the Moonshine Grid