Six Words On Existence


Angels exist in the space between.

This post was written in response JI Rogers six word story challenge.



The Nature Of Miracles

Cataclysmic shift.

Candidates with no faces wearing “Team Jesus” Tee shirts walk through the waters of baptism.

The crowds cheer.

Coppers click the plate and for a moment all’s right.

One nameless man rises from the water and asks “What do I do now?”

Someone cries.

“Make America great again!”

Turbulence and earthquakes,

Conflagrations in the hills,

Conflation in the aisles,

Hurricanes in the Caribbean,

Black Lives Matter and MeToo.


Jesus walks the narthex to the altar,

All the space between

Is all there really is.

But they won’t tell you that.

They want you to think there’s more.

The nameless man asks “What do I do now?”

Famous lady’s coat reads, “I don’t care do U?”

Coats of many colors lead to Pharaoh’s chambers through the prison yard.

“Break it down” says God.

Saints walk through the waters of baptism wearing tee shirts that read “Team Jesus”.

In the cocoon of first world problems

Among the fallacies of riches

Catching fire is crazy.

Casting nets is calculated risk.

We believe a lie.

Fall directly into God’s hands.

The idol  topples in the puddles of red, white and blue tempura paint.

Yellowstone burbles holocaust.

Wormwood casts through the cosmos making for its mark.

We praise the microchip that posts our position and pays our bills.

Everyone thinks it’s just grand as the temples rise.

The faceless, nameless know the truth.

Cluck the words no one can hear.

The world dances to the tune of “I Feel Fine”.

Inoculated against the unchipped beasts who starve in the gutters,

Losing their heads in the frantic refusal to the gods of empire.

What do I do now?

And isn’t that the nature of miracles after all?


Fire and darkness


Friday Fictioneers: No Room

It is time once again for FRIDAY FICTIONEERS, the challenge where 100 authors write 100 stories of 100 words apiece all about 1 photo.

Here is the week’s photo prompt:

PHOTO PROMPT © Fatima Fakier

No Room

by JE Lillie

There are the wise and then there are those who know the future. I know the future. I wish I was wise. Delusion at least comes with a dose of hope.

The future told me there was going to be trouble. I didn’t say anything because the future doesn’t flutter. It sits and waits.

As our boat entered the canal, the captain of the other boat screamed, “Stop you fool! There’s no room!”

Metal grated on metal. Our boat sank.  Three died that day because of the door I had barred when the future told me I should.

Friday Fictioneers: Where Curses Come From


It is time for Friday Fictioneers. The challenge where about 100 authors write 100 stories from one photo prompt using 100 words apiece. Find all the stories HERE.

Here is my bit:

Where Curses Come From

by JE Lillie

The wilderness is a curse.

We grumbled as we left Elim.

God sent the manna and the quail.

We quarreled at Rephidim.

God gave us water from the rock.

We trembled at Mt. Sinai.

God gave us commandments.

We shrank back at Kadesh

God gave us forty years hard time in the wilderness.

We rebelled with Korah

God judged us.

Perhaps it is not the wilderness.


Friday Fictioneers: Not Home Anymore

It is time once again for FRIDAY FICTIONEERS. That is the challenge where about 100 authors use 100 words to tell 100 stories about 1 picture.

This is our picture.

PHOTO PROMPT © Roger Bultot

Here is my story:

Not Home Anymore

by JE Lillie

Johan strode into the white-marbled hall.

A woman in an organza gown lifted her nose in the air. She fanned herself twice and drew the nosegay at her wrist to her face with a disdainful gaze.

Johan thought back to the little farm he had worked with his own hands these last years. The mountain streams he had fished. Lisse, the faithful, common wife he had shared his bed with.

“Johan my son! You have returned!” King Ecthbert called. The old man gathered Johan into his meaty arms as courtiers gasped in dismay.

The palace was not home anymore.



Find the other stories realted to this picture by clicking the underlined link above.

Friday Fictioneers: Digging For Water

I was reading some of the entries for Friday Fictioneers this week as I am often wont to do and then on my way in to work this story came to mind.

photo by Connie Gayer

Unblocking the Wells

by JE Lillie

“Oh Lord my back hurts.”

“You must master your body to make it your slave.”

“But why do I have to do this alone?”

“The harvest is great but the laborers are few.”

“I wish I had never even heard that missionary speak. Whatever possessed me to leave the comfort of my home to come to this God-forsaken place to dig a well?”

“I am here. I sent you, and I tell you anyone who offers one of these little ones a cup of cold water in my name will in no-wise lose their reward.”


My Little White Dog Makes Me Think


My Little White Dog Makes Me Think

by JE Lillie

I remembered

My little white dog bursting out of his night-crate.

He leant his nine-pound panting frame, more fur than skin and bones,

Against my bent legs as I fixed

Him in his blue harness, white sweater and red leash.

He loved me just because he was dog and I was man.

It makes me think how

My little white church bursts with songs on a Sunday morning.

Ladies in their summer white cotton dresses, “Hallelujah!” and “Amen!”.

Meanwhile the steeple leans its fragile cross

against an opaque sky as the culture clamps down with a burning American flag.

They hate me because I am Christian and they are not.

I will realize

My wedding garment glistening with a holy halo.

I shall burst forth behind a white horse leaning upon a broken Zion.

I will be bound with unbreakable chords:

Faith, Hope and Love!  I will look into the fiery eyes of the One who loved me first.

I will love Him because I am man and He is God.

Generation Gap


Generation Gap

I forget, sometimes, the ocean between us when we stand close together, the language barrier when we talk for hours thinking we understand each other.

That you expect the world to serve up justice and equity, while I’m content with my morning eggs and toast and a clucking of the tongue at the morning paper, seems a minor difference, until you start to raging at the machine expecting answers. You see, I get it that machines can’t talk and never could. I stopped expecting to understand why a long time ago.You still want to know everything and think you can.

That just makes you mad and me a little sad, but still we regard each other from our separate orbits, thinking that somehow we are the same.

Blood is thicker than water except when the cumidin is introduced. Then it’s just the same, except different, and it doesn’t hold things together anymore. And so we are.

I am the cliffs and oceans banging together all, craggy and barely pieced together now. You are the southern  wind and summer solstice, always bright and light.

Real and hopeful, two sides of the same coin, never seeing eye to eye.

Which is the more enduring? The cliffs will turn to dust and the oceans run dry while light and breath remain. I will go on into the generation gap and hope you don’t follow. 



Three Line Tales: Down Is Down

Sonya at ONLY 100 WORDS has challenged us to write a three line tale from this photo prompt.

My story is below. To find other stories you can follow the underlined link.


by JE Lillie

Some say, “It doesn’t matter where you’re going as long as you have the right attitude.”

Other say, “As long as it doesn’t hurt anyone else where you end up doesn’t matter.”

I say, “Down is down and no amount of pretending will ever make it up.”