Category Archives: The Stories

Friday Fictioneers: Leonor

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It’s time once again for Friday Fictioneers. This forum consists of 100 plus writers who share in 100 ish words stories based around a photo prompt chosen by our fearless leader Rochelle. Click on the photo below to go to Rochelle’s site from there the little blue frog will lead you to stories a-go-go!

PHOTO PROMPT - © Dee Lovering

Photo by: Dee Lovering

Leonor

by JE Lillie

They told me Antonio had recanted. I should have known better. The great Herezuelo would never have bent the knee. But I was a weak woman too concerned with my position and the comforts of this life. I feared the arm of the inquisition and forgot the promise of greater things. I traded my faith for the dusty trappings of religion once again.

It has been ten years since they burned my love at the stake. All those years I have spent working up my own courage. Today at last the flames lick my feet.

Leonor De Cisneros burned at the stake in 1568 for embracing the Protestant faith.

Friday Fictioneers: What Remains

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PHOTO PROMPT - © Douglas M. MacIlroy

Photo Prompt by: Douglas M. Macilroy

Every week 100 fictioneers gather around the water cooler at Rochelle’s place to share their scintillating stories based on a photo prompt chosen by Rochelle. This week I have a feeling the stories may take on a more frigid overtone but you be the judge! Click on the photo above and it will take you right to Rochelle’s site and the rest of the stories!

What Remains

By JE LIllie

Proctor Johannes’ voice boomed out across the silver dome, “The Scripture has taught us that in the end  all of creation would be shaken and removed, so that only unshakable things would remain.

“We are that unshakeable thing! Look at us! What calamities have we survived? The Earth has spurned us and the sky has frozen us out, but we have not shaken!  We are greater than the wrath of the Lamb.”

The congregation shrieked in approval. I stood in my usual corner as far from the proctor as I could. Meanwhile, the asteroid above moved into position to drop more of the wrath we were supposedly greater than.

I chose that day to flee to the mountains.

Things You Should Tell a Ten- Year- Old

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Rochelle hosts a group of some 100 writers weekly to tell tales from a picture she posts. The stories have to float around that magic number 100. So they don’t take too long to read. If you will click on the picture below it will take you right to Rochelle’s site and you can read all 100 or so stories there.

PHOTO PROMPT © Roger Bultot

Photo by: Roger Bultot

Before you go here is my 100-word story.

Things You Should Tell a Ten -Year- Old

by JE Lillie

My mother was one of them helicopter moms.

I didn’t mind her cutting the crust off my sandwiches or ironing my underpants. I guess I didn’t even mind her brushing my teeth but she never even let me play outside. She said it was too dangerous.

Here’s a heads-up hover moms, boys need to play. She may have locked up her gun, but the bullets she kept in her top drawer.

How was I to know you shouldn’t bake gun powder? The explosion was epic!

Three’s a Magic Number!

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In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Three Letter Words.”

The Daily Post has charged us to

Write an entire post without using any three-letter words.

Here goes!~

I have three kids.100_1033

Joseph, Amanda, Melanie. Somehow we have reduced each of their names to a three letter word “—“, “—” then of course “—” . I suppose technically Amanda’s  nick-name is “Mand” or “Manda” . “—” seems ungirly. However I am from MAssachusetts so I often drop last letters of words I  speak. That is what happens when those of us from Massachusetts speak words like the three letter way of saying “automobile” it resonates as “cahh” instead of “—”

Although we do tend to contribute letters to certain words, especially when they finish with letters like “a”. My sister’s name is Brenda. That name is invariably changed to “Brender”. Soda becomes “Soder”. However, “holler” becomes “hollah” .

My grandparents once experienced a whole argument over where the “Tuna” resided in their house. Gramps kept telling Grams “Cupboards keep tuna”. (Of course he used three letter words)

Grams found it nearby under some sofa cushions promptly using it to change television programs, Tuners, Tunas, Brenda, Brender: Life, in truth this story, would be so much easier if everything reduced to three “lettahs.”

The Something In the Nothing

Posted on by under Pastor Wrinkles, The Stories

In Other Words

Take a gander at Patricia’s Place and tell us your story IN OTHER WORDS

Our quote for the week, from which we are to concoct a itsy bitsy story, is

” Abundance is, in large part, an attitude.”
Sue Patten Thoele

The Something In the Nothing ( A dramatization of 2 Kings Chapter 4:1-7)

by JE Lillie

She bent to her task without a word. What was there to say? Everyone thought she was crazy.

 Miriam had called her a fool.

Havah had all but thrown her out of the house.

The widow had pleaded, “But the prophet said…”

“Prophet Smophet! You dim beggar take the bowls and go. What use have I for them when my husband and sons are dead at the hands of those Moabite pigs? But don’t you dare talk to me about a God who treats people like this.”

She could hear Havah’s words echoing in the back of her mind as she unpacked the sack full of bowls.

She could hardly blame them. Everyone had lost someone in the raids, including her.

She pushed the thought of Azariah from her mind. The exorcism of his image took conscious effort every day but it was the only way she held on to the few strands of faith she had left.

The widow plunked the bowls and vials onto her table. She lined the window sills and edges of the room with all the containers she had collected from her doubting neighbors. At last, when she was finished arranging the hodge podge collection of vessels, the prophet stepped into the room.

She thought he would wave his walking stick or utter some magic words.

Instead he nodded almost imperceptibly, smiled and said, “That’s a lot of pots.”

The widow began to pour from her tiny decanter. By sunset every bowl, vessel, pot and vial was full of oil.

In Other Words: The Heart-Hole

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In Other Words

Well here we are for another week of “In Other Words” the flash fiction writing challenge where Patricia gives us a quote and we have to write a story on it. You can find other contributions to the challenge at

http://patriciasplace.me/2015/03/25/celebrate-the-journey/

This week’s quote is…

“Stop worrying about the potholes in the road
and celebrate the journey”
Barbara Hoffman

Ireland 517

I found him sitting in his living room with the curtains drawn. The floor was littered with empty bottles. He hadn’t changed his clothes in days.

“What are you doing to yourself son?” I held my hand to my nose trying to block out the stench of  stale sweat and booze which assailed my nostrils.

“She’s gone dad. She took the kids. What am I going to do?”

Tear stains streaked dirty lines down his cheeks etching age and weariness in every corner.

“You are going to open the curtains and start living.” I said sternly.

I threw back the thick velvet drapes she had chosen and thought to myself they would be the first things to go. The sunlight glinted off the photos of my grandchildren. He squinted in the brightness. I felt a lump of pity rise in my throat.

“Go shower.” I ordered.

Once I heard the water running I cleaned up the empties and tossed the wrappers of too many nights of take out into the trash.

My son had fallen down a  hole in his heart. It was deep but then I had climbed out of similar pits. We could do this together.

I went to the radio and turned up the music.

Britain Abroad

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In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Study Abroad.”

Today the post has asked us this question, “If you were asked to spend a year living in a different location, where would you choose and why?”

I would like to spend a year travelling and studying in England, Wales and Scotland. I have been to both Ireland and the Netherlands. Great Britain stands deeply connected to both of those places.

I did spend a week preaching in the region around Liverpool in the ’90’s but I would like to go back and spend some time studying the Welsh revivals which in many ways gave rise to my own fellowship of Pentecostalism in America. I would like to visit the places where the Methodist and Presbyterian revivals had hold.

I’d love to spend some time at Oxford and return to the church in Liverpool where I preached before the turn of the Millenium. To have a whole year to study the faith of this ancient land would be really neat indeed!

In Other Words…A Total Misunderstanding!

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In Other WordsIt’s time once again for Patrcia’s weekly flash fiction challenge. You can read the rules and follow along by clicking the link below.

http://patriciasplace.me/2015/03/04/the-problem-is/

This week the quote we are working from is

“Lots of people talk to animals. Not many listen, though. That’s the problem.”
Benjamin Hoff

A Total Misunderstanding

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by JE Lillie

“Tell me Verle, How is it we always end up holding the bag?”

“We are beasts of burden Malcolm. Surely you don’t expect your human to carry it.”

“He could help a little.”

“What are you two talking about Strider?”

“My name is Verle and we were talking about this heavy bag you just put on me.”

“Oh you want a carrot, do you?”

“Malcolm did I say anything about carrots?”

“No Verle you didn’t. Oh, he’s offering me one too! Yum I love carrots.”

” Malcolm don’t eat that. It’ll only encourage him!”

” There you go Strider. Now for the next bag.”

“Do you see what you’ve done Malcolm? Now I have to carry two bags!”

“Beast of burden, Verle. What do you not get about that?”

“That’s it I’ve had it. I’m breaking free of this life! Out of my way human!”

“Strider stop!” Down boy! Down!”

“Ouch!”

“You should have known better, Verle. They always use the whips when we get uppity.”

“Sergeant what’s the matter with that horse?”

“I’m sorry Captain, something spooked him. There might be enemy in the bush. We’d better send out a patrol. This horse is really smart.”

“Oh Malcolm my human is so stupid!”

In Other Words…Get Acquainted

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In Other Words

This week Patricia has asked us to write a piece of flash fiction off of a quote from  Lucy Maud Montgomery.

“I do know my own mind. The trouble is my mind changes and then
I have to get acquainted with it all over again.”

Check out how others have written it at

http://patriciasplace.me/2015/02/25/13182/

Here are my thoughts…

The Window To My Soul

by JE Lillie

“Shut up.” I said

“No. If you don’t like it just walk away.” He spat. Little droplets of moisture dotted the glass between us.

“Why do you always have to make things so hard on me? I just wanted to have some fun. I’ve earned it.”

“That’s your idea of fun?” He managed to choke out.

His face was getting redder by the minute. My blood pressure was rising just looking at him. But this is how it always was between us. I would do something I thought nothing of and he had to make a major production out of it.

The guy thought he knew me because of the length of our acquaintance. The truth was he never really empathized with me for one moment. He never gave me a break, never understood what my life was like. He was just always there doling out the advice for the price of his right to castigate me.

“Yes I thought that was fun and I am sick of your constant harping on me.” I shouted back in his face.

“Fine!” He shrieked.

“Fine!” I bellowed.

I walked away from the mirror confident I had put the jerk in his place.
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Courage To Be

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I am way behind this week with the story writing….But in my defense last week was one bussssssssssy week! Patricia’s prompt was from ee cummings and you can find the link to her blog along with the rules of the game at:

http://patriciasplace.me/2015/02/23/courage-to-be-in-other-words/

Our story prompt was

“It takes courage to grow up and become who you really are.“
ee cummings

The Girl Who Never Came Out Of the Barn

by JE Lillie

She remembered cold winter mornings spent filling the manger for the scrawny milk cow her parents kept. She recalled sweeping the seat of the outhouse on hot summer nights to make sure there were no spiders before she sat down. She never tasted soda until she was teen-ager but drank only water from the hand pumped well all her childhood. In her girlhood angst she grew to hate the farm. She grew to hate the poverty that clung to it even more.

In high school she would steal magazines from the local drug store: McCall’s, Harper’s Bazaar and even Forbes. She would dream of life in the big city, being a business woman or an actress. But it takes courage to grow up and become who you really are.

She married the farm boy down the street when she was seventeen when he promised to give her indoor plumbing. He built her a house on a hundred acres five miles from her parents. She had four children. She milked her own cow, Their artesian well spilt better water than any other well in the county. The girl  who had hated the farm, never came out of the barn, but one day when she was dandling her grandson on her knee in the parlor of her country home she realized it was because she had never really wanted to.

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