Ergo, the Ogre

Author: Ergo, the Ogre

  • Locket Nest

    Locket Nest

    It’s Fandango’s Flashback Friday again. This piece was originally written for Photo Challenge #247 at the Mindlovemisery’s Menagerie blog. The writing prompt is the image below.

    Hi. My name’s Bethany. Betcha can’t guess what I did today.

    It’s a secret so if I tell you, you gotta double-dog swear you won’t tell on me.

    Here’s what happened:

    After lunch Mommy said my little brother Harry and me could go down to the park by the lake shore. She said I had to promise to watch Harry very closely because he’s only three and can’t swim yet.

    I can swim, though. I took lessons last summer and did really good.

    When we got to the park, it was too hot to slide down the slide. The metal would’ve burned the backs of our legs. Instead, I pushed Harry on the swings for a while, then we played teeter-totter and climbed on the monkey bars.

    Then we got bored.

    Harry kept pointing to the pier like he wanted us to walk on it. I told him he had to hold my hand really tight the whole time, or else I wouldn’t take him.

    He grabbed my hand and we started walking. It’s a really long pier. Like almost a block long. Well, maybe not that far, but still. It’s a long pier.

    We got to the end of it and watched the ducks and otters play, and then just stared into the water. I told Harry the story about the Locket Nest monster and he got scared and started to cry. He’s such a baby. I told him to shut up but he wouldn’t. He kept crying and wanted to go home.

    I wasn’t ready to go home yet. So I picked Harry up and dangled him over the water. I told him I’d drop him if he didn’t stop crying.

    He didn’t stop so I dropped him.

    Harry sunk pretty fast. At first I didn’t think he’d come back up, but he did. His eyes were wide open like he was really scared. He tried to yell, I think, but he couldn’t because his mouth was full of water. I bet that tasted yucky. Fish make poopies in the water, you know. So do ducks and geese and otters and all kinds of animals.

    Then Harry went back under the water for good. I waited a long time, but he never came back. I went home after that.

    Mommy and some other people are looking for him now. They are dragging the lake, or something like that.

    I don’t know why they are even looking. Even if they find him he’ll still be dead.

    Just like that girl last summer. I can’t remember her name but she was my friend, sort of.

    I think all parents should teach their kids how to swim.

    Don’t you?

    SusanWritesPrecise/ Susan Marie Shuman
    Unexpected Tales

  • Empty Adirondacks

    It’s time once again for Cyranny’s #1MinuteFiction Challenge. Today’s prompt is the image below.

    The waiter came out with two Fuzzy Navels perched on his tray. His two customers’ Adirondack chairs were empty. He glanced around for the elderly couple to no avail. Their beach gear was gone too.

    Where’d they go? he mused. This is the third time today I’ve lost (literally!) my customers.

    Thinking they may have fallen in the lake, the waiter set his tray down and peered into the water. Nothing.

    What the hell is going on? An alien abduc—

  • Of Facades and Oysters

    Of Facades and Oysters

    It’s Poetics Tuesday over at the dVerse Poets Pub! Today our writing prompt is to:

    “Choose an object from your home or outdoors. Look past the obvious characteristics and uses of this object. Spare us the details. Instead, take us to the connection that it has made with you or what it represents.

    What does this object mean? Is their a sentimental attachment? What memories does it hold? (they might not be good ones). How has it’s existence effected you or your life? Does it signify a certain era, event, relationship or transition? What emotion(s) does the object evoke? Is it a symbol of joy, failure, fear, success, childhood, grief, love….? Is there a story? What is this object (to you!) beyond what we see visually.

    You may want to add a photo of the object with your poem. Remember to begin with “This is not a ______”

    This is not a stuffed animal.

    A gift from my brothers—

    Yum-Yum is her name.

    Still smiling after 58 years

    of cuddles and tears,

    laughter and joy

    the best and the worst.

    She knew me when…

    the world was my oyster

    but I couldn’t get it open.

    And when I learned

    the hard way that some

    oysters are better left closed.

    My link to cherished yet fading memories—

    to beloved friends, family, and pets

    who are no longer here.

    She gets that part of me

    (the one behind the facade)

    that no one’s allowed to see and

    even I don’t always understand.

  • Earl’s Favorite

    Earl’s Favorite

    It’s Quadrille Monday over at the dVerse Poets Pub. This week our host is De Jackson of WhimsyGizmo fame and our writing prompt is some form of the word dab.

    Janelle dabbed a bit of Chantilly

    (It was Earl’s favorite)

    behind each ear and smiled at

    her reflection in the mirror.

    Two glasses of champagne,

    Two place-settings at the table —

    anniversary dinner for one.

    Janelle raised her glass:

    “To us!”

    Then the tears came.

  • The Tapper

    The Tapper

    It’s time once again for Fandango’s Flash Fiction Challenge. The prompt is the image below.

    Jeff spent most of the morning getting ready. He’d barely slept at all last night in anticipation of today’s events.

    He arrived at the park and checked his watch. It told him he was a good 15 minutes early, but that gave him time to make himself even more nervous. First he worried she may be allergic to the flowers, then his mind moved on to more pressing issues:

    How will I recognize her? It’s been over 30 years! All I can hope is that she recognizes me. Somehow… Maybe she won’t show. Who could blame her? I was a jerk back then. Besides, who wants to spend a Sunday afternoon in the park with a convicted felon?

    Jeff glanced at his watch again. Three whole minutes had passed. Then, he felt a tap on his left shoulder and turned around.

    The tapper was a young woman who looked to be in her late twenties or so. She had long blonde hair and cheerleader dimples just like her mom.

    “Um, Dad?”

    “Kristie.” There were tears in Jeff’s voice but he didn’t care. He removed his guitar and leaned it against the nearest tree. “Is it really you?”

    Instead of answering Kristie wrapped her arms around her long-lost dad and buried her face in his shoulder. “God, I missed you so much!” she sobbed.

    “Me too, baby girl,” he whispered. “Me too.” He embraced her in an awkward hug and silently thanked God.

    artbyrandy at Morguefile.