A Scene from Renewal

Trifecta: Week Seventy

Congratulations to the Weekend Winners, good work!
I found a bit of one of my  Works Chaos in Progress that had the word of the week in it.  I cleaned it up a bit, cut a lot of excess.  So, here we go...


On to the weekly prompt. Pay attention to the third definition, as always. Good lucky!

LUCKY (adjective)

1: having good luck
2: happening by chance : fortuitous
3: producing or resulting in good by chance : favorable

Please remember:
Your response must be between 33 and 333 words.
You must use the 3rd definition of the given word in your post.
The word itself needs to be included in your response.
You may not use a variation of the word; it needs to be exactly as stated above.
Only one entry per writer.
If your post doesn't meet our requirements, please leave your link in the comments section, not in the linkz.
Trifecta is open to everyone. Please join us. 



Sheriff Denny Clark pulled into the farm yard.  Nate Foley was waiting for him, angry and impatient.

“Mornin', Nate.  What’s the problem?”  he asked.

“The problem, Sheriff, is somethin' killed more than half my best layin' hens.”  The old farmer led Denny to the chicken coop.  Feathers, blood and torn birds littered the yard.  “Whatever kilt 'em didn't do it for eatin'.  These animals was killed for the fun of it.”

Denny squatted to inspect the remains more closely.  Nate was right.  The birds had been torn apart, one after another.  Whatever?  He was inclined to lay bets on whoever.  The local wild life may take a chicken once in a while, and that's exactly what they did, take.  One may find a few feathers or bones, but those remains showed obvious signs of feeding.  These didn't.

“You didn’t hear anything, Nate?”



“Nope.  Take my hearin' aids out at night.”

“Dog didn’t raise hell?”

“Ain't got no dog.  Last one I had thought the chickens was his.  It were his lucky day, the grandchild was here, took 'im home." 

“Got a count on how many you lost here, Nate?”

The old man figured a minute.  “ I’d say 'bout three dozen.”

Denny nodded, “I'll grab some bags, take a few to Doc Kelsey.  See if he can come up with anything evidential.”  Denny popped the trunk of the squad, he returned with several plastic bags and latex gloves.  He brought a camera to document the scene.  He took a dozen pictures, then bagged eight birds for the Kelsey, the local veterinarian. 

“Make sure you show all that to my insurance agent.  Only about twenty left.  That won’t pay bills for long.  Kin I get rid of the mess now, Sheriff?”

“You gonna burn ‘em, Nate?”

Nate Foley nodded.  “Yep, gotta burn ‘em.  For sure.”

Goal

the prompt: We want to know what your goals and ambitions are for your writing, in 300 words or less. 


A long time ago, I used to make up stories. Write them down and sometimes illustrate them.

I took creative writing in high school. Even a poetry class.  I wrote. I have little journal books of crappy teen angst poems. The stories I wrote?  I don't know where they are. Long decomposed in some landfill I expect.

It all got lost.  In growing up and boys and work. Then motherhood and marriage.  Yes the mommy part came first.

The stories were still there. Locked in my head. Told and retold to the invisible passenger as I drove my intergalactic fighter or horse drawn cart to work or the grocery.

Pieces of elsetime.  Glimpses of otherwhen.

I can remember my mother telling me long ago she could see me at a typewriter, mixed drink in one hand, cigarette in the other, cranking out books.

Didn't happen.

Yet.

But I have taken a step. Sitting in front of a keyboard, coffee mug in one hand, cigarette in the other.  Learning how to pull  pieces and glimpses of elsetime and otherwhen out of my head and put them together.

Telling those stories.  Flying my magic carpet through the Internet, babbling away to You, my invisible passengers.

My Goal?

Simple.

Don't stop.