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Friday Fiction #10: Danny Boy – Perfect Lemonade

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Editor’s Note: This is the final in a fictional series entitled “Danny Boy.” To catch up with the entire series, you can read these in chronological order:

Fiction Friday #1: Danny Boy – Promises Broken
Fiction Friday #2: Danny Boy – Moving Up the Ranks
Fiction Friday #3: Danny Boy – Redemption
Fiction Friday #4: Danny Boy – For Viv
Fiction Friday #5: Danny Boy – Outside the Lines
Fiction Friday #6: Danny Boy – Until We Meet Again
Fiction Friday #7: Danny Boy – Making Mother Proud
Fiction Friday #8: Danny Boy – Eyes Wide Open

Fiction Friday #9: Danny Boy – Rewriting His Story

The yellow petals rained down around him. His eyes focused on the rich green grass and crystal blue sky. He noticed an illuminating white light around each image so vivid and crisp. Danny lifted his head only to see a woman walking away. Her sheer white dress flowed as she strolled barefoot through a bed of flowers. He recognized the curly red hair.

With an outstretched hand, he reached for her. She kept walking toward the light of the grassy fields. It was as if she was alone. But she wasn’t.

She was at peace.

He tasted a familiar sourness in his mouth, and spit out a piece of lemon seed. Holding the seed in his hand, he flashed to the kitchen of his home.

Slowly walking, he cradled the lemons towards the kitchen while a few dropped to the floor. With a cigarette dangling from her mouth, his mother cut the lemon in half, and handed it to Danny. Gripping the lemon, he twisted each half on the glass juicer. Admiring his work, Danny lifted the squeezed lemon. He noticed the juice, seeds and shreds of lemon.

“Look, ma! I made lemon juice,” he said, smiling up at her. “Good boy, Danny,” she praised, peering over, and then taking a swig of rosé wine. The two continued the process of cutting and juicing. And, the final touches of adding sugar and mixing in a large glass pitcher. With table, signs, cups and cold lemonade in hand, seven-year-old Danny was ready for business.

On the sweltering day in the upscale neighborhood on the outskirts of Las Vegas, customers were few and far between. A few neighborhood kids stopped by on their bicycles for a quick five-cent aperitif. Later in the afternoon, a couple local cops who patrol the neighborhood (and who know his father intimately) bought a few cups of lemonade. When out of eyeshot, they took a taste of the sour concoction and quickly tossed the lemonade into the bushes.

The highlight of Danny’s selling day, though, was when his Dad cruised up in the all black 1957 Lincoln Continental larger than life. “Hey, Danny Boy! How much for a cold cup?” his father boomed. Danny’s heart raced at his biggest, most important customer yet. “Uh, yep, Dad, uh, five cents a cup, or five cups for twenty-five cents,” Danny quipped.

Getting out of his car in a dark blue pin-stripped suit and coordinating magenta tie, Jimmy’s shiny black patent leather shoes slid gracefully across the sidewalk. His wide shoulders towered over the selling stand. Danny nervously filled the paper cups. Jimmy read Danny’s handmade cardboard sign: “5¢ Dilishish Cold Lemonade.”

Jimmy admired the sign, and his young son’s entrepreneurial drive. But of course, he couldn’t go without offering a trademark Dougan “business tip.” “You know, son, if you had a cute little girl out here with a short skirt, you’d be rolling in the dough,” Jimmy said.

Danny looked down, and then heard the window slam behind him. His mother had probably heard the wisecrack from her philandering Irish mobster husband. His father then slipped a crisp $50 bill in the glass money jar. “Good job, kid,” said his father, patting Danny on the top of his head.

Danny remembers that day as one of the few good “normal” days with Viv and Jimmy. The day of lemons, love and light.

——————————————————————————————————————–

“Danny, Danny! Wake up, son!” the voice called. Danny could hear a loud clanking. Through the fogginess, his eyes fluttered open. He could see the arm of his father chained to the side of the bed railing in a single handcuff.

“Oh, thank God, son,” Jimmy said, carefully making the sign of the cross with his free hand.

“I saw her, Dad. Up there in heaven,” Danny said. “She’s in heaven. Mom is there,” he said. With tears in his eyes, he began to sob uncontrollably.

“Oh, Danny. I know why you tried to do it. But you’ll burn for it, son…for killing yourself. You understand?” Jimmy said. “You tried to do right, son…” he trailed.

“Time to go back, Jimmy,” the guard ordered, slapping the other handcuff on his forearm.

“I love you, Danny Boy,” his father said, while being led away to his new home on death row.

“I love you too,” said Danny.

Moments later the nurse came in to check his vitals. “Can I get you anything, Mr. Dougan?” she said. Danny thought for a moment.

“Do you have any lemonade?” he asked. “I could go for a cold cup right now,” he said.

——————————————————————————————————————————

That was the final in the “Danny Boy” series. I’ve grown attached to Danny, Jimmy and Viv these past few months. I hope you have enjoyed reading as much as I’ve enjoyed the storytelling. I will be taking a bit of fictional writing break this summer. However, I will continue to post non-fiction to my blog a couple times a week. I really need to get back to focusing on my book, and other projects in the works over the next few months. I thank you for continuing to read my fiction. I may even consider turning this into an e-book at some point for those that like to read in a book format vs. blog post format.

Writing Prompt: “If life gives you lemons, don’t settle for simply making lemonade – make a glorious scene at a lemonade stand.” – Elizabeth Gilbert

Your character was given lemons, now paint their amazing lemonade stand. Tell us the story of their darkness, their light. Write the story.

Friday Fiction Friends used the same prompt, so please check out:

Tammy at Worlds Worst Moms

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Fiction Friday #9: Danny Boy – Rewriting His Story

Lovely logo design by Kelly Debie.

Lovely logo design by Kelly Debie.

Editor’s Note: This is the ninth in a fictional series entitled “Danny Boy.” To catch up with the entire series, you can read these in chronological order:

Fiction Friday #1: Danny Boy – Promises Broken
Fiction Friday #2: Danny Boy – Moving Up the Ranks
Fiction Friday #3: Danny Boy – Redemption
Fiction Friday #4: Danny Boy – For Viv
Fiction Friday #5: Danny Boy – Outside the Lines
Fiction Friday #6: Danny Boy – Until We Meet Again
Fiction Friday #7: Danny Boy – Making Mother Proud
Fiction Friday #8: Danny Boy – Eyes Wide Open

Dear Danny,

I know it’s hard to be in the slammer, but you did it all to yourself. You could have had it all. The whore of a woman you called your mother – she was an accident. I used to think she was so worthless. Then I’d look at you. You were my Danny Boy. Now I see that all these years, you were just like her. After hearing you on the stand the other week, I knew you were not a true man. You were never a Dougan.

Jimmy

A single crocodile-sized tear fell to the letter. Even though Danny hated his father, he also loved him. How could he have feelings of love for such a monster?

Wiping his eyes, Danny remembered the story he overheard his father tell one night while at Dougan’s Pub. With a cigar and bottomless whiskey in one hand, Jimmy told his story of sadness, pain and vulnerability for the first and only time…

Jimmy felt the rock poke his back. He wiggled, tossed and turned.

“Quit you’re moving around, Jimmy!” yelled his father, Frank. Seven-year-old Jimmy pulled the cover over his head, and then defiantly stuck his tongue out at his father. “Marianna, get in here! I need the hot water for the mix!” he screamed.

Jimmy continued to hide under the patched quilt that was woven by his Grandmother Irene from their mother country of Ireland. This was one of the few cherished family items brought over by boat when Jimmy was a baby.

The sound of the train shook the empty whisky bottles. Jimmy’s mother finally threw open the door of the tent. Jimmy caught a glimpse of her swollen ankles out of the corner of his eye. Under the blanket, the heat of the fire made him sweat. His mom quietly shuffled across the dirt floor while his father grunted around the whiskey still like a mad scientist.

Like the fire, Jimmy could sense the tension between the two. “Why the fuuuuck did you bring me this metal pot, Marianna? It’s too small,” he slurred, pushing the boiling water towards her round, bulging stomach. And then, in almost perfect harmony, his mother’s shrills and Jimmy’s screams filled the tent echoing past the railroad tracks to neighboring houses.

The rest was a blur except for faint memories of holding his mother’s trembling hands while she was carried away on a hospital gurney with severe burns to her abdomen. Jimmy had big plans for him and his new brother, Aiden. He would teach him marbles and jacks, and after school they could play kick the can and stickball.

But those hopes and dreams vanished. His mother did her best to reassure him. “Oh, my boy, Aiden is now in heaven with Grandmother Irene, ” she said.

That night, his father drank himself into oblivion. As little Jimmy cried himself to sleep, he vowed to be a rich, successful businessman. He would never live the life of a poor, drunken Irish immigrant.

By the tender age of 10, he began his mob career beating up kids for their lunch and pocket change. By age 16, he joined the ranks of his Uncle Bobby Dougan’s Gang of Irish mobsters. And by age 20, Jimmy had successfully run and managed a fairly sophisticated ring of cons, scams and rackets in Boston, and surrounding neighborhoods.

Now, staring at the handwritten letter from his father, Danny crinkled up the paper into a ball and tossed it to the floor. “Jimmy became exactly who he wanted to be,” said Danny to himself in his cell. “You wrote the story, be a man and own it. And now, Pop, I’m writing my own story,” he said. Humming the melody of his mother’s favorite song, “Danny Boy,” he tightly cinched the bed sheet in a noose.

DANNY BOY
Oh, Danny Boy, the pipes, the pipes are calling
From glen to glen, and down the mountain side,
The summer’s gone, and all the flowers are dying
It’s you, It’s you, must go and I must bide.
But come ye back, when summer’s on the mountain
Or when the valley’s hushed and white with snow,
It’s I’ll be here, in sunshine or in shadow,
Oh Danny Boy, Oh Danny Boy, I love you so.
But should you come, when all the flower’s are dying
And I am dead, as dead I well may be,
You’ll come and find the place where I am lying
And kneel and say an Ave there for me.
And I shall hear, though soft you tread above me
And all my dreams will warm and sweeter be
If you’ll not fail to tell me that you love me
Then I shall sleep in peace until you come to me.

whooooh. dark. once again. loved writing this stuff. this time around i really got into the some of the historical background of the Irish immigrants, but wish i could add more. hope you enjoyed it. i am not sure if Danny is coming back. i guess i will figure that out next week.

Writing prompt this week was provided by lovely and talented Molly Field: “You own everything that happened to you. Tell your stories. If people wanted you to write warmly about them, they should’ve behaved better.” — Anne Lamott

Friday Fiction Friends! Want to read some more fiction for the weekend? Curl up and check out these writers, who have put their hearts into their pieces with their own take on the same writing prompt:

http://katbiggie.com/friday-fiction-friends-part-8/#sthash.x2UTkCWw.!tpo.uxfs

http://www.bulamamani.com/

http://worldsworstmoms.com

http://debiehive.blogspot.com/2013/05/fiction-friday-challenge-be-nice-or-ill.html

http://www.mollyfield.com

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Fiction Friday #8: Danny Boy – Eyes Wide Open

Lovely logo design by Kelly Debie.

Lovely logo design by Kelly Debie.

Editor’s Note: This is the eighth in a fictional series entitled “Danny Boy.” To catch up with the entire series, you can read these in chronological order:

Fiction Friday #1: Danny Boy – Promises Broken
Fiction Friday #2: Danny Boy – Moving Up the Ranks
Fiction Friday #3: Danny Boy – Redemption
Fiction Friday #4: Danny Boy – For Viv
Fiction Friday #5: Danny Boy – Outside the Lines
Fiction Friday #6: Danny Boy – Until We Meet Again
Fiction Friday #7: Danny Boy – Making Mother Proud

Danny slowly marched while holding the cross in front of his heart with both hands. Looking up, he saw the stained glass cross overhead with alternating faint patterns of purple, blue, purple, blue, purple, blue. He began to itch in his white linen altar dress, or “alb” his mom forced him to wear. Flanking both sides, were two other boys from his fourth grade class holding lighted candles.

One of the altar boys was his best friend, Bobby, the son of a local Irish boxer. He began to lose his footing on the steps toward the altar table, which sat to the right of Father O’Hara. The altar dress sagged over his scrawny, athletic body.

Danny dreamt of a normal life like his friends. Instead of the rough and tumble life of a gangster. At school when kids asked Danny what his dad did for a living he gave the standard response: “He owns a restaurant near The Strip.” Perplexed, kids would argue, “Well, you sure get picked up in a fancy car just for owning a restaurant!”

Near the altar table, Danny kissed the cross before placing it in between the candelabras. Turning to face the church with praying hands, the final chorus of “Glory to God in the Highest” echoed. He could see his parents in the crowd. His mother with her red hair neatly flipped at the ends in a light blue polyester dress. While his father nervously swayed back and forth on the tips of his expensive leather shoes, and constantly re-adjusted his tie. He could hear his father’s smoking hack over the off-key church organ.

“He’s probably dying for a smoke right now,” thought Danny. “Well, the asshole has to suffer…like me up here right now in this dumb outfit.” He could see his mother’s wide lipstick painted smile beaming towards him. She was so proud. Danny forced a smile in return. The processional song finally ended. Danny looking up mumbled, “Thank God.”

Father O’Hara began: “In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit,” while making the sign of the cross with his hands. As he spoke, Danny could feel his face growing hot as he caught the eye of his friend Bobby. Bobby was a well-liked kid as the son of a well-known Irish boxer. Like his father, he was a scrapper and would take on anyone at school who wanted to fight. But over the past few months, Danny noticed an unsettling quietness to Bobby.

During the church’s ceremonial practices, Bobby was especially jumpy. One day in particular, Danny remembers standing outside Father O’Hara’s office. He could hear Bobby scream, and then it was dead quiet. Bobby emerged a few minutes later, red faced, and then ran towards the back door of the church.

Danny knew. And Danny knew that Bobby knew it too. He knew that something sacred had been taken from Bobby. Danny knew that he could also never repeat what he witnessed. Danny swore to himself that he would never go into the father’s office alone. He’d kill him first.

To Danny, none of it made sense. This religion of pretending to be something we aren’t. Danny felt his whole life was a lie. Adding another layer of the hypocrisy was par for the course.

“You are going to be the cutest altar boy, ever,” his mom sad, pinching his cheek.

In his strong Irish accent, Father O’Hara read aloud the altar boy rules to Danny and Viv during the interest process at the church: “Must fold hands together in the proper position. Your son will need to hold his hands together in a reverent praying position for the majority of the Mass for approximately 45 minutes of a 60 minute Mass, of which an estimated 20 minutes is done while kneeling, five minutes while walking, and 20 minutes while standing. Practice with your son in the pew! Have him keep his hands folded while standing and kneeling for the Mass. He can rest his hands on his lap while he is sitting. He must remain focused on the altar, and he needs to refrain from looking at you, his Daddy, or other people during Mass. Your son will need to be able to practice self-restraint, Mrs. Dougan…with his eyes, refraining from looking around at the congregation, at the people behind him, at the ushers during the collection, and at children who start crying or making noise.”

“Oh, father, he will do all of these things. He’ll make you proud. Right, Danny Boy?” his mother said. A long silence filled the room. Bending down and firmly grabbing his arm, “Danny? Did you hear the father?” “Uh, yeah, mom,” he said.

“God bless you, father,” his mother said, as they left.

—————————————————————————————————————————————————

 “Son? Son?” said the prison chaplain.

With Danny’s eyes tightly closed, images of a man’s hand going down the front of his black dress pants flashed. Shaking his head, he didn’t want it to be true. “No, no, no! I’ll kill you! I’ll kill you,” Danny yelled.

Danny opened his eyes and looked up as he knelt on the hard cement floor. “The service ended 15 minutes ago. You need to return to your cell,” said the chaplain. “Are you okay?”

He wondered if his old best friend Bobby even existed. With his eyes wide open, he realized that Bobby was the boy he had invented to mask his pain.

Looking around at the makeshift chapel with metal folding chairs and a glued wooden cross on the wall, he had also realized that nothing good comes from a mix of perfection and hypocrisy. Ironically, he felt closer to God than ever before.

Standing up and walking towards the door, Danny waved his hand in the air, “God bless you, father. God bless you.”

And Danny meant it.

——————————————————————————————————————————————-

Whooooahhhh. That was crazy. Didn’t even know that was going to happen until I sat down to write this last night on my pad of paper. Deep. I know. According to Wikipedia: “In Ireland, a report (see Commission to Inquire into Child Abuse) was made covering six decades (from the 1950s) noting “endemic” sexual abuse in Catholic boys’ institutions with church leaders aware of what was going on and government inspectors failing to “stop beatings, rapes and humiliation.”[28] Police examine sex abuse report: The commission’s report on church abuse ran to five volumes Police in the Irish Republic are examining if criminal charges can be brought over a damning report on child sex abuse at Catholic institutions.” So very, very sad.

I leave with you a super cool original song entitled “Eyes Wide Open.” Loved it!

Writing prompt: Brought to us this week by the talented Tammy Soong…Let your characters work through the old saying, “Perfect is the enemy of good.”

Finally, be sure to read the amazing fictional works of these friends!

http://worldsworstmoms.com
http://www.bulamamani.com/
http://www.susannenelson.wordpress.com/
http://www.debiehive.blogspot.com/
http://www.neargenius1.blogspot.com/
http://www.mollyfield.com

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Fiction Friday #7: Danny Boy – Making Mother Proud

Lovely logo design by Kelly Debie.

Lovely logo design by Kelly Debie.

Editor’s Note: This is the seventh in a fictional series entitled “Danny Boy.” To catch up with the entire series, you can read these in chronological order:

Fiction Friday #1: Danny Boy – Promises Broken
Fiction Friday #2: Danny Boy – Moving Up the Ranks
Fiction Friday #3: Danny Boy – Redemption
Fiction Friday #4: Danny Boy – For Viv
Fiction Friday #5: Danny Boy – Outside the Lines
Fiction Friday #6: Danny Boy – Until We Meet Again

He held her red locks away from flying chunks of vomit as she knelt over the toilet. He dabbed the vomit and saliva from her face. Raccoon faced with makeup caked around her half-masted green eyes.

“You’re so good to me, baby,” she slurred in a drunken state. Danny petted Millie’s tousled hair. He wished to take back what just happened in the dark hotel room with each stroke.

Earlier that day, Richie “the Henchmen” picked the lock of the hotel room while Danny stood behind him pacing in his tightly fitted mafia suit. “We got to take care of this punk,” Richie said. “But, I’m not sure if Mil was even with Marty,” pleaded Danny.

Richie stopped picking the lock, and drew up close to Danny’s face. “Get this through your head, kid. She’s a whore, a drunk. And she’s cheating on you with the scum of the earth – a Sambino. Don’t you get it?” he said.

Richie continued to tinker with the lock. Finally, the door cracked open slightly. Danny could hear Millie’s giggles.

“Get in there, kid. Be a man. Take care of the punk,” whispered Richie. Danny stumbling backwards threw up his hands. Richie put the gun in his hand. Danny was frozen. “Pussy,” Richie mocked.

He snapped back into the moment at the toilet. Looking at the back of Millie’s head, he noticed the dried blood mixed in with her fiery red hair. The one of five bullets Richie shot must have grazed her from the .22 handgun.

“I’m sorry for what I did,” she said. “I don’t deserve you.” The phone rang from the other room.

Danny suddenly warped back in time to the shrilling ring of the phone in the hallway of his childhood home in the dead of night. Awoken by the ring of the telephone, wearing his canary yellow-footed pajamas, he cried while dragging his matted brown teddy bear. “Mommy, mommy, mommy!” he screamed.

He could hear the booming voice of his father from the master bedroom. “Bitch, you fuckin’ drunk,” he yelled. “Danny doesn’t deserve you, whore.”

Little Danny’s cries grew louder.

—————————————————————————————————————————————————-

Danny stared at the tapping pencil of the state penitentiary’s state-appointed psychologist. “Danny? Danny? Are you with me, son?” asked Doctor Evans. “Uh, yeah,” said Danny.

The doctor scribbled on the steno pad. “Interesting, correlation of the two incidents, Danny, between Millie and your mother,” said the doctor. “The Freudian-labeled phenomenon of choosing someone who either looks like, acts like, or thinks like one of your parents is extremely common. The reason is actually pretty simple. Your mother or father were your first and most important childhood love objects. Little boys love their mothers smell, her look, her laugh,” he explained.

Danny leaned back in the wooden chair crossing his arms. “So, even if you’re mother is a drunken, whore? Does that count, Doc?” The doctor explained that even the flaws of another person are replicated to a significant other, such as a girlfriend, or wife.

“What if you killed ‘em both – the ‘significant other’ and the mother,” joked Danny. The doctor squinted his eyes. This was a darker, colder side of Danny he had not seen until now. He was finally making some headway into the gruesome life of this little boy – now stuck in the body of a tortured grown man.

“I guess if I’m my dad then, I’m a cold-blooded killer, uh?” asked Danny.

Suddenly the bell rang and red light lit up signaling the end of the session. The doctor stood up to shake Danny’s hand. “Good luck testifying today, Danny.”

“No luck, needed, Doc. I’m doing this one for my mom and Mil,” he said, while shuffling away in shackles.

“Gonna’ make my mom proud today,” Danny said with a wink.

—————————————————————————————————————————————————-
Once again, that was so much fun to write. Who would of thought I’d whip that up while my kiddos were turning summersaults at gymnastics. I love the unexpected. I love that I’m taking chances with my writing. Living my dream, every single day. Thank you, God.

Writing Prompt: This week, one of our most loveliest fellow fiction friends, Kelly Debie provided a visual prompt from one of my all-time favorite bands “The Police” with their song “Mother.” Classic; thank you, Kelly!

Don’t forget to check out my fellow fantastic fiction friends below!

http://worldsworstmoms.com
http://www.bulamamani.com/
http://www.susannenelson.wordpress.com/
http://www.debiehive.blogspot.com/
http://www.mollyfield.com/
http://neargenius1.blogspot.com/

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Fiction Friday #6: Danny Boy – Until We Meet Again

Beautiful logo design by Kelly Debie.

Beautiful logo design by Kelly Debie.

Editor’s Note: This is the sixth in a fictional series entitled “Danny Boy.” To catch up with the entire series, you can read these in chronological order:

Fiction Friday #1: Danny Boy – Promises Broken
Fiction Friday #2: Danny Boy – Moving Up the Ranks
Fiction Friday #3: Danny Boy – Redemption
Fiction Friday #4: Danny Boy – For Viv
Fiction Friday #5: Danny Boy – Outside the Lines

His pencil gingerly outlined the shape of her lips. The pencil moved faster, each stroke and curve added dimension to her full, sensuous lips. Her lips flew off the paper.

He could feel the press of her lips on his. His tongue wandered the caverns of her mouth.

He pulled away from the sketchpad, his heart racing. He paid no attention to the cell doors slamming and keys clinking. “Lights out, boys,” yelled the cell guard down the hall.

Staring down, he began to focus on her red hair. Her curls bouncing as she strutted across the casino room of the Flamingo. Using the edge of his pencil, he shaded the ringlets of her hair and breathed the enveloping wisps of peaches and sweet perfume.

He knew what was next. Her eyes. The same eyes that looked at him for the last time. They were so alive. But fear. Fear filled those green eyes that fateful night.

Did he sketch fear or life in those eyes of Millie? The beauty of the thought was a breakthrough for Danny. He could decide.

Drawing was an outlet for Danny even as a small boy. His mother had bought him a drafting table when he was 12-years-old. However, his father did not care for drawings of life. He wanted Danny to draw sketches of underground mob hideouts and mocked caricatures of Italian mafia crew enemies with oversized noses and missing teeth.

Danny felt the pressure to perform his drawings of buildings and monsters for his father, but in a rage of frustration broke the drafting table and threw his art set in the fireplace. He wanted to draw life. Not death.

He began to shape the top of the circles of Millie’s eyes. Tears filled his own. “Oh, sweet, Millie girl. How I loved you so,” he whispered.

Adding the orange and brown flecks, he remembered the first time he saw those green eyes. He saw her from across the room at the Flamingo. She stood out of the crowd. Her creamy white skin with red freckles sprinkled across the bridge of her nose. She exuded purity and innocence. She seemed different, whole. Carrying her tray of cigars, he straightened his steel gray suit and salmon-colored tie. She made her way past him as he stood at the Black Jack table, the side of her bare arm brushed his back.

Their eyes met.

“Cigar, mister?” Millie asked, as she tilted her head back. Danny pulled a high-end cigar from his coat jacket. “I guess that’s a no,” she said matter-of-factly. Danny flashed his smile. Millie’s eyes fluttered.

“Dougan, lights out!” barked the guard through the bars. Startled, Danny pleaded for five more minutes. “Five, but you owe me. Don’t worry, I’ll think of something interesting,” chuckled the guard.

Danny, relieved, continued to add life to Millie’s eyes. He thought about what he owed her. He helped take her life that night to save his own and others. He pondered good versus evil.

He began to add the light brown and red eyelashes under her eyes. This would be the only way to see Millie. His sweet Millie. The eyes eerily stared back at him.

“Good night, my love. Until we meet again.”

——————————————————————————————————————————————————–
Okay, so I know it’s short, but the week was crazy busy. Hope you enjoyed! Thank you to our lovely Sandra Gea Guevara prompt. It was inspiring.

Writing Prompt: “The bud
stands for all things,
even for those things that don’t flower,
for everything flowers, from within, of self-blessing;
though sometimes it is necessary
to reteach a thing its loveliness,
to put a hand on its brow
of the flower
and retell it in words and in touch
it is lovely
until it flowers again from within, of self-blessing;”

Inspired by this excerpt from Galway Kinnell’s poem “San Francis and the sow”, you will describe a situation where your character is remembered of her/his own beauty/talent/gift. Let your imagination and words flow this is your blossoming time too dear co-writers!

CHECK OUT my fiction friend Molly Field who already posted her piece “Greetings With Flowers.” You will love it, guaranteed!

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