Constant

Her name was Constance but we called her Constant because she was always moving.

Can you think when you’re moving around like that?¬† we asked.

Of course I can think. Moving helps me think.

What about when you’re standing still? Can you think then?

I’ve never tried it.

Well, try it now. Stand still… no foot tapping… let your arms hang down… stop twitching your fingers… let your mouth hang open a little… eyes still… relax your forehead… relax your belly… take a deep breath… let it out slow… again… again… breathe… what are you thinking?

All that motion? It’s stuck in my head. Whirling.

Can you slow it down?

Yes, if I… if I… see you later, guys… I’m off!

 

For Daily Post

Hookworm

 

“Git yer shoes on or don’t go out.”

“Pa don’t wear shoes.”

“Pa’s got foot problems.”

“I’ve got foot problems.”

“Such as?”

“I don’t like shoes.”

“The hookworms are just waiting out there.”

“I don’t care about no hookworms.”

“You see how pale your pa has got? You hear him groaning and moaning at night with a sore belly? You want to get like that?”

“He should take a pill. They’ve got pills.”

“You going to pay for it?”

“Why can’t we move somewhere with no hookworms?”

“Your uncle moved to the city and a car ran over his foot.”

 

100 words

Photo by Enisa

For Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers

Lecture

You have to lecture your kids. You also have to lecture your husband — and sometimes your neighbors or the mailman or a solicitor or the Jehovah’s Witnesses — or even, on a very bad day, Jehovah Himself.

That’s just the way it is.

I use a lectern. Lecterns have one purpose and lecturing is it.

I have an indoor lectern on wheels, for moving around the house, and an outdoor mobile lectern for trips to school, where my kids sometimes need my advice or a good scold during classes or recess. (Props to SNL and Melissa McCarthy for the outdoor mobile idea. That lectern is especially useful for following older my kids on their dates.)

The workers in my husband’s office are well familiar with my lecterns. The indoor lectern attaches to the larger outdoor lectern so that once I get to the skyscraper, I can just roll on in.

The White House has the most famous lectern, with a big seal on its front representing the President or the U.S. or whatever. My seals are nothing fancy like that one. Just my face with a stern look on it.

The main thing about lecterns, and you should remember this in case you’re ever standing behind one, is that you don’t necessarily have to tell the truth to your audience while you’re there, whether it be your family or anybody else. You’ll notice this with the Presidential Lectern, for example. There is something about fielding tough questions from your listeners that requires an occasional slide into fabricationhood.

How many times, oh Lord, have the kids or the hubby called out, “Yeah, but what about you?”

“What about me?” I reply. “Let me tell you how much I love you. I have been teaching you, guiding you, explaining things to you, badgering you,¬†threatening you,¬† reporting you to the police and other authorities, snitching on you to your best friends, and posting embarrassing homecam shots of you on Facebook since the day you were born, or in the case of Frank, since the day we were married, and have I ever asked for thanks? No. This lectern is three inches shorter than when it was new, from me pounding on it.”

But I’ve got to go. I’ve had the bathroom door widened so I can get this thing through it when a family member requires a lecture while using the facilities.

For Daily Prompt