We’ve coined a new slogan here at the Gayer Plantation; “What doesn’t kill you will make you so sore you can’t move without pain.” Connie’s been putting in long days in the flower farm while I work two-hour stints in the vegetable garden.
Spring may be in the air, but there’s not much of it left in my step. When I have my hearing aids in, I can actually hear my joints creak. In the evening, I lubricate them with a magical elixir known as Rum & Coke, which tends to prove quite effective in providing temporary relief.
If you’re new to Friday Flash Fiction, our rheumatoid specialist, who offers a weekly prescription for 100-word arthritic writing, is Verna Write Wisoff-Fields. If you’d like to participate in this exercise of madness, head over to her blog for step-by-step instructions. To view the ensemble of practicing fic-titioners in the writers in FFF Hollywood Squares Authors Block click here.
“Something has to be done about these armadillos.” The anger in Connie’s voice whistled like a teakettle at full boil.
“Are they putting possums out of work again?”
“No! They’re destroying my flowerbeds. Half of my plants have been dug up and there’s a maze of trenches throughout the mulch.”
Her once beautiful garden now resembled an artillery-ravaged battlefield. Prize plants lay wounded and dying, their tender roots left naked and exposed beneath a merciless summer sun.
Earlier attacks had been random potshots. But now, the flowerbeds looked so bad even the Narcissus was having a tough time loving himself.
*the above is an excerpt from the award-winning story “The Battle of Gardenville.” This story and more can be found in my latest book, One Idiot Short of a Village.
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Or the three people I guilted into reading this blog, whatever.
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