Sixty-plus huddled in the boxcar; children, too tired and hungry to ask, “Are we there yet?”
Their parents prayed.
The train finally slowed to a crawl, and the families jumped off. All lumbered east towards abandoned houses silhouetted against the rising desert sun.
Shelter and ancient artesian wells fueled their hopes.
Las Vegas means "The Meadow"
His break came when he landed the dancing lead in Foot-Lost, a musical flick aimed at the younger crowd.
Never one to be type-cast, he later refused to recreate roles like the space cadet in Astro 13.
Now Vinek Coban enjoys playing bad alienoids like Bastian Wash in X-Oids: The First Ones.
Vinek Coban, star of FOOT-LOST, ASTRO 13, and X-OIDS: THE FIRST ONES
“I love you,” he whispered between kisses.
I didn’t buy the words or believe the kisses. So I laughed.
“You don’t believe me?”
“How often do you say that to girls you kiss?”
He stood and started for the door.” Does it matter as long as I’m telling the truth?”
~~~~~
Note: This 50-worder is in response to NaBloPoMo’s August 8th prompt – “Do you always tell the truth?”
She contemplated her sisters as they gazed at odd couples attending the party – Ron and Hermoine; Bella and Edward; Piggy and Kermit.
“It was happenstance that they met,” said Coincidence.
“You know what transpired after that was destiny,” said Fate.
“And it’s phenomenal we’re even having this discussion,” said Miracle. 
The ocean-liner featured a first-class, saltwater swimming pool, heated via nearby boilers.
Knowing women may not be welcome to dive in, she purchased the latest swimming costume anyway.
But April 14th came all too soon. Sadly, only men, poor women and children took the saltwater plunge.
None wore swimming suits.
Nothing could hide it. Not her perfect page-boy or her expensive dresses. My friend said the roof of her mouth was missing. That’s why she drooled all over herself. That’s why we couldn’t understand anything she said.
Not that she talked to us.
But we didn’t talk to her either.
“You’re stealing the old clock?”
“Quiet, or I’ll have you written out faster than you can say Helen Corning.”
“What kind of chum are you?”
“One who doesn’t need a namby-pamby whiner hampering my mystery-solving abilities!”
“Ahhhhh, you’re the 1930’s sassy Nancy, NOT 1959’s fancy Nancy! SO glad to meet you!”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Post Note: NaBloPoMo posts a daily prompt to ignite bloggers’ imaginations. I decided to respond to today’s prompt – “Which character would you most like to meet?” by working it into my 50-word piece of fiction.
N.D. ~ 1930
Note: Penny, over at WIDELY UNREAD, introduced an interesting writing exercise from 3 A.M. EPIPHANY that challenges writers to create a scene using imperative commands. Penny’s example is 500 words as suggested by author Brian Kitely. I decided to accept this challenge today using the 50-word limit! Let’s see how this works.
Morning Glory
Meet Chelsea at the parlor on Main. Watch Raul open new needles and check latex gloves for pinholes.
Don’t be brave; let Chelsea go first.
Breathe; the stings WILL stop.
Admire Raul’s handiwork, hidden so Mom won’t see.
Dream that night of spreading vines.
Awaken to a nightmare come true.
The two giggled as they struggled to slip pajamas onto uncooperative 18-inch dolls. Joy reigned until both grabbed for the flannel mini-robe.
“It’s mine!”
“No! Gramma gave it to me.”
Tears.
“They usually play well together.” The care-giver observed.
“Sisters?” asked her new assistant.
“Mother and daughter. Eighty-eight and sixty-nine.”
Note: Because I have absolutely NO challenges in my life, and because I have little to do, I decided to bring on some craziness as I am SO sane and all. To jazz up my days, my writing, and my attempt to stave off Alzheimers, I registered with NaBloPoMo AGAIN. How could I not? The theme is FICTION!
To place time constraints on this project, I decided to play around with 50-word Fiction/Stories. I may scrimp on the word-count, but hopefully not on creativity. Let me know what you think. About the stories; NOT my mental condition.
Why didn’t I take Family Home Evenings seriously? Especially nights when Mom
72-Hour Kit ~ aka Bug-Out or Blow-Out Bags
produced giant garbage bags and begged us to organize 72-hour kits.
B-O-R-I-N-G.
I thought Mormons did this for “fun.” And to prepare for IMPROBABLE catastrophes.
Wrong-o.
I didn’t know about the Zombie Apocalypse. Why didn’t Mom mention that?
SOME things never change. Mom still can't drive a van.
Writing My Life 