Shooting Star

PHOTO PROMPT © Dale Rogerson

Meredith snagged the lead role–Eliza– in her senior class play. Pygmalion! The whole cast was excited, looking forward to rehearsals, costumes, and, they hoped, crowds of people.

Meredith memorized tons of lines. A poor Cockney girl, Eliza became the subject of an experiment to change her into a lady of society who would fool all the members of the Ton. And she succeeded. At least, her instructor, Henry Higgins, succeeded.

Ultimately, she belonged nowhere. Her success in society was like a meteor flying across the heavens and disappearing.

Meredith considered her success as Eliza’s. Temporary.

Note: For those who may not know, Pygmalion was George Bernard Shaw’s play that was later to become the basis for the popular film My Fair Lady.

Pygmalion was a Greek mythological god who fell in love with one of his sculptures, which then came to life. The play has Henry Higgins “sculpting” Eliza into his own creation, but then Eliza falls in love with him, and there in lay the dilemma. The musical version has a happier ending 🙂


City and Country

PHOTO PROMPT © Dawn Miller

“It takes no brains to be a farmer,” pontificated City Mouse. “Anyone could do it.”

“Yes?” replied Country Mouse. “Tell me, what would you do if you were faced with a months-long drought? Or a plague of locusts? Or daily dust storms? Tornadoes? Endless rain? Broken machinery? Disease spreading in the wheat or corn? Cows drying up, unable to feed their young? Chickens that don’t lay? Hogs that sicken and die?”

“Easy!” puffed City Mouse. “I’d simply go to the nearest grocery store and buy what I need.”

Country Mouse grinned, shook his head, and went back to work.

Icy Trip

PHOTO PROMPT © Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

“Be careful on the porch. The ice is hard to see.”

“Yeah, Mom. Got it.” Sonny rolled his eyes, wishing Mom would quit treating him like a child.

He hurried from the door to the stairs When his phone dinged, eyes on the screen, he didn’t see the icy patch.

His foot slid and pointed at the sky. Arms windmilling, he went top over teakettle, landing on his behind and cracking his head on the bottom step. As he waited for the world to stop spinning, he heard his mother’s voice.

“I told you. Someday you’ll listen to me.”

(This is one that I had to pare down from 133 words to the necessary 100—99, actually. My original version was more fun, but rules are rules!)



“Can you believe we’re angels?” whispered Isobel.

“Can’t believe I made it!” Sammy whispered back.

“Feels like I’m wearing a nightgown. In public.”

“Can’t believe they’re making the guys wear dresses. Next floor up is haloes, I think.”

“No, it’s harps.”

“Don’t want to play any harp. It’s girlie.”

“Angels don’t have gender, Silly!”

“Don’t like that, either.”

“After harps, then haloes. Then assignments, then wings if we do a good job.”

“Whole thing makes no sense.”

“How’d you make it this far?”