Zing and Zang Speak

PHOTO PROMPT © Na’ama Yehuda

“Just look at the clouds! They remind me of America,” said Zing.

“What? Why?” questioned Zang.

“Well, they all started out as one cloud, but the longer they’re up there, the more separated they are. All going off in their own directions. It’s a sad thing to see a country divided against itself.”

“Won’t the clouds re-gather at some point?”

“I don’t know. Probably not.”

“How about Americans? Won’t they find a way to live in peace with each other again?”

“Doubtful. There’s just too much hatred and anger.”

Country Roads

Copyright Trish Nankivell

The red dirt road drifted off into nowhere. There were tracks, but it had been so dry that they could have been several weeks old. No way to identify or trace them.

No people anywhere. If there were folks living anywhere nearby, they were tucked so far back into the woods that it would take a long time to find them. Could be dangerous to try. These were independent people, well-armed and not friendly to strangers. They wanted no interference in the form of government checks, or check-ups.

Someday there would be an accounting, but for now, they could wait.

Questions

“Mommy, why is that funny man dressed like that?”

“I guess the people who made him just used whatever they had, Jessie.”

“But. . . well, what’s wrong with his face?”

“Honey, he isn’t real. He’s a scarecrow. He’s supposed to scare the crows away from the corn.”

“Well, I don’t think it’s very nice to give him a lumpy face. And patchy clothes. And make him stand there all stiff.”

“He’s not real, Jessie.”

“Does he scare the crows?”

“Sometimes.”

“Not always? Then they should take him down.”

Mommie sighed. “Yes, they should. That would give me a rest!”

Just Another Memory

PHOTO PROMPT © Roger Bultotti

Old Sam enjoyed the sun on his back. He let his mind wander free as he rested on the old picnic table, remembering. So many good memories.

In his mind, the air filled with screams of delight and happy fear. Carnival music, the smell of hot dogs and fries, the clatter of machinery, the booming starter’s gun all blended together in a mighty orchestra of reprieve from the drudgery that was the norm for so many.

He sighed. The park had outlived its glory days, just as he had. Creaky old things were not in high demand.

Lost

© C. E. Ayr

“I can’t understand!” Corrie wept as she searched, going over the same ground for the third time.

“I had the cord tied around my wrist, in a tight knot. I never took it off, even for a bath. The charm was the only thing on the cord. . .”

Adam sighed. He’d heard it dozens of times in the past hour or more. He felt badly for Corrie, but it wasn’t valuable. Just a childhood keepsake.

“I’ll be lost without it—-Adam! Look! There’s the cord!”

But no charm. Corrie’s tears increased as she accepted the futility of the search. Still lost.