Writer's Digest Contest #53

I just want to let you know that I am busy writing things other than book reviews. Right now I'm working on a little ditty for the Writer's Digest Your Story contest. They have one, a Your Story contest  in every issue of their magazine. I have made a few attempts before. Refer to my previous post:

Writer's Digest Contest #47

http://beamingrae.blogspot.com/2012/12/writers-digest-contest-47.html


So here are the entry rules for Writer's Digest Contest #53 - Write a short story of 750 words or fewer based on the prompt below. You can be funny, witty, etc; after all it is your story.

Prompt:    A girl puts a quarter in a gumball machine and a human tooth comes out.

The deadline is October 14th, 2013.

RELATIVES OR NOT RELATIVE TO ME? OR TO THIS DAY AND AGE??

Mr. & Mrs. , and who's that baby?

"I know dear. No. I can't hold the baby, I'm holding my gloves dear."

"She knocked my hat off"

"Yes dear. Well your hat isn't a John Fredric's, which isn't low in price."

"When she comes back in the room she'll expect the woman to be holding the baby."

"No dear. She'll see I'm holding my gloves. Shush dear. Here she comes."

HORSE TRADING

The stranger looked at Susie, shook his head, rested it in a right angled tilt, and said, "That horse is not worth $500. If you're set on that number then I'm done here."

"Nice meeting you then." Susie turned, cleared the top two-by-four of the coral, was nearly to the gardenia arched gate entrance of the white picket fenced yard surrounding the little white wood plank house she was born and raised in. She never walked, she always happily bounced along. Her puppy would give out before she did.

Guy Rogers had decided it wasn't the horse he was interested in anymore, and no price was too high. "Hold on there girly!" At six feet, four inches, he was afforded a gait that could close the distance between him and most anything that walked on earth without putting much effort into it.

"Yes? I'm sorry, what'd you say your name was?"

"Guy".

"You change your mind on the horse?" 

"Just thought I should do my horse trading with a man, not a baby girl."

Now Susie was pissed, "It's my horse Mister! I'm old enough to own it, feed it, brush it, and saddle it!! I'm selling it, my asking price is $500, you said you don't want it, so I'll thank you to ride on out of here on that sorry poke under your saddle, or you will be dealing with my Pa!!! He won't settle cheap on taking a piece of your hide neither!"

No price too high, thought Guy. "Whoa there little lady." He bowed his head as he tipped his hat. "I sure didn't mean to offend you in any way at all." Guy fell in love right then and there. 

Guy got on his sorry poke and rode over the ridge to make camp where he could watch for Susie's Pa, and accidentally bump into him on his way home. He decided he needed a job in this here part of the country. 

Coral that little filly.

Are You Relative To This??? Am I???

Ida Means (left), and her nephew Dorwin Means (right).

AFTER THE COWS COME HOME 

"Ain't no need da wade through them old pictures Ida."

"Ain't no need not to," Ida slung back at Dorwin. 

"Ya just gonna get down syndrome from it."

"This here picture is taken after the cows come home following 'at load of hay Grandpa Joe brought in on back o' his jalopy. Didn't even have 'tah saddle a horse." Frail fingers held the picture two inches from her eyes, refusing to wear glasses at "her young age of 98 years". 

Dorwin, done with the last of the dishes, came to sit down beside his aunt. Her frangible arm reached the picture out to Dorwin as he passed to his chair. He didn't need to look at it, but held it with both hands up to his view with implied interest as he plopped in his chair, and began the sequence of statements Ida wanted to hear. "Them dogs sure were something."

"Weren't none better in the county. Dang Jeb shouldn't shot Boo. Damn fool. Dog trumps a chicken. Damn fool."

Dorwin listened, talked at the appropriate times, just loving that his aunt Ida was still sitting there with him, telling her stories for the hundredth time, like a favorite bedtime story. Daylight dimmed through the linen curtains Ida had made years ago. Dark would be here like every night; at the end of the story, which always ended with, "and that was the best worst day of my life. When the cows come home followin' a truck. Grandpa Joe makin' it easy. No more hard riding or workin' the dogs. Yep, best worst day of my life."

In the twilight.

RELATIVES OR NOT? PICTURE THIS PICTURE MESS

I inherited so many old pictures of people I don't know. My relatives, or not? 
There are gazillions, or maybe so many that there isn't a number large enough to quantify how many pictures have "come" to me. More than a room full.  

I've decided to turn the arduous task of having to deal with them into a writing exercise. Namely, stick my hand in a box of them, pull one out, and write..............fun?

Feel free to join in. Send your stories to: trularae@gmail.com.

ME AND MY BOY 

"No boys. We can't afford no studio picture. Get Gus socks this year. Lord knows he needs 'em. His feet eats socks."  Sogg had more reasons than no money for not wanting to put a picture of the boys all lined up, close for comparing, in front of Gus. 

"That's what Gus said he wanted for Father’s Day. A studio picture of his family." Reb whined, then his shoulders drooped as he slumped out through the front screened door before Sogg told him to do that very thing; to quit his whining and get on out to his chores. The other boys followed Reb out like they always follow him. Reb's two shadows.

Sogg began ruminating on years gone by. Gus never showed any sign of doubt about all three boys being his. He was always glad to hear another boy was coming. Lord knows he needed more work hands to help out around the farm. He jumped and clicked his heels together each time the doctor yelled, “It’s a boy!” Gus know’d better than to leave his cow out to pasture when the neighbor kept his capable bull in the pasture just the other side of an adjoining fence line. The gold rush out in California caused him to forget about caring for his cows, his home, his family.  When he got home there was a few extra calves in the pasture, a few extra boys in the house, and not one question about 'neither from Gus.

Sogg yelled to the boys from the porch. "Reb!" All three come a running. "Run on over to Sally's and tell her I need to borrow her polaroid. We'll get your Pa that picture."

What remains of our past?