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Cornbread Pimp – Flash Fiction Tuesday


I hope everyone has a happy and blessed Thanksgiving next week!!!
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You Gon' Eat Yo Cornbread...

Every Thanksgiving, our family has a soul food gathering at Aunt Bertha’s house. While the men watch football, we women congregate in the kitchen and gossip about fake church ladies, bad weaves and whose house is about to be foreclosed on. My sister Junie, the oldest of the Maple sisters, has the job of checking the paper for foreclosures before she comes. After much laughter and much wine, we eventually get around to cooking. For the most part, our holidays are pretty normal until we bring up cornbread.

Every year, for about eight years, we’ve tried to find a nice way to tell our baby sister, Darla, that we’re disgusted by her cornbread. If it were good there wouldn’t be an issue but the stuff is so bad that “Can’t Get Right” could have used it for batting practice in the movie Life. Because Daddy told her she made the best cornbread, Darla has been pushing all kinds of concoctions like cornbread pudding and barbecue cornbread down our throats. She thinks she’s Mavis Stewart, Martha Stewart’s lost black cousin, but her cooking is terrible.

“What are you doing?” Darla watched Junie remove a hot pan of cornbread from the oven. I braced for the fallout.

“Making cornbread.”

“You know Daddy likes my cornbread best.”

“Darla, eating your cornbread is like sopping pintos with cardboard. Sorry, but somebody had to tell you.”

“Liar! Let’s see what Daddy says.”

After a few minutes we sat down to eat.

“Daddy, you love cornbread. Try some.”

Daddy had that oh damn look on his face. Without a word, he bit into a piece and his face lit up.

“I’m glad you finally learned to make good cornbread baby girl. Lord knows I didn’t think it would take this long.”

Junie only gloated a little.

Weed Out the Losers… (Flash Fiction Tuesday)


You Jam Right!!!

Josephine was known as the Blackberry Queen of Monroe County. She could make a rotten muscadine taste good. The Piggly Wiggly couldn’t keep white bread on the shelves after canning season. And it wasn’t uncommon to see a grown man licking an empty jar of Josephine’s Jam. The whole town craved it like a pregnant woman craved pickles. Lizzy made some pretty good jam too, but it didn’t have people fighting on aisle 5 like Josephine’s did.

When Josephine suddenly passed away, naturally, Lizzy thought she’d be the next Queen. She even designed new labels for her jars. But just like that, the town’s appetite for jam fizzled and Lizzy’s jars were left to collect dust. Even in death, Josephine’s jam had beaten hers so she just stopped making it.

“Grandmama, why can’t we just make blackberry juice?”

Lizzy looked at her granddaughter. She wore tube socks as gloves and her overalls were covered in turpentine to keep the snakes away. She was teaching little Rosie the fine art of blackberry picking.

“There’s apple, pineapple and orange, but no blackberry juice”, Rosie explained.

“Child, nobody wants blackberry juice. It’s too bitter.”

“I bet you could make it sweet Grandmama. Then everyone will buy it and you can get your hero back.”

“That’s mojo, and stop listening when your Mama’s on the phone.”

With their bucket half filled, they walked past Josephine’s house and headed home. Policemen were carrying shovels and news crews were everywhere.

“Its just jam, people! Surely she didn’t hide her recipe in the yard!”

The crowd rushed over to her. She dreaded having to say more nice things about Josephine on TV.

“What do you think about the news”, a reporter asked.

Lizzy looked confused.

“You haven’t heard? Josephine’s Jam is laced with marijuana.”

Lizzy smiled.

A Rage in Target… Flash Fiction Tuesday


A special thanks goes out to the ChUC follower who suggested the story idea this week!!! I hope you enjoy. I’m always open to suggestions and inspiration. 🙂
ChUC
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Time Waits For No Man

Milton was finally excited about being a grandfather. After a troubled childhood, two failed marriages and an awful track record as a father, he wanted to redeem himself when his third grandchild was born. He even bought his grandchildren stuffed animals with the last of his social security check.

“Papa, she’s here. ” Milton’s daughter called while he stood in the checkout line cradling the fluffy gifts.

“I will be there shortly to get a look at her,” Milton said, swatting flying fur from the air.

“Papa, if you can’t be all in, please just leave us alone. The kids need consistency. Mama thinks I’m crazy to keep giving you chances.”

“Leslie, this time I’m for real. I’m actually buying something for the kids right now. I’ll see you soon.”

Milton walked to his car. Stuffed animals dangled from his armpits. He tried to go around the rift raft hanging in the parking lot. The humidity in East Texas sometimes brought out the worst in people. He wanted to avoid any drama that would keep him from his family.

“Hey old man! I’ve neva’ seen a monkey carrying monkeys before.”

The rowdy bunch erupted in laughter. Milton instantly began to sweat. His wet palms could barely unlock his car door. He was too old to hurry, too old to like being called a monkey.

“I think I’ll take these.” The ringleader wrenched the toys from Milton’s wrinkled hands. Milton’s anger tripled as they kicked them like footballs. He thought about going to the hospital empty-handed, with nothing for his grandchildren, nothing but the tired excuse they already expected. He thought about how Leslie would call him a liar and how his uppity ex-wife would gloat. He thought about everything as he pressed the gas and watched the hoodlum fall.

The Tick Tock of Stock – (Flash Fiction Tuesday)


Breast Cancer Awareness Month

Kathy attempted to enjoy the carefree days away from her restaurant franchises. She was known as the she-devil with the Audrey Hepburn style. She wore big-rimmed sunglasses, pointy toe shoes and diamond studs in her ears. Even when walking from the bedroom to the kitchen everything about her screamed ready for business. But for the past month she was hardly content with drinking expensive lattes and browsing Better Homes & Gardens in her living room. Calling the shots and being in charge put a smile on her face like nothing else could. When she wasn’t working she was out of her element.

Kathy’s mind naturally turned to business. “If Michael can’t handle the pressure this time I’m firing his butt quicker than Georgia heats up in July. I still hold majority stock in the company and refuse to let incompetent people run it.”

Frustrated, she threw the magazine down. If she read one more change your home change your life type article she might gag. Most of her life had been about change, she changed from a poor country girl into a business tycoon. All those long hours and hard work had paid off. She had the finest material things and the respect of the social elite.

Before she could check the NASDAQ the phone rang. Kathy squeezed it tightly.

“Are you sure?” She coughed.

She finally had to face what she’d been regretting so she called Michael.

“Michael.” Her voice was hollow, like a whisper through a mason jar. “The cancer’s back.”

“Mother, why are you telling me? Don’t you have contacts in Brazil for this type thing?”

At that moment Kathy longed to be loved, even if it meant being regular and penniless. While she was building an empire she had lost her family and would die alone.

Seven Minutes… Flash Fiction Tuesday


Hundreds of times Kendrick imagined what it would be like to come face to face with his Father.

“How could you let this happen? I thought you loved me once, a long time ago.”

Kendrick moaned as he tried to focus on his Father‘s face. He felt a soft pat on top of his head. The pat soothed him and he wished he hadn’t asked the question with so much anger.

“Son, trust me, because you breathed in air the world has changed. That has always been the plan for you. You were given away in order to receive something greater.”

“But you didn’t protect me when I called. No loving father abandons his child.”

“I’ve always been right here.”

Only a minute had passed but Kendrick could feel the weight of eternity on his chest. He tried to wipe the tears from his eyes. He didn’t want his Mama to know that he cried but his arm felt extremely heavy. He couldn’t lift it so the tears flowed freely.

“Don’t struggle to breathe, Son. Just go to sleep.”

“You’re gonna just let me die! Maaaamaaa!” Kendrick screamed but there was nothing that his Mama could do. All he had was his Father.

“You’ll never die. You’ll be embedded into lives forever.”

“As dust”, Kendrick sighed.

“Don’t focus on yourself. This is the beginning, not the end.”

“Why me?”

“Why not you?”

Kendrick’s eyes begin to close and his heart rate slowed. Three minutes passed. He could feel it happening.

“What do I do when I die?”

“You live. To be absent of the body is to be present with the Lord, your Father.”

After seven minutes Kendrick stood with his Father. He looked through the viewing window and prayed for those on the other side. He… was finally free.

Love & Death…


Happy Flash Fiction Tuesday! Enjoy the latest 300 word story! Feel free to leave comments…
Kimeko
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“Brothers and Sisters, Deacon Rudolph paid rent on earth to secure his room in heaven. We should be rejoicing with the angels! Hallelujah!”

Pastor Allen really knew how to send a soul home. It didn’t matter if it belonged to a devoted Christian or a Saturday night sinner. In the deacon’s case everyone knew the soul was both. Even still, the Pastor’s eulogy had Sister Maylene doing the roach-stomp, mosquito-swat, can’t hold my mule shout for nearly twenty minutes. Ebenezer Baptist didn’t have enough fans or ushers to console her. The pastor hooped and Maylene hollered. Mourner’s tears rolled down her cheeks and her funeral hat wouldn’t stay on. She pranced down the aisle like she was letting Deacon know she had nothing to do with that god awful purple suit he was wearing. Thank goodness she didn’t get inside the casket.

“Lord, what I’m gon’ do”, were the only words Maylene said under her breath.

Everything else was loud, so loud that Sister Henrietta kept cutting her eyes at her. But Henrietta’s red hot stares did little to deter Maylene from feeling the spirit. Before Maylene could pass out from exhaustion, Henrietta motioned to Pastor Rudolph that she was ready.

“Now, we’ll have a moment of reflection from our dear Sister Henrietta. Church, this woman has the strength of David. Let’s praise Jesus as she comes.”

Sister Henrietta was a dignified Christian and the congregation adored her. She was the church’s ultimate Mother, even above First Lady Rudolph, so when she walked towards Maylene and gave her a long embrace nobody was surprised.

Everyone strained to hear Henrietta’s comforting words to Maylene.

“We shared him in life but he’s mine in death. Sit your tail down while I speak about my husband.”

Maylene was noticeably absent at the burial.

A Granny Draws… (Flash Fiction)


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It’s the 6th month anniversary of Flash Fiction Tuesday!! You didn’t really think I’d make it this long did you?? lol! Well, don’t worry about it. I surprised myself too. The series has only been delayed once but hey, I can’t control tornadoes and week-long power outages. 🙂 So sit back, relax, don’t take life so seriously and enjoy my story about Ms. Mabel. Cya in two weeks!
ChUC
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“I swear, Ms. Mabel, I didn’t know she was one of your girls.”

Freddy stood in disbelief, clutching a suitcase in one hand and holding tightly to Constance with the other. If he had known she was one of Mabel’s girls he wouldn’t have looked at her twice and surely wouldn’t be standing on her porch.

Mabel pulled a pocket knife from her bosom and tapped it against her rocking chair. Freddy’s eyes grew bigger than silver dollars. Everybody in Harlem knew that Mabel was fast with a knife, even at her age. He wanted to step off the porch but couldn’t turn his back on old gray-haired Mable.

“Constance, tell Mr. Johnson goodnight.” Constance jerked away from Freddy then quickly disappeared into the house. Freddy smiled to hide his hurt. Mabel’s rocker squeaked with relief as she stood. “Mighty funny that I see you now after so long.”

Freddy tried not to breathe so she wouldn’t smell the potato liquor he’d just bought from Jim Harper’s place. “I just came to see Constance. I didn’t know this was your place.”

“Um-huh.” Mabel twirled her knife. Freddy’s eyes grew wider. He still wasn’t breathing. “I got lots of places. Got lots of girls that you keep finding too.”

“Maybe Constance better off with me.”

“Constance ain’t none of your concern!” Mabel lunged and pressed the knife handle into his neck. A warm smell of ammonia oozed down Fred’s leg along with his courage. “If you come near my girls again I’ll cut you from the tip of your brim to the scuff on your gators. Got it?”

Fred ran into the night and Mabel threw the knife behind him.

“Damn fool didn’t realize the knife had no blade. No wonder he falls in love with every hooker I got.”

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