Six Sentence Story – Echo

Telling a story from an alternate perspective.


Well, Clark reeled me into his writing web.  Perhaps you, like I, found his “ghost” writer in Lisa Listwa last week.  Well, this week, the ghost is me.  Putting aside all the feelings of insecurity, (can I do it?  I’m not as good as they are.  What if. . . ?), I am telling his tale from an alternate perspective.

Misty Meadows was glued to the window, the silk robe falling off her lithe and toned shoulders,  just a peek of the turquoise g-string and bra-lette showing through the gossamer fabric, staring at the action unfolding in front of the club.

Ever since she had proved to her boss, Lou, that she could keep her mouth shut in certain circumstances involving the law, he’d been her champion.

She watched with the trace of a sardonic smile on her cherry-red lips as he got in the face of that sleazebag bouncer; she could almost see the hair raised on the creepy little pinhead who never missed a chance to rub up against her and whisper sweet disgustings in her ear.

The echo of his suggestive and lewd words replayed in her head, as she waited for Lou to punch him in his mottled face, it might improve his complexion, and send him skulking off like the weasel he was.

One of the regulars walked up, that detective who always enjoys the dancing but knows to keep his hands off, except, of course, when he was filling her thong with dollar bills.

Lou escorted Mr. Devereaux inside, while the ‘no-longer working at the Bottom of the Sea Strip Club and Lounge loser’ took his leave, and Misty dropped her robe, ready for the afternoon performance.

You never know what you are going to find when you stop by the Six Sentence Story bloghop hosted by Girlie On the Edge.  This week the cue is ECHO.  The stories may be fun, deep, poetic, metaphoric, fiction or non-fiction, but they all have one thing in common – only six sentences.


Six Sentence Story – Single

A story in six. We’ve all been there.


Time for a story in six short, or long sentences.  Rhyme, prose, it doesn’t matter.  Each week we gather at the SSS blog hop, currently hosted by Girlie on the Edge, better known as Denise, to share our writings. She offers a cue each Sunday night, this week it’s single, and whatever mulls and muses we have between now and then, we share. Between the mulls and the muses, we think about the many ways to use the word.  Verb, noun, adjective?  It’s all good.    Read on, my friend. . .

Continue reading “Six Sentence Story – Single”

Six Sentence Story – Wake

Time for a story in six.



The transition from our friend Zoe as host of this blog hop to our friend Denise, has been smooth.  The rules are the same:  one story, any genre, six sentences only.  (Thank goodness for punctuation).   Each week we gather to share a story based on a cue given each Sunday evening by our host.  Sometimes, (rarely) I have a story neatly written in advance, just ready to publish,  sometimes I wing it the morning of.  This week I jotted some notes early in the week, and wrote the sentences today.

Continue reading “Six Sentence Story – Wake”

Six Sentence Story – Vent

Where there’s smoke, there’s fire.

Jake and Tonya unlocked the door to the cabin in the woods, shedding the stress of the city and their high-profile jobs along with their outerwear.

They both noticed the kindling and wood on the hearth of the large stone fireplace, and Tonya said, “Do you know how to build a fire?”

“Sure,” said Jake, “I was a boy scout way back and built many on the camping trips we took;  you go rustle up some wine and cheese and I’ll get this thing going.”

He began to build a bed for the flames, kindling first with some rolled up newspaper under the grate, then dried pine logs, and finally hardwood to keep the fire roaring all night long.

He struck a match and lit the paper on the bottom of the pile and the room instantly filled with smoke, causing him to cough, his eyes to sting and the smoke detector to scream.

Tonya came out of the kitchen waving a towel and shouting “The damper, did you open the damper so the fire would vent up the chimney?”


It’s a party.  Come visit Girlie On The Edge, the new host of this fun blog hop.  Do you have six – a hexagon of sentences or poem lines or words?

Six Sentence Story – Curtain

Flash back in six sentences.


Spring, 1970:  final exams were canceled, there was a moratorium on classes all over the country and we took a pass/fail grades.

The war in Vietnam was escalating and white-haired establishment politicians were out of touch with the pulse of the nation – peace, love, groovy with side of marijuana.

Five of us on a cross-country adventure in Todd’s Volkswagen bus, camping out, living the land, protesting the war.

The van was a piece (peace) of art, adorned with the no-nuke sign and op-art flower graphics of the day; a  make-shift curtain of batik fabric from India, the muted purples and reds in a mandala pattern, divided the front seat from the back of our home on wheels for the next however long.

Todd was driving, it was late at night, the lights of oncoming traffic reflected in his eyes, and I was next to him, rolling a joint and feeling one with the road, watching the double yellow line on one side and the white line marking the shoulder on the other, out in front of us, marking our journey on the  monotonous stretch of highway, pondering higher levels of consciousness.

Todd slowly and smoothly pulled off to the side of the road and said, “It’s your turn to drive.”


six-sentence-storiesSame six sentence gig, new place to link.  Happy Birthday to  Girlie On the Edge, the new hostess of our Thursday blog share.

Six Sentence Story – Transfer

A story in six sentences.


We were all gathered around Aunt Helen’s bedside, awaiting her final transfer into the great beyond.

I’d flown in at my mother’s request; I hadn’t seen Aunt Helen in years and years, but my mother and her sisters, Aunt Linda and Aunt Karen, wanted the whole family to be present at the passing of their 100 year old mother.

All the men in the family, except for my brother, Matthew, had passed on years ago and this whole situation was reminiscent of saddest day in my life, when we lost my dad.

My aunts were each holding one of Aunt Helen’s hands, willing her to respond, although it had been years since she could, and my mother was applying a wet cloth to her lips, in between her labored breaths.

I looked over at Matthew, into those blue eyes we all had inherited from Aunt Helen,  silently asking me why we had to be there and wondering if this wasn’t the most barbaric ritual in life.

I had no response, except to look down and close my own; it was in that moment we all heard her last audible breath.

Each week we gather at the Six Sentence Story blog hop to share a tale, any genre, only six sentences, currently* hosted by Ivy at Uncharted.

*Rumor has it there’ll be a transfer of host/hostess announced next week.  Whom will it be?

Source for photo.

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