5.21.2012 Trials

“You are my accuser, now look in my face” 

“I didn’t. I’m sorry. But I didn’t do it,” his honest face was twisted into a frightened, horrified, and helpless mask. His blue eyes begged the solemn jury to see his side. He met not a single sympathetic eye. His pleas fell on deaf ears. 

He turned sharply to face his accuser, who was looking at the table, a smug grin on his thin face. 

“Look at me,” he demanded. “Why do you do this? I’m innocent.” 

“You’re a murderer.” 

“No. No, god, no. Why?”

No answer. 

“Please, I’m begging you!” 

5.31.11-ECHO [my last drabble (*sad face*)]

"Good morning!!!!!!!!" *good morning good morning good morning good morning* the little girl shouts cross the lake.
"Where are you?????" *where are you where are you where are you* she shouts again.
"Sssshhh, sweetheart, it's only 6:30, you'll wake everybody up!" her mother gently scolds.
"But mommy," the little girl pleads, "someone said 'good morning' back, she said it over and over again until I couldn't hear her anymore. And she asked where I was. I think it's a lost princess. She might need our help."
"Oh, my darling. It's only your echo."

5.25.11 delight - a drabble of 100 words

The fireworks split the sky, painting the black with greens and yellows and blues and reds. The booms and crashes that went along with the colors scared the little kids in front, who sat crying in their mothers’ laps. The 1812 Overture rang out from tinny speakers along the Charles, unless you were close to the Hatch Shell and could actually hear the Pops. Flags were waving, hearts swelling with patriotic enthusiasm.

Chocolate ice cream was plastered all over my little girl’s face as she sang the National Anthem. “Land of the free! Home of the brave and ice cream!”

5.20.11 flit - a drabble of 100 words

The sun beat down in warm streams on the field. The cricket and summer bugs were chirping their songs to the skies. The grass was tall and green. The air smelled like simple happiness.

A mother sat on the picnic blanket, soaking in the sunshine, drinking leftover lemonade, watching her children play in the field around her. Suddenly, her five-year-old daughter came running toward her. “Mommy! Mommy! Look what I got! I catchded it!”

She opened her cupped hands. An orange butterfly rested there. But the little girl’s hands were covered with butterfly dust and the butterfly had stopped moving.