About Vi_McFood For Thought_Why Didn’t I Notice_Mrs. Frisbie
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About Vi
About Vi“My son! My son! You finally came to see me!”A very old woman tries to scoot her braked wheelchair forward. She’s gripping the arms so hard, her knuckles turn white. Tears course down her crepey cheeks, even as she smiles. An attendant in happy-face scrubs pads up to her, the non-skid soles of her shoes squeaking on the speckled linoleum. “Now, Vi, don’t bother him. He’s here making a delivery.” The attendant smiles and pats the woman’s shoulder.“Not coming to see me? Dennis!” she wails. “Can’t you stay and visit?”The man with the clipboard is not her son. His name is not Dennis. He’s ...
McFood For Thought
"Dining for one?" He chuckled, while adjusting his bowtie with his "sausagewww.onedoor.cc fingers." That was his name in the yard. Sausage fingers, the prison chef. He had my order and I made sure it would be a meal for the ages, so to speak. They let me hand it to him personally since it would be my last meal here; or anywhere for that matter. The last meal request, a rite of passage for death row inmates who had exhausted all of our appeals. The date was set for the "apparently not so cruel and unusual punishment." I was innocent in fact, but in 1950 when the trial date was set I was guilty until prov...
Why Didn’t I Notice
Adeline Meyer was the best friend a girl could have. She was always there when others weren’t, and even though her problems were much worse than mine, she never made mine feel insignificant. She was perfect—to everyone but herself.The night before my life came crashing down, Adeline and I were having one of our many sleepovers. It was pretty normal—prank calls, baking, and talking about boys, (Ryan Carter in particular). Adeline was stuck on Ryan like glue, and has been since elementary school.Adeline practically introduced me to the idea of having crushes. I wasn’t really interested in...
Mrs. Frisbie
Writing Prompt #297 - Two people who form a bond through music Reedsy Prompts 6/3/22By Jen GurneyIt was 1973 and I was in fifth grade. My family had just bought an old, rickety upright piano from our neighbors who were moving and couldn’t take it with them. My dad and a few neighborhood dads carried it to our house from theirs, swearing a lot the whole time, if memory serves. It was painted this cheesy, antiquey olive green color, sounded really tinny, and more than a few keys stuck. Pretty hideous, but it was only $200, so it became ours. I desperately wanted to take piano lessons, and this w...