Fiction Friday #2 – Waking Up

Welcome to the Second Edition of Fiction Friday!

So glad you’re here.  It is my hope that many of you will join us by linking your fiction post.  Please read many of the links and be generous in your comments.

Help us share the opportunity by grabbing a Fiction Friday Button and proudly displaying it on your blog.  We’d also love a tweet or stumble or facebook share.  Some of the most skilled, prolific writers are bloggers, so let’s help each other out.  Thank You!

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The rules are as follows:

  1. Write fiction.
  2. Provide a link back to my Fiction Friday post right here on The Domestic Fringe.
  3. Add your specific URL to the green Mr. Linky
  4. Read other blogger’s fiction and give some comment love.
  5. Throw caution to the wind and take a chance.

Remember:  Each of the linked works of fiction are original  (Including my own!).  They are not to be borrowed, copied, or reprinted in any way.  Thank you for respecting each author’s original writing.

Today I am continuing Chapter One.  If you’d like to read the first part, click HERE.


Lacy woke slowly, the overwhelming smell of ammonia burning her nostrils and lungs.  Tony stood over her, dark hair curling on his forehead.  You always look like you just got out of bed, Lacey thought.  Her eyes did their best to focus on Tony’s crystal clear blue eyes, a stark contrast to his nearly black hair.  Lacy grew up with Tony.  His family moved from Massachusetts to Littlefield just after Tony turned six years-old. Lacy and Tony spent their summers running through the neighbor’s fields, and their winters ice-skating on Pickeral Pond.  Tony, exactly one year and three days older than Lacy, was Lacy’s childhood confidant, the only person who heard Lacy speak from the time her parents died when she was three until she was thirteen.  Everyone thought Lacy was mute.  When Lacy went to kindergarten, her teachers assumed Lacy’s lack of speech warranted special classes; however, by Christmas of her kindergarten year they realized Lacy didn’t have a learning problem, she had a talking problem.  Lacy refused to speak – ever.  Mimi pleaded, coaxed, and bribed Lacy to say something, anything, but Lacy’s lips were sealed as tightly as her broken heart, unless the person asking her to speak was Tony.  It was as if Lacy saved up all her words, sealing them in her soul, until the day she met Tony.

 “Where’d you come from?”  Six year-old Tony asked, his eyes wide with wonder.  “Do you live here in the flowers?”  Tony plopped down in the patch of Black-Eyed Susans.

 Turning her head to the ground, Lacy plucked a piece of grass gone to hay and began breaking it into little strips, the pile growing large between her legs.  Hidden in this spot in the middle of her grandparents field is where Lacy spent as many of her summer days as possible, tucked securely in the Black-Eyed Susans.  She learned out of sight is often out of mind, and Lacy wanted to be out of Grampie Hirum’s mind.

“I’m going to call you flower.”  Tony whispered, but don’t tell my mom I’m over here.  She wants me to stay in our yard, but we don’t even have a fence, besides, I can play ball over here real good.  Wanna play ball flower?”

 Lacy shook her head no, watching her pile of hay slips grow.

“Don’t-cha say anything?”  Tony asked in exasperation.  “You’re bigger an my brother Mikey and he even says ‘no’, and ‘ball’ and ‘truck’ and stuff.  You gotta say somethin’ Flower!  I promise I won’t tell nobody you talked.  I can keep a secret now.  I’m almost seven.  Momma says if I tell about Daddy’s special birthday party, she’s gonna whip me good.  I never said a word, not even to Granny!  So you can talk to me Flower.  Tell me anythin’.”

Out of her back jean’s pocket, Lacey pulled a tarnished silver plate stem with three ruby flowers in full bloom.

Tony’s blue lakes opened like a gift box on Christmas.  “Where’d ya get that, Flower?  It looks like old lady stuff.  Did ya steal it?  I ain’t never stole nothin’ before.  You’re gonna get whooped up good.”  Tony reached out a chubby hand for the pin, but Lacy drew it back, deep into her pocket.

 “Can’t I just hold it Flower?”  Tony asked.  “I promise I won’t tell no-one.  I told ya I keep secrets now.”

Lacy looked over him.  She didn’t want to trust him, but his wide eyes were unlike any she’d ever seen.  Her own dim eyes were the color of dust and Mason’s were dirt brown just like Mimi and Grampie Hirum’s.  Tony’s eyes were the color of sky, where her prayers went.  She looked back at her pile of hay and then up at Tony again.  Tony stood looking into Lacy’s eyes for a full minute before hearing a faint, “My mama’s dead.”

“Dead!  Like she ain’t comin’ back no more?  She an angel now like great-granny Elaine?  My momma says great-granny Laine sees everything I do.  She tells God when I need a whippin’.”  Tony’s little hands automatically went behind him, rubbing his backside.

“Anthony James Vallone, you get back here this instant!”

“Yikes!  That’s my mom.  I gotta go.”  Tony started running up the hill towards his house.  “I won’t tell, Flower.”  He called back over his shoulder.

Lacy looked up from her peeled hay, watched his back, then looked up to the sky – the blue eyes.  Lacy knew she would speak again.

Choking on ammonia, Lacy looked into Tony’s blue sky eyes.  She sat up on her elbows.  It was the first time she’d seen Tony in almost five years.

“Flower, you’re gonna be just fine.”  Tony said, pushing a wisp of mouse-brown hair behind her ear.  “You shouldn’t go in there.  Just come outside with me.  I’ll drop you off at Julie’s and then come back to finish up.”

“He’s right.”  Mason said.  “Julie’s home with the kids and she’s waiting for you.  I called home earlier to tell her you were on the way.  Go home, rest, and play with the kids for a while.  This is too much for you.  None of us should have to see this.  It never should’ve happened.”

Mason put his face into his hands, taking a minute to compose his features.  I’m a cop, he thought, but not even cops are expected to see their eighty-three year-old grandmother bludgeoned and lying in a puddle sticky with her inner self.


Thanks for joining up!
Please remember to include a link back to this post. I’d like your blog readers to be able to visit the other bloggers that linked up their fiction. Let’s make sure this is a great experience for everyone involved. So, if you link an old post, be sure to update it with a track-back link. Thank you!


20 thoughts on “Fiction Friday #2 – Waking Up

  1. Pingback: Fiction Friday « Tying Molecular Knots

  2. Lisa Wields Words

    Sorry I’m late in responding. I was at a conference last week, so fiction Friday kind of passed without me. I really like this second installment. I love the flashbacks, and my heart breaks for the history of this woman/child. Thank you for sharing.

  3. C.M.Hardin

    ” Tony’s eyes were the color of sky, where her prayers went.”

    This was an excellent line. Nice post! I wonder where the next step leads 🙂

  4. lunafleur

    Hey guys, I just wanted to apologize for not posting my Chapter Two yesterday. Honestly, it completely slipped my mind because I’ve been in and out of appointments and different stuff this week. I found out that I am currently 7 weeks pregnant! 😀
    Anyways, if all goes as planned, I will continue October Rain this coming Friday.

    1. the domestic fringe Post author

      I’m SO HAPPY for you!!! Congratulation on your little one. Anytime you are able to join, we will be here waiting to read. Have a Happy Weekend and enjoy the good news of your little blessing!

  5. Rachel

    I love your Fiction Friday idea! Maybe when I’m not nine months pregnant someday I’ll try it, LOL! I used to run some blog memes (Family Tree Friday and Memory Mondays) and they were a lot of fun. Maybe I’ll get back into those one day, too! 🙂

  6. momfog

    I threw caution to the wind too soon. I picked a silly, impromptu story and now I wish I waited until I had something good.

    Of course you’ll have to do re-writes, but you’ve got a good start. I think it’s an excellent idea to let it sit for a few days and coming back with a fresh eye.

    I can’t wait to read what happens next.

  7. Charming's Mama

    Everybody’s a critic right? So yeah I guess I’ll chime in. I agree with coyote and I’m not sure if technically grass turns to hay, it more like goes to seed. Alfalfa is hay. It is meant to be helpful and not hurtful. Keep up the good work!

    I’ll send you and e-mail tonight when I have more time or maybe tomorrow. My Aunt and Uncle are coming for dinner tonight.

    1. the domestic fringe Post author

      LOL! I knew I was on the wrong track with the hay, but I didn’t want to stop and ask my husband. Figured I’d worry about it later. Like NOW! 🙂 I guess this is in for a BIG rewrite. Oh, well. Write and learn, right? Thanks!!

    2. the domestic fringe Post author

      To be honest, I think I just need to give it some time to sit. I’ll come back to it with a fresh perspective after some time has lapsed, and I’ll be able to see things more clearly. Right now it’s all too fresh in my mind to rewrite.

  8. Pingback: Don’t You Know How it Happens? — A Short Story « Tying Molecular Knots

  9. Jill

    Very good stuff! The “sticky with her inner self” stuff may be trying too hard, but don’t drop it. Instead try to reword it to be a little more of a natural thought that also gives the reader a clear image of the terrible thing the characters are having to deal with. (Easier said than done, I know.)

    I’m having serious writing issues right now, both because of time and because of some issues in life that are sapping the creativity out of me. So instead, I was thinking about joining in next week with the start of a story I wrote a long time ago. Do you think that would be okay, or do I need to be doing fresh stuff?

    1. the domestic fringe Post author

      I wasn’t going to admit this, but I originally wrote “lying in a pool of her own blood”. Then last night when I ran spell check, it told me I was being cliche, a damnable sin in writing. So, I thought for 30 seconds, tried too hard, and came up with the sticky inner self. Sorry folks. You deserve better, but you’re getting my very rough draft. It’s all I’ve got time for right now. In the end, I’ll have 50 or so thousand words. They’ll be lousy, but they’ll be practice and that’s my goal.

      The critiques help. Any suggestion on how to make the kid’s dialogue sound more appropriate? Does everyone else think it’s sounding forced?

      Jill, you’re more than welcome to post older stuff. No need to be fresh! We don’t mind stale. 😉


  10. coyoteclockwork

    You’ve got a solid start. Try reading some of your dialogue aloud, because the kids’s sound pretty forced, and don’t try so hard to find synonyms. “… bludgeoned and lying in a puddle sticky with her inner self” is seriously trying too hard.
    But it’s an interesting setup and premise. Keep at it!


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