Rattle Snake River

Diamond Jack had his hideout next to the Rattle Snake River in Latchahatchi County, Texas. My grandpa use to tell me stories about Diamond Jack and his motley gang. His legend began in the early 1800’s during the time folks were moving west to homestead land in order to own the title free and clear. Diamond Jack and his outlaw gang would lie in wait hiding and hold up the unsuspecting wagons as they were coming through.

Legend has it that as the gang were coming around a hill to surprise a wagon train, they were met head on by a tribe of Apache Indian warriors that shot the gang members with poison arrows, damn near skinned them alive before they could take their last breath. Everyone said that thieving gang got just what was coming to ’em and no tears were shed for their brutal demise. One wagon train coming through found their rotting bodies, all of em’ missing their hair. (150 words)

Monday Finish the Story Challenge. Write a story of 150 words using the photo prompt and the first sentence of, “Diamond Jack had his hideout next to the Rattle Snake River.” Link your story’s url to inLinkz little blue frog for, Monday’s Finish the Story, which is kindly hosted by Barbara. If you would like to join in this flash fiction fun, click here for more information.



Friday Fictioneers Jan 30, 2015

Dusk was falling fast on the high security prison, filling Ray's cell with an eerie dusty light. Anticipating his last meal, Ray knew he had chosen well, T-bone steak, baked potato; corn, a whole wheat bun and apple pie ala-mode.

Later, the guards came and led him down the long hall to the electricity room, where they put him in a chair and tied a black hood over his head.

After making sure he was secure, the old guard yelled, “Ready! Set! Power the juice!”


(Ray wasn't dead).


(Still wasn't dead).

“Oh hell! Get em' up. He lives.”

  • ~100 words~

copyright: Ted Strutz

It is time once again for Friday Fictioneers, which is graciously hosted by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields. Our challenge is to write a story, using the photo prompt given, with a beginning, middle, and end, in 100 words or less. It's fun. Join us.

If you are interested in participating, click:

Rochelle Wisoff-Fields – Addicted to Purple



Monday’s Finish the Story 1/26/2015

She was unaware she was being watched as she was watching over her romping playful pups. Food was getting scarce and she needed to make a kill today for her hungry family.

The ranchers were outraged that wolves had been re-introduced into the Mancos Valley. They were a threat to their calves and were not willing to share.

Miska kept the calf in her site as she crouched down in preparation for the kill. As she began slinking toward the calf, she was careful not to be heard. Mangral, the oldest male, came bouncing toward her playfully. The calf heard him and ran to the safety of it’s mother.

The rancher dropped his gun.

Wolves are not the only predators in the valley.

Wolves have been introduced back into the wilds of the southwest United States. Ranchers were outraged and have killed most of them off. The last I have heard, the environmental groups were considering re-introducing them again. This particular conflict is kept fairly quiet in the news media.

This story was written for the challenge, “Finish the Story,” hosted by Barbara Beachem, author of the blog, Monday’s Finish the Story.

Our challenge is: using the photo prompt and the first sentence, “She was unaware she was being watched” write a story using 100 – 150 words. If you would like to join the fun and participate in this challenge, click here for more information:

Monday’s Finish the Story

(I think wolves are beautiful and have a story about “my baby wolf” I need to write someday).


Sunday Photo Fiction: Words

Life was so simple then. You were tall, dark, and handsome and I, the nerdy bookworm filled with a hope for some kind of a future, of which, I don’t know, but something. Our romance picked me up off my feet and we flew through life high and then higher, from one city to another and from one country to another country, never looking back. We were the unstoppable Rosy and Cruz. They would write a book about us and make a movie about us. We would be famous and never to be forgotten.

You captured my heart with your gaze and I melted into your laugh. That special laugh that told me life was good and you were happy and I was happy. Dear God, we had fun and life couldn’t be better. And every day just got better.

“There’s no stopping us now,” you’d say, “There’s no stopping us now.” I would say. You would laugh and I would laugh while our feet left prints in the sand and our toes were tickled by the rolling tide.

The bookstore closed, never to be opened again, and you became just a memory… to me. A sweet memory of words, beautiful words.

Alastair Forbes hosts this wonderful flash fiction, called, “Sunday Photo Fiction.” We are all challenged to write a story of about 200 words which should reference, in some way, back to the photo prompt.

It’s fun! It’s addicting! Would you like to play with us? Click on,

“Sunday Photo Fiction.”


Check Out These Posts!

Every Saturday, I am dedicating a post for the purpose of introducing some of the bloggers that I follow. I enjoy following and reading these blogs and think you might enjoy them as well. Some of the blogs that I introduce are well established, while others are new bloggers in this WordPress Blogosphere. I only ask that you click on their links below and check out their blog.


Stormie Steele, author of “Stormie Steele,” a blog dedicated to Spiritual and Self Development, has recently published a book, “Life Through the Storm – The Healing Journey.” Please take a look at her post, “Be the Gift.”

Be the Gift, “Life Through the Storm – The Healing Journey”


Dr. Rohith Reddy, author of the blog, “My Life,” is a blog about his travel diaries. He recommends wonderful places to see, great places to eat, among a wealth of other travel information. Please check out his post,

Travel Diaries: Hongkong-My First Backpacking Trip – II”


naturelover, author of the blog, “Nature Lover,” is a WordPress blogger from Pakistan. In her post, “The City of Lively Hearts,” she tells us about her lovely city, Lahore.

“The City of Lively Hearts”


D.L. Jordan, new blogger and author of the blog, “The Hempstead Man,” shares Part I of a story he has written, “A Short Story: The Life in a Day – Chapter One: The Beginning of Normal.” Check out part 1 of his story:

“A Short Story: The Life in a Day – Chapter One: The Beginnings of Normal”


lbeth1950, author of the blog, “Nutsrok,” shares humorous stories about her 91 year old mother (with her mother's blessings). Want a good laugh? Check out her post, “Laughter and Life.”

“Laughter and Laugh”


joeyjoank, author of the blog, “In and Out of the Kitchen,” shares a tribute to the passing of her dear friend in her post, “So Long for Now.” Please read this beautiful and heartwarming post:

“So Long for Now”


RoJo, new blogger and author of the blog, “Fixing Rojo,” writes a post about his faith, “When I Lost My Faith.” Please read his story:

“When I Lost My Faith”


Once Upon a Time

Once Upon a Time is a little diner on the corner of 5th and Broadway, right across from my dismal room at the boarding house. Sometimes I go there and have coffee, or something to eat, just to be around people and the busyness of their lives. When I am not at the diner, I am standing at my window wishing I was. Once upon a time I hitchhiked the famous Route 66. Once upon a time it brought me here. Once upon a time I had someone in my life. Once Upon a Time is my kind of place.

100 Words

copyright: Jean L. Hays

Friday Fictioneers is hosted by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields Addicted to Purple. Each Friday she selects a photograph that we use to create a story of 100 words or less. If you are interested in joining the challenge please click on this url for more information:



Check These Out!

Every Saturday I hope to write a post introducing you to different bloggers that I enjoy following.

Just in case you aren’t familiar with any of these bloggers, I would like to introduce you to their awesome blogs:

Ishpabla writes a daily post about different things she encounters during her daily activities that make her “smile.” Her post is called, “The Smile Project.” Her blog name is IshKishMish.



Lisa blogs about her thoughts and her Christian faith.



Ryan, author of, “By Ryan,” writes enjoyable short stories:



Jodi blogs about all the beautiful cards she makes and delicious treats she bakes. Her blog posts always includes beautiful photos.



“ComeTravelAlong” blog includes her beautiful photography:



Dawn, author of the blog, Lingering Visions, The Day After, blogs about her beautiful photography:



Just in case you haven’t seen the beautiful photographs produced by Jeff Sinon of Jeff Sinon Photography:



Jingdleon, author of the blog, Myrealjourney, blogs about her daily thoughts, activities, and more!



Next Saturday, I will introduce you to more wonderful blogs that I enjoy, and hope you will check them out.

Have a wonderful weekend!

Joey’s Home Now

Joey was only 15 years old, but felt much older. His dad left when he was twelve years old. After that, it wasn’t easy for his mom. Joey got odd jobs here and there, but couldn’t get a real job since he wasn’t old enough. He was often home caring for his little sisters while their mother worked the street corner. Joey didn’t find this out until the night she got arrested. Next, they came and took his little sisters away.

This is Joey’s home now. He sleeps under the cold, steel bridge. Right along with all the other disposables.


Rochelle’s link:



Spinning Yarns

What makes a good storyteller, in your opinion? Are your favorite storytellers people you know or writers you admire?

This is my take on this writing challenge. I am pretty sure it isn’t what The Daily Post had in mind. Hope you like it.


Once upon a time in a land far far away lived an old woman in the pages of a book for children. This old woman entertained these sleepy children every single night when their mother read them the stories she had told way back when, knitted together like a sweater that fits nice and snug, but not too snug, and keeps you warm at night while it spins you into dreamy sleep of fantasy maidens and hero knights.

Dragons lived during the time she told her stories during which she did indeed knit sweaters from the wool of the sheep which lived in the fields that were green rolling hills, dotted white with the wooly creatures that lived off this beautiful and dreamy land.

On top of the highest hill stood a castle tall and steep and magnificent it stood among the green rolling hills of this far-far away land, the land which the story teller lived in a time of long ago and far away.

The story teller wove her tales as she wove the white wool and entertained the people that lived during this time. She told the tales of the castle and of the maidens that lived there and of the knights who did indeed love these beautiful maidens who went to war against the dragons to protect them.

She told tales of these battles and the destruction of the dragons and how the maidens would celebrate when the hero knights returned, battle weary. There would be feasts and music of harps and flutes, dancing and merry-making.

She would tell these tales so well the listeners were among them, battling the dragons and winning the eternal love of the fair maidens. They could see what the knights saw, hear what the knights heard, and smell the smells the knights could smell. They too were a hero knight riding upon the back of their magnificent steed over the rolling green hills of this wonderful land or they were a fair maiden that waited inside the magnificent castle, for her own beloved knight to return safe from these terrible dragon wars.

The old woman wove many yarns both in her story-telling and her sweater weaving and entertaining these people of this far away land long, long ago. I know this to be true because I was one of the maidens that loved one of the knights, that battled against these terrible dragons, as I drifted off to sleep among the knights and maidens and rolling green hills in this dreamy far-away land.

Turkey Boys (Second Hand Story)


Today was an unusally warm November day and I was seven and half hours into my eight hour shift. All I could think about was gettin’ home to dinner and sittin’ in front of the television and relaxin’ with a cool one. My bones felt stiff being cooped up in this patrol car all day and my mind wandered as I thought about how uneventful and borin’ this day had been. My eyes were beginning to feel especially heavy as I began workin’ on the paperwork I had to finish before I could end my shift for the day.

I remember the time because I just looked at my watch when I was puttin’ the time on one of my reports. (That’s a bad habit of mine). When the report asks for the time of the incident, I find myself lookin’ at my watch. (Lot of good that does). There was only one half hour left of my shift when I happened to look up and saw two little boys, about 9-11 years of age, draggin’ some carcass up the street. One little boy was skinny with white hair and the other was short with dark hair. The white-haired skinny boy was strugglin’ from the weight of the carcus he was draggin’. Needin’ to know the story, I got out of my patrol car and approached them.

Whatcha got there boys?”

When the boys saw me, their eyes grew as big as saucers. I figured it was because I was a cop.

We got us a turkey, Sir.

The white-haired boy appeared proud of his hunted fowl but was a little afraid to tell me since he barely whispered and he was lookin’ down at his feet while tellin’ me.

Where’d ya get that turkey, son?”

I knew I had to get to the bottom of this and find out if this turkey was stolen. I hoped it wasn’t, after all, they were just little boys, (and I didn’t particularly want to write up another report).

We got him down at the river, Sir.”

The white-haired boy looked at the bloody carcass, then with apprehension, back up at me. The shorter dark haired boy stayed quiet. I noticed the white-haired boy looked tired and was sweating from draggin that dead bird four miles.

How’d you kill it, son?”

Neither boy had a gun and I was having a hard time picturin’ these two youngsters killing this huge bird.

Uuhh, with my pocket knife, Sir.”

To begin with, I was somewhat speechless as the images of these two little boys killin’ this poor turkey with a pocket knife flooded my mind. But clearly, I had to get to the heart of the matter which meant I had to clear those images from my head.

Looks to me like someone’s gonna be missin’ a turkey.”

It was obvious that both boys were terrified that I was going to arrest them. They couldn’t stand still and kept fidgetin’. Maybe it’s the time of year, with holidays comin’ up and all, but I felt sorry for them. They seemed so proud of themselves for havin’ hunted and killed the turkey for their family’s Thanksgivin’. (And, it could be I was tired and didn’t want to be bothered).

Well, it isn’t a wild turkey so you won’t get in trouble for poachin’ but if someone calls in missin’ a turkey, I have to give you a call.”

Yes Sir!”

The relief on their faces tickled me. I almost started grinnin’. Almost. I took down their names and ages. Both were only ten years old. I recognized the last name of the white-haired boy and knew his mother was trying to raise four youngins’ alone. I was happy to not have to write a report this time and to let it slide. I had a soft spot in my heart for these little boys, them thinkin’ they had done a good thing. And you know, who’s to say they hadn’t? Their family was going to have turkey for Thanksgiving.

I was grinnin’ as I pulled away from the curb, watching those little boys gigglin’ and punchin’ each other playfully, continuing their trek down the street toward home; both proud as peacocks of their man-sized prize. As for me, I was just glad to be goin’ home.


This is a true story. My ten year old little brother and his friend did kill a domestic turkey by the river and they were stopped by a policeman on their way home. However, I wrote this from the viewpoint of the policeman and that part isn’t true, except for the dialogue, which is true (according to my little brother).

Our family did have to eat that turkey for Thanksgiving (our mother made us), even though it tasted like it was full of sand, (which it probably was after being dragged for five miles). We all choked most of it down and told him what a delicious turkey it was (not). But, it sure is a good story.