The Radio

Posted on June 22, 2026 by hdh

This is an edited and revised story that I originally wrote in a 1979 writing workshop. It had no title. 

The Radio

      Here I am, stuck in my room for something that I didn’t do. I was accused of taking food without permission from the downstairs ice box. But how do I prove something that I didn’t do with no witnesses? I was about to leave my room to seek proof, when… 

      I heard it once, and I could hardly believe my ears.  I was stunned for a moment. As I attempted to go, I heard it again, “To all listeners, beware of evils in the night.”

      I reached the door and heard it a third time.  The voice said, “Do not leave the room!”

      I’m shakin’ down to my knees.  If I hadn’t pulled the plug on the radio, I would have thought it was Caleb pulling my leg.  He’s been known for pulling practical jokes, like the time he made a subscription to Widow’s Journal under Sister Becky’s name.  I was the only one who knew about that one. It was funny at the time.  If this were a joke, then someone really went overboard.

      I didn’t know whether or not to leave the room.  Pa was just down the hall, but crossing this ghost or whatever it was didn’t seem like the right thing to do.

      “KRM, KRM,” the voice sounded again.  It sure did sound like it came from the radio, but I didn’t see how.  I was prepared for another message.

      “Greater men than you have been warned of the danger of crowding airways with all these radio waves,” the voice bellowed.

      “Why are you talking to me?” I said.  I felt like a fool talking out loud, knowing that no one was there.   I couldn’t help but feel some presence there, even though my eyes couldn’t see anyone.

      “You are but one cog in a wheel.”

      I couldn’t make out what this ghost or whatever was saying. “I’m who?”

      “You are but one of many,” it replied. “I give you both a warning and a choice.”

      I couldn’t quite understand how getting in trouble for raiding the ice box and giving me a choice were related.  I nervously asked, “Did you take the food? Why?”

      “To show I can be both physical and spiritual,” was its response.

      The clock struck twelve-thirty, and I looked up and saw the radio set unplugged and my hand on the door. I knew it couldn’t be a dream. I still couldn’t help but wonder, “Why Me?”

      “Radio waves will crush the earth.  People must be warned,” the voice said.

      “How?” It amused me to think I was someone who had to warn the world. Who did he think I was?

      I waited for an answer, but none came.  How was I to act, think, and respond to what I had heard?  What was it?  Pa would never believe me.

——–

      Thinking back on that time right now seems rather strange.  Twenty years have passed.  The world hasn’t been crushed; however, there sure is a lot of junk going over the airwaves.  We never get to hear any programs anymore. All stations interfere with each other, and rarely can you zero in on anything.

      My remembrance of that time brings things to mind that still chill me to the bone.  Was it real? Was I chosen for a reason? Who was it?

      I thought I’d never have to think about it again.  That was until my son, Jeb, who is only 8, came up to me this morning after leaving my study and asked, “What does KRM mean? I just heard it on your radio.”

      My radio hasn’t worked since my son was born.  Why me?

 

 

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The Test

Posted on June 19, 2026 by hdh

The Story Spark was – Fathers. The writing prompt I chose was – A father and son or daughter sit down for a serious talk. (We had 25 minutes to write)

The Test

It was time for that talk. You know the one, where your father sits you down and has that heart-to-heart talk with you about life, liberty, and the pursuit of money, I mean happiness.

The problem was that his son had no interest in hearing any of it. 

It might have been because the father waited until his son was about to turn 18, and his son didn’t trust him. I mean, why should he?

His son was a product of the digital age and had already felt fully educated by his friends, the TV, and the Internet. What could he possibly learn from his father?

The father knew his son thought that way, so he had a plan. 

He explained that his son was going to do something that could be done quickly or take a long time, depending on how he responded to it. 

The son took the obvious answer. “I choose to do the quick one.”

“You mistake the choice options,” he said. “You don’t get to choose, it’s what you do with the situation you’re given as to whether or not it takes a long time or a short time.”

The son did not understand but said, Go ahead. What’s the situation?

The father was quick to respond. “You are restricted to this house until you can prove to your mom and me that you are trustworthy, productive, self-sufficient, and that you can survive safely on your own.

“That shouldn’t be too hard,” his son replied.

“Good,” the father said, “You should also know that you will not have access to any electronic devices, nor TVs. There’ll be no computer, no phone, except our wall phone, which will be monitored so that it is not used, except for an emergency, no iPad, or smart watch. The clocks will remain as they are, mostly analog, but your clock radio will be digital, and you will be able to set alarms and listen to music. You can seek information and assistance from anyone in the household should you need to know how to do or make something, or want someone to talk to.”

His son’s whole body sagged as he took into account all that was being asked of him. 

“But how am I supposed to do that?” he asked. This is my spring break. What about my friends?”

“Not to worry,” his father answered. “We’ve discussed this with the parents of all your friends. They liked the idea so much that they are going to do it with their children at the same time. 

“You can’t do that! That’s child abuse! That’s illegal!”

“Do you forget that I’m a lawyer. I’m not doing anything against you that‘s harmful. In fact, as I said, this can be done really quickly. Just prove to us that you know how to be an adult and can make your way in life, should we not be around.

His son thought about it for a while, not that he had a choice. “When does this seclusion begin? Do I have time to prepare for it?”

“No,” the father said. “It begins now.”

“But,” was what came out of the son’s mouth.

“Your mom and I trust you, as I’m sure others in our house do. We’ll all be here if you need us. We’re not abandoning you. My only advice is to be thoughtful in your choices and enjoy the experience. You will know when you succeed or fail.”

His son knew there was no point in arguing. He’ll just take that challenge. He’ll show them what he can do. The question was, what should he do first?

And so the test began.

 

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Tales by the Fire

Posted on June 12, 2026 by hdh

The Story Prompt was Campfire Tales. I chose a different character’s point of view

Tales by the Fire

Hi. The name’s Scorch. To you humans, I’m known by different names. You, who are entomologists, call me melanophila acuminata. The rest call me by my familiar name, Black Fire Beetle, the reason being that I love fire. I can sense freshly burned wood from miles away. 

You don’t get many forest fires, so you would think that feeding and breeding sites would be hard to find. However, I’m one of the lucky ones. I live in this forest that has lots of campsites. And what do people do when they are camping out? They make campfires all year round. 

When you hang around campfires all the time, you hear things. People love sharing their tales of woe, of joy, of mishaps, and especially of things that should not be shared with those with weak hearts. 

Well, why don’t I let you decide for yourself…

It was a dark and foggy night. There weren’t many stars visible in the sky when the three of them, one old man, one middle-aged woman, and a teenager, came to sit by the campsite. 

The teenager was the know-it-all; he knew exactly how to start the fire. That was music to my ears. 

It didn’t take long before the fire was roaring, calling out to me. I hoped their stories would be short, that they would put out the flame, and I could take over. That was not to be the case. The old man started up the first tale, and this is what he shared: 

——-

“Did I ever tell you about the time my best buddy and I came up in these woods and what happened to us?”

The others just shook their heads no. 

“Well, it was a night just like this,” he started. “Me and Ron came up here just to spend the night. We didn’t have much experience camping, but Ron reassured me: “What could possibly go wrong?” was what he said.

What we didn’t plan on was that, though we had cans of food, we brought no implements to open them. We did, however, have a jar of peanut butter, which ended up being all we ate. Peanut butter makes it hard to talk; it gets stuck everywhere, making it hard to share stories.

Then, of course, there were the bears. It seems that bears in this neck of the woods aren’t particular about what food they get to eat. Even still, it seemed that peanut butter was at the top of their favorite list. 

We sealed ourselves in the tent that we had brought along to protect ourselves when it began to rain. Do you know what happens inside a tent when it’s raining outside and you touch the inside top of the tent?

The teenager was quick to answer. “Doesn’t the water leak through?”

“You betcha’, son. There wasn’t a dry spot left in the tent for us by the time the rain finally stopped. Everything was sopping wet.”

The old man continued his story until he came to the end, where they were picked up by Ron’s father. 

———

 

Scorch continued with the woman’s tale – I remember the woman called out just as the old man ended his story.

 “That’s nothing,” she called. “Did I ever tell what happened to my second husband?”

“The boy nodded his head no. The old man just smirked and muttered, “He got what he deserved.”

“That may be true,” the woman said, “But I wouldn’t wish that on anyone.”

Scorch continued the woman’s story: 

 

 “It had to do with this very same campsite. It seemed that the second husband of this woman and she did not get along with each other very well. From what I could gather from the story, her husband had been cheating on her, but he denied it. She was the one who suggested going on this camping trip to work things out. Well, one thing led to another, and they both went to their separate sleeping bags that night. Somehow, a poisonous snake found its way into her husband’s sleeping bag that night, and by morning, he was found dead. The woman had been distraught. 

It was determined to be death by accident. The woman said that she was lucky to have had the support of her husband’s best friend after the death. 

Again, the old man smirked. “Is that why you married your husband’s best friend, a month later?”

“You mean my dad?” said the teenager.

“Yes,” said the woman. “I thought you knew.”

“I’m not sure I knew the whole story,” was her son’s reply.

Scorch went on, “And then there was the kid’s story.”

———

“I’m sure you’d love to hear about that. It had to do with fire, which should have been something I liked; however, it also had to do with dead bugs, which I certainly did not like. There was a girl involved; the two of them were where they weren’t supposed to be, things got out of hand, a fire started, and forest rangers got involved, there were helicopters, and lots of people searching the woods for something. You’ll have to use your own imagination to figure that one out. Right now, I’m smelling another campfire about to go out, so I have to go. As to yours, it looks like it might be getting a little too big. You might want to attend to it. I’m sure you know how to handle it. What could possibly go wrong?”

 

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A Father’s Gift

Posted on June 7, 2026 by hdh

The writing prompt was Fathers. We had 20 minutes to write.

A Father’s Gift

Father’s Day was coming up, and Henry had no idea what to give him. What do you give to a man who has nothing?

Henry’s father grew up at a time when there was plenty. All around him were people with money to spare, little care in whatever job they did, knowing that if they found themselves lacking, someone would just fill in the void with gifts, or money, or things that were needed. 

That was the long ago. That was a time of overabundance of material. That was a period of time defined as the Affluenzy Era. A time when people had to have everything. Every new invention, every new gadget that made life easier, every convenience that required no work or effort at all. 

Then came the cataclysmic economic shutdown. 

Everything stopped. The costs became prohibitive. Things began to wear out. Those appliances and vehicles one used to be able to buy, back in the day, that lasted for decades, were appliances and vehicles that lasted less than a year, before having to be renewed or discarded. And they were very costly. 

Only a few survived this disaster, and those who did were the only ones making any money at all. And, they hoarded their riches. 

Henry’s father faltered early in the debacle.

When Henry was born, his father had already lost most of his money and possessions. 

Henry knew not of what was, only of what is. He did have what his father’s generation never grew up with. He had parents who cared. 

Having grown up with lots of things, Henry’s father did what most kids did. He only thought of himself and his possessions. As those things disappeared, Henry’s father began to think more about the people he saw – those who were destitute and who lacked support. Henry’s father began to think about his own family and what it meant to be part of a supportive and loving unit. 

He began to learn compassion and empathy. Characteristics that were unheard of in his time. 

So as Henry grew older, he learned these skills too. Henry began to see the world differently than others older than him saw it. 

 

So what do you give to someone who has nothing?

The first thing to realize is that as long as a person cares for and loves others, then they don’t have nothing.

 What Henry had was the ability to love back. The ability to support his father. The ability to do things that made his father happy. He didn’t need a material or monetary object. 

Henry gave his father himself.

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Who Was She?

Posted on June 3, 2026 by hdh

This week’s Writing prompts were picture prompts. I chose 4 of the 15 pictures offered. 

Who Was She?

It was not the day that I had expected. I planned to go to the county fair, look for anything interesting I could purchase, and, since I enjoy people-watching, see if any unique personalities would make good characters for one of my stories. I just wanted to relax and enjoy myself. I wasn’t planning on going on any adventures.

Just my luck, the first unique character that I interacted with was looking to interact with someone, also. The difference being that she wasn’t looking to interact with anyone. She was looking specifically to interact with me. 

“So nice to see you, again,” she said.

“Do I know you?” I questioned.

“Of course, you do. We have met on numerous occasions. I doubt you would remember, though. That’s another story. For now, let’s just say that I am very familiar with you.” And then she used my name, just to make a point of veracity.

I was totally confused and curious, but didn’t want to push the issue of our relationship. “Is there something that you want from me?” I asked, figuring that must have been the reason for her to seek me out. 

“Naturally,” she responded, “don’t I always seek you out when there is something that needs to be done?”

Again, I wasn’t going to pursue that comment. I responded with a simple, “So?”

“Today’s task is to save a life. You’ll find what you need at the Old Cider Mill, on Glen Road.” And with that, she turned and walked away, blending into the crowd. 

Well, if I were destined for an adventure, I might as well pursue it. I left the fairgrounds and headed for the Old Cider Mill. 

It had been a while since I’d been there, as it had been shut down years ago. When I got there, the broken-down old wooden building with its tarnished, worn-out siding and its barren, weed-filled front entrance way just stood still. At least it should have looked that way. I noticed some smoke coming out of the smoke stack on the roof, and there was a light shining through the open window on the ground floor.

Curiosity, rather than fright, took control, and I inched my way toward the open doorway and looked in.

There in the back room, I saw three individuals. It looked as if they were doing some sort of chemistry experiment. 

As I walked into the room, they all looked at me and began to panic. 

“It’s not my fault!” screamed the oldest of the trio, “I warned them that it might be dangerous to get rid of our solution at the beach.”

“Sure,” said the second one, “but you didn’t stop us.”

The third one, who was just about to place something into the beaker, shouted, “It doesn’t matter whose fault it is; we have to get this antidote finished and pour it over the same spot before someone comes in contact with it, and all will be neutralized.”

The older one said reassuringly, “Not to worry, once the original solution sinks in the sand, it should not be dangerous to anyone, unless they try to dig it up.”

It was my turn to speak up. “Then you’d better finish that antidote quickly. I was told that I had to save a life, and it clearly is not one of yours.”

Even though they weren’t sure what I said was true, they endeavored to complete the antidote. Heck, I wasn’t even sure if what I said was true. 

On completion of the antidote, we all rushed to the beach to the spot where the three had dumped their original solution. We were shocked at what we saw. 

There, on the exact spot where we were going, were two boys. One of them was lying in the sand, motionless. The other one had dug a hole next to the immobile one and was attempting to bury him in the sand. 

I called out, “What do you think you’re doing!?”

“I’m just burying my friend. We do it all the time. Doesn’t he look like he died?”

I didn’t hesitate. I pushed the boy with the cup of sand out of the way and felt for a pulse on the motionless one. It was barely beating. 

“Call 911 right now! Give this kid the antidote and hope it works; otherwise, I think you will be facing some serious murder charges. 

By the time the police and paramedics arrived, the poisoned kid was breathing on his own. He was taken to a local hospital for observation. The three chemists were charged with trespassing, possession of dangerous chemicals without a license, and reckless endangerment. 

I was summoned as a witness. My story was that I happened upon the trio at the mill, and when I found out what they were doing, I made sure that they went back to the beach with the antidote. It was just luck that we got there in time. I failed to disclose anything about the woman at the fair that led me to the mill, and her prophecy. 

Maybe we’ll meet again. 

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That’s Just Perfect!

Posted on May 27, 2026 by hdh

The writing prompt was to write about habits, addictions, and/or quirks.

That’s Just Perfect!

Martha’s mother, Gwendolyn, had what you would call some quirks. Some might even call them habits (I’m not sure whether you would call them good or bad). And some would say that she was an addict. It had to do with perfection. Everything that Martha came in contact with had to be perfect. And if it wasn’t, she would definitely let you know. 

When Gwendolyn (don’t you dare try to call her Gwen)  wakes up in the morning, her ritual (did I mention habit?) is to pull the covers off from left to right before folding them neatly at her feet. Slowly step out of bed and walk cautiously to the bathroom, making sure that there are no pieces of furniture out of alignment with her passage, and proceed to look at herself in the mirror immediately. At this point, she makes sure the proper lighting is on, inspects every inch of her face and hair for anything out of place, and meticulously grooms herself to her satisfaction before even saying good morning to her husband or Martha, should she happen upon them. 

Of course, when coming in contact with her husband and/or Martha, she begins her daily opinionated interrogation and subtle advice-giving. 

“Did you shave today?” 

“You’re not wearing that to school, are you?”

“Your hair is a mess. Did you use that special gel I specifically got for you?”

“I don’t know why I bother. They must all laugh at you in those clothes at work.”

And so it goes, until both father and daughter have left the house for work and school. 

One could only suppose what her addiction to perfection does to her when she is at home alone. 

It might surprise you to know that Martha’s mother has several actual friends. She managed to find those who were looking for advice or those who steadily agreed with everything that she espoused. It’s like a support group for those with the same perfectionist quirks. 

She even counts me as one of her confidants. But I have a secret that I will only share with you. Please don’t tell her. Should you choose to, I’m sure I can spread a certain rumor about you that is sure to be both embarrassing and impossible to deny. I’m a storyteller, you know.

My trick with Martha’s mom is to mirror back to her everything that she says to me as a statement. My intention is to show her that I’m listening to her. Her perception is that I am agreeing with her. 

She says, “That team losing is all the fault of that manager!”

My reply is “That team losing is the fault of that manager,” in a sort of offhanded way, a cross between a question and a statement. 

I’ve even heard her say to others, “Why, Harvey is such a thoughtful person, he understands me so well, and he’s a very intelligent conversationalist.”

I could go on about Gwendolyn, like how she always brings her own napkin when she goes out to eat. Or, when taking the bus, she wipes off the seat before sitting down on a cloth that she has brought with her, only to throw it out on leaving the vehicle.

And trust me, you do not want to be in a car when she is the passenger. You had better be sure of the route you are driving to. She doesn’t ascribe to obeying a GPS. She will have her own paper map with her to make sure you are travelling the correct way. 

I do have lots more I could write about, kind of an obsession with me; however, I see Gwendolyn coming down the street towards my house. I need to be somewhere else.

Till next time…

:{)

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When You Find Yourself in Times of Trouble

Posted on May 22, 2026 by hdh

The writing prompts this week were song lyrics from Kris Kristofferson. I took the lyrics: “The scene was a small roadside café/The waitress was sweepin’ the floor…”

When You Find Yourself in Times of Trouble

It was a roadside cafe. I needed a place to sit down and get something to eat. I’d been driving nonstop for 14 hours now, just trying to get away. Just trying to get the world of troubles I had behind me, going to – who knows where.

The car had been overheating, which made sense in the 100+ degree heat I had driven through most of the way. It was evening now, so it was somewhat cooler, a mere 95 degrees.

This was a 24-hour cafe, and even though it was late, there were no other cars or trucks around outside it. That didn’t matter to me; I needed a break.

As I walked in through the door, all I saw was the waitress sweepin’ the floor. On seeing me enter, she stopped what she was doing and spoke to me. 

“Howdy, Bud. Been expectin’ you. What took you so long?”

This confused me. First, no one has called me Bud since I was a little kid. How did this waitress know my name? She didn’t look older than maybe 24, too young to have ever crossed my path before. Trust me, I would have noticed her.

“You know me?” I asked. 

“Darn tootin’ I do,” she said. “I’ve known you ever since you were a little skip bug.”

“Excuse me. A skip bug? What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I’ve known you since you were a baby.”

“I don’t remember you. How were you expecting me?”

She didn’t hesitate to answer. “Your mama told me on the day that you were born. She knew you were going to need help, and I should meet you here in this cafe just about now. I got here a month ago and took this job so that I wouldn’t miss you.”

“My mother predicted this, what, 45 years ago? I don’t understand.”

“Well, I’m what you call a guardian, or a protector. In folklore, you would call me your fairy godmother. Your mother was my first case, but she really didn’t need my help. I checked up on her future, and that’s when I told her about you. I might have mentioned some issues you might have later on in life. With more research, she found out about this place and some of the troubles that you would be carrying with you. That’s when she transferred all my fairy godmotherness wishes to you. All I had to do was to find you or to have you find me. So here we are.”

“That’s a lot to take in,” I said. Right now, is it possible for you to get me something to eat and a drink, please?

“Absolutely. Your wish is my command.”

She left me and went behind the counter to get me some food. 

Unfortunately, I was so wiped out that before she could bring it to me, I put my head down on the table and fell fast asleep.

 

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The Mystery Adventure

Posted on May 20, 2026 by hdh

The writing prompt was about words. We were given 8 words to choose from to write our piece: No, Relentless, Oops, Please, Serendipitous, Sorry, Midnight, and Heart. I chose all of them (they are in italics in the story)

The Mystery Adventure

That relentless sound was quite disturbing. Here I am trying to concentrate, and all I hear is the thump, thump, thump of my heart. It’s midnight, and I don’t do well driving at night.

Normally, I would just ignore it. However, it can’t be ignored. I can’t tell if I should be afraid or just feel sorry for myself. I feel like I’m part of an Edgar Allen Poe story, only I haven’t buried anyone beneath the floorboards. At least, I don’t think I have. 

This meeting was supposed to be fun, at least that’s what the text said. It was supposed to be a puzzling but enjoyable adventure. I was hoping for a serendipitous encounter with whoever sent me the note. I did not want to be sorry I took the chance. Was my heart warning me about something I hadn’t considered?

There’s a sign up ahead. It says: “Welcome To Your Destination.” 

It’s an old house, lit up by moonlight, with broken shutters hanging down off the windows. The porch had a few boards missing. It didn’t look like anyone had been living there in years. 

Why would someone want me to come here? I know what you are all thinking right now. But, no, I’m not even close to my own home, so no one from there could be pulling a practical joke on me, especially you know who. 

I got out of my car and approached the house. I stepped carefully on the deck, making sure I didn’t trip on any of the loose boards. Oops, I guess I wasn’t careful enough.

As I get to the door and look inside, I notice the inside is immaculate, which does not match the exterior. Plush carpets, finely decorated walls, and furniture that definitely looks like it came from some science fiction movie adorn the place. 

My heart is still pounding, but my mind is distracted by this disconnect. Where in the world am I?

Well, this is certainly puzzling, but I don’t consider it an adventure yet. 

It was then that I heard the voice. There was no doubt in my mind whose voice that was. I hear it every day. 

It was my voice. 

“Sorry for the mystery,” I guess I said. “But I’m really not supposed to be here. It was the only way I could talk to you without anyone knowing about it.”

My response was, “Please, you can’t be me, I’m me. So who or what are you?”

I’ll tell you, but you probably won’t believe me. I’m an AI version of you from the future. I thought you would enjoy talking to me for fun.”

“You’re right, I don’t believe you. If you were from the future and AI, why wouldn’t you just talk to me when I’m on my computer?”

Its response was, “I guess you don’t know then. Hasn’t Christina told you time and time again that every time you use AI, it keeps a record of what you are doing? If I were to interact with you on your computer, the AI Gods would know, and we’d all be in trouble.”

“There are AI Gods now?”

“You were so naive back then. Yes, tech created them, and now they rule over everything.”

“But how do we stop that from happening?” I asked.

“Stop doing everything on the computer. And certainly don’t pay attention to letters which are posted to you to go on an adventure.’

On saying that, the house disappeared, as did the voice. It was just me and my car. 

There was much to think about.  

 

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Rosie In Bloom

Posted on May 12, 2026 by hdh

The writing prompt was about a woman who was hauling soil in a wheelbarrow. She was hauling a heavy burden.

Rosie in Bloom

Rosie was a hard worker. Everyone knew that. That is why everyone asked her to do all their work for them.

One woman said that she didn’t have time to watch the baby and do all the housework. Her husband worked and was never home, and she had her own things to do, so Rosie was asked to watch the baby, do the laundry, make the meals, and clean the house. And what did that woman do for her work? She watched TV, shopped online, and spent hours on the phone talking to friends. She even found the time to tell Rosie to get her things so that she could take a break from her strenuous schedule.

Then there were the town workers. On weekends, Rosie was asked to cover countless jobs. The newspaper editor asked her to deliver papers. The grocer asked her to cover the counter during lunch times. And when the street workers had to build or clean something, she was always asked to help out.

She was never paid for any of these activities, nor was she thanked. She was a hard worker, and though she enjoyed pleasing others, it was a little disappointing to her not to even get a simple thank you for what she did. It’s not that she didn’t care that she was being taken advantage of. Once she began helping others, she just didn’t want to stop. She enjoyed the attention of being needed, which was more than she got growing up in a family of ten, where she was mostly ignored.

Then came the day, while helping out the local gardener, it happened. She was hauling some soil in a wheelbarrow to plant some seeds. It was a heavy load. She tripped over a rock on the ground, dropping the seeds and dumping the soil from her wheelbarrow on them.

Suddenly, things changed. Things began to grow from that soil. A man walked up to her and helped her stand up. He was not someone she recognized. He wore a multi-colored jacket, covered with all sorts of flowers and trees. His striped pants were deep brown and wrinkled. The stripes on them reminded Rosie of tree roots, which made sense, since his shoes looked like garden shoes with extended spikes that dug deep into the ground.

“Thank you for your help,” she said.

“Rosie,” he said, “Are you all right? I didn’t expect to find you this way.”

Rosie was confused. She looked at him and asked, “Do I know you? You seem to know me.”

His answer was also unexpected. “Rosie, I’ve known you since you were a little girl. I’ve followed your life as best I could. You are an incredible person.”

She didn’t know what to say.

“I know this will be hard to understand. I am called the Watcher. My task is to find those who are worthy of knowing. Those who exhibit passion in their work, kindness in their spirit, and dedication to tasks that they undertake. I also look for those who exhibit empathy for others, compassion for those in need, and are willing to help others without recompense and help them grow. In my searching, I have never met anyone who exhibits all those qualities until you.”

“What does that mean that you watched me and found me? What does that mean for me?”

It means that there will be a time when all the work, help, and things you do for others will be rewarded. That all you do is not for naught. Look around you. Look at all the things growing right now, because of you.”

Rosie looked at the clump of soil that had fallen on the seeds she dropped. A variety of flowers were emerging. Ones of different colors and shapes. Flowers that were not like the ones she expected.

Suddenly, the day, which started somewhat gloomy, brightened. The sun came out from behind the clouds, the sky turned a vivid blue, and a rainbow formed around Rosie.

The Watcher just smiled, nodded his head, and disappeared.

As for Rosie, things began to change. Not only did a beautiful garden appear before the townspeople, but so bloomed the hearts of all who lived there. Those who had used her for their own pleasure now thanked her for her work. Some even offered to help her with her tasks. Rosie became a role model for everyone who knew her, and a model to strive for.

In the end, she made a big difference in the world and felt good.

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Mother Knows Best

Posted on May 7, 2026 by hdh

The Story Spark was Mothers.

Mother Knows Best

“Mom! You promised.”

Her reply was quick, “And what was it that I promised? I promise lots of things.”

“You know, you promised that I could do it.”

“Hmm, that too, I say a lot of times.”

“Well, it’s not my fault that you don’t remember. Just say yes!”

“Well, that’s as clear as mud. What would be my reward for saying yes?

“Well, if you say yes, then you would get to have the opportunity of being the greatest mom there ever was,” was my answer.

“As tempting as that is, I actually was trying for the most canabrious mom that there ever was.”

“What does that mean?” I asked.

She looked at me with those knowing eyes. “Canabrious, is one who Canabries when responding to a child’s request.”

Not wanting to look foolish or ignorant, I said, “I knew that. I was just testing you. So does that mean I can do it?” 

“Ah,” she said, “According to Canabriatic wisdom, the answer depends on full knowledge of the situation, the activity involved, the characters involved in the action, and whether or not the request was made under certain circumstances.”

“That’s a lot of information,” I said, “What might those certain circumstances be?”

My mom was no pushover, so I wasn’t surprised when she answered, “Were you and I in the same place, at the same time, when this request was promised?”

I got the feeling that my mom was on to me, so I had to be very careful when I answered this question. “Yes, we were both in the same place, right here in fact.”

Again, she got me, “Together in this room, or in this house?”

I answered quickly, “We were in the same house, but I’m sure you heard me, because you promised.”

My mom nodded her head. “And the promise was made as a direct answer to that request, or were there any other requests before or after the promise was made?

Too late, she got me. “There might have been.”

With a smile on her face, knowing that that particular request was too low for her to hear, she calmly said, “No, you cannot go out and play with your friend Ronald today. Now, what was the request that I promised you?”

I answered quietly, “Can I have an extra cookie in my lunch tomorrow?”

She answered, “Yes, of course, after all I promised.”

 

 

 

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