I don't accept that you don't, it's something I do with this out-of-tune machine that inhabits my chest. I give it to you with the palms of my hands, in friendly gestures of kindness, and so I would like your hands to open, without fear or resistance, like a wounded bird that manages to fly despite its broken wing. If you open your hands, in gestures of acceptance, we will be united forever, my skin on yours, my warm, tender lips gently touching your shimmering lips, with tremors of fear and loneliness, Please come and accept my kiss with love.
Celebrating with her husband and children this Christmas, an impossibility just two weeks ago, was back on the table thanks to the donations from the village community of tinsel, tins, a tree and a modest but adequate turkey.
Most who had contributed also got something from their giving - a sense of virtuosity from an act of goodwill to their fellow man at this time of year, despite not knowing who the family were even by sight, let alone giving them a second thought for the rest of the year, and experiencing not the slightest lessening of their own seasonal excess.
She had only joined the prayer group as a necessity for her silly semester’s credit. Despite the nice weekly talk, there was one thing that she tried to avoid.
The donation red pouch which was passed amongst the attendees.
She must defend her student budget, so she endured the watchful eyes when she passed on the pouch without ‘participating’.
Once, she saw an elderly lady, which also passed on the pouch. She asked the question, cautiously.
The lady smiled mischievously. She beckoned her to come closer and opened her purse.
From there, she pulled out her organ donor ID card.
Moira eyed the bin doubtfully. Surely no one would throw away a sealskin. But it was her last hope.
Tom's family hated her, and when he suddenly died, they picked through his few belongings like crows. Anything they didn't want, they threw in the Salvation Army bins. Better it went to a bum than to her. The other customers turned up their noses at the fishy smell.
That gave her hope, for it wasn't the scent of fish, but of seal.
She found it under a stack of ratty shirts, the skin that would allow her to transform again at last and return to the sea.
“Thanks for your donation.” Tamika smiled and accepted the box; the donor’s shifty gaze never met hers.
“I hope someone will get use out of it,” the man muttered as he left.
Tamika opened the box and peered at its contents: a lone porcelain doll dressed in a purple satin dress. Tamika inspected the doll, noting that a foot and two fingers were missing. The doll’s unfortunate-looking face was set in a creepy smile.
“Nobody’s gonna want you, poor thing,” said Tamika.
The carvings were an orgy of death and battle, eerily perfect renderings of the warriors of the south destroying each other (and outsiders, probably) amid the mountains and deserts of this horrible place. The central panel showed an important man being sacrificed: he seemed to be bleeding from countless wounds from the two men standing to either side of him, but he was still standing upright. Behind him a woman, clearly a goddess, standing twice as tall as any of the warriors, looked down at them all, watching the proceedings. Behind them was flat, empty desert—and in the next panel suddenly stood a massive rock formation where the goddess had just been. Some chieftain or warlord had given his life to the gods in exchange for this fortress.
Regez was suddenly very uncomfortable. He took an involuntary step backward.
Little Joey passed the homeless shelter every day on his way home from school. One day, he noticed a sign requesting donations for the big Christmas dinner. On Christmas Eve, after Mom and Dad were asleep, he delivered all their Christmas food to the shelter. When his grandparents, aunts, uncles, and cousins arrived on Christmas day, the cupboards were bare. Smiling, Joey led his family to the shelter, where a sign proclaimed, "Christmas Dinner, All Welcome!" Everyone laughed, realizing what Joey had done. They all had so much fun eating with their new friends, a new family tradition was born.
Blessing or Curse? Having AB- blood is a lottery I despise winning. Yet, how can one refuse the life saving gold that runs through one’s veins?
I received a text from a past girlfriend. Her son was in the hospital, could I help?
It was an easy decision of course. I raced to the hospital. Finding her in his room I avoided the small talk and began rolling up my sleeve. “Frank, there’s no need for that, he’s fine, just a tonsillectomy.” As she pulled me into the bathroom it was apparent it wasn’t the donation I was to provide!
A different kind of a donation then haha. I love the line “Blessing or Curse? Having AB- blood is a lottery I despise winning. Yet, how can one refuse the life saving gold that runs through one’s veins?” That’s pure gold Ken.
Plot twist: modRNA-contaminated blood; vampires die of agonising turbo-cancer 😜
By most myths Vampires can't get sick so they will likely be fine. :D
PROMPT: DONATION
THE CLOTHES
She was looking forward to donating some clothes to the homeless for the first time.
It was going to feel good, knowing someone else was getting some use out of them.
And they deserved to have some nice, luxurious things to wear.
A lot more than her cheating husband did… 🧥😎🧥
My 100 mg of a Donation
-----------------------------
I don't accept that you don't, it's something I do with this out-of-tune machine that inhabits my chest. I give it to you with the palms of my hands, in friendly gestures of kindness, and so I would like your hands to open, without fear or resistance, like a wounded bird that manages to fly despite its broken wing. If you open your hands, in gestures of acceptance, we will be united forever, my skin on yours, my warm, tender lips gently touching your shimmering lips, with tremors of fear and loneliness, Please come and accept my kiss with love.
Haha 'Dr. Acula' - genius!!
Haha thank you!
Celebrating with her husband and children this Christmas, an impossibility just two weeks ago, was back on the table thanks to the donations from the village community of tinsel, tins, a tree and a modest but adequate turkey.
Most who had contributed also got something from their giving - a sense of virtuosity from an act of goodwill to their fellow man at this time of year, despite not knowing who the family were even by sight, let alone giving them a second thought for the rest of the year, and experiencing not the slightest lessening of their own seasonal excess.
Microdosing - 100mg of a Donation
===
She had only joined the prayer group as a necessity for her silly semester’s credit. Despite the nice weekly talk, there was one thing that she tried to avoid.
The donation red pouch which was passed amongst the attendees.
She must defend her student budget, so she endured the watchful eyes when she passed on the pouch without ‘participating’.
Once, she saw an elderly lady, which also passed on the pouch. She asked the question, cautiously.
The lady smiled mischievously. She beckoned her to come closer and opened her purse.
From there, she pulled out her organ donor ID card.
Thank you , Miguel for the like and the opportunity.
Moira eyed the bin doubtfully. Surely no one would throw away a sealskin. But it was her last hope.
Tom's family hated her, and when he suddenly died, they picked through his few belongings like crows. Anything they didn't want, they threw in the Salvation Army bins. Better it went to a bum than to her. The other customers turned up their noses at the fishy smell.
That gave her hope, for it wasn't the scent of fish, but of seal.
She found it under a stack of ratty shirts, the skin that would allow her to transform again at last and return to the sea.
The Donation Box
The two men stood looking at the donation box.
“Have you ever seen a donation like this?” asked the first man.
The second man looked in the box and opened his eyes a little wider. “I’ve seen a lot of things in my life but this one takes the cake.”
“It’s a little stranger than the set of keys with an address tied to it.”
“That was weird but this?” They both took another look.
“Is it sleeping?
“I don’t know. It would be better if it is.”
It opened its eyes.
The Constrictor raised its head above the box.
Thank you, Jeannine.
You are very welcome.
“Thanks for your donation.” Tamika smiled and accepted the box; the donor’s shifty gaze never met hers.
“I hope someone will get use out of it,” the man muttered as he left.
Tamika opened the box and peered at its contents: a lone porcelain doll dressed in a purple satin dress. Tamika inspected the doll, noting that a foot and two fingers were missing. The doll’s unfortunate-looking face was set in a creepy smile.
“Nobody’s gonna want you, poor thing,” said Tamika.
As she turned away, she heard a rustling noise.
When she looked back, the doll no longer smiled.
Thanks for joining in Jennifer! With an awesome creepy tale, we like those around here haha.
The carvings were an orgy of death and battle, eerily perfect renderings of the warriors of the south destroying each other (and outsiders, probably) amid the mountains and deserts of this horrible place. The central panel showed an important man being sacrificed: he seemed to be bleeding from countless wounds from the two men standing to either side of him, but he was still standing upright. Behind him a woman, clearly a goddess, standing twice as tall as any of the warriors, looked down at them all, watching the proceedings. Behind them was flat, empty desert—and in the next panel suddenly stood a massive rock formation where the goddess had just been. Some chieftain or warlord had given his life to the gods in exchange for this fortress.
Regez was suddenly very uncomfortable. He took an involuntary step backward.
https://shieldbreakersaga.substack.com/p/the-last-of-the-etela-chapter-5
Pat Summitt was Tennessee's coach
A proven winner above reproach
But Alziheimer's got her in the end
And vacant mind was all she could send
Now she is long gone to death
And a 50,000 dollar donation
was given to bequeth,
A cold statue from her foundation
To see her in action on the court
Was magic and fire combined,in short
No statue can bring back the dead
And memories fade as time gets fed
Tic toc the clock moves on
It won't stop for anyone
Man and woman
Time gets us all, my son.
Thank you, Scott
Little Joey passed the homeless shelter every day on his way home from school. One day, he noticed a sign requesting donations for the big Christmas dinner. On Christmas Eve, after Mom and Dad were asleep, he delivered all their Christmas food to the shelter. When his grandparents, aunts, uncles, and cousins arrived on Christmas day, the cupboards were bare. Smiling, Joey led his family to the shelter, where a sign proclaimed, "Christmas Dinner, All Welcome!" Everyone laughed, realizing what Joey had done. They all had so much fun eating with their new friends, a new family tradition was born.
Aw, that’s so sweet.
Thank you.
Sweet
'Tis the season!
Fun story! My own is currently incubating, hopefully it will hatch out sometime this afternoon. 😉
Thanks Jeannine, I enjoy the challenge! Best Wishes Ken
They are always fun!
The Donation (Thanks to Miguel S.)
Blessing or Curse? Having AB- blood is a lottery I despise winning. Yet, how can one refuse the life saving gold that runs through one’s veins?
I received a text from a past girlfriend. Her son was in the hospital, could I help?
It was an easy decision of course. I raced to the hospital. Finding her in his room I avoided the small talk and began rolling up my sleeve. “Frank, there’s no need for that, he’s fine, just a tonsillectomy.” As she pulled me into the bathroom it was apparent it wasn’t the donation I was to provide!
A different kind of a donation then haha. I love the line “Blessing or Curse? Having AB- blood is a lottery I despise winning. Yet, how can one refuse the life saving gold that runs through one’s veins?” That’s pure gold Ken.
Many Thanks Miguel, You are an inspiration to my attempts in Micro Fiction!
I'm glad you're inspired!
Good one
I was gonna schedule a blood donation this weekend, but now you're making me second guess!
Jk jk. Growing up, whenever my dad went to donate blood he'd always say he was giving to "los vampiros."
Lmao. I will steal that.