I state before I start here, this is one of my top 3 pet peeves in life so this is more a release than anything...
'When I come into power (believe me it's just a matter of time) there are several things I shall implement for the benefit of the world. Tackling poverty and hunger are priorities, but that’s expected, right? But high on my list will be laws that make all umbrellas transparent and you must be over 5’ 8” to own one. Do you have any idea how many times I have nearly lost an eye to some squat marauder taking wild unexpected turns like a homicidal Roomba?!
Until then I remain vigilante to the short, dry and spatially oblivious of the world.'
I curled and pulled my knees to my chest. I could hear them shouting inside. Soon they started hurling stuff at each other. The sound of breaking ceramics and glasses always startles me. Though I have heard them countless times.
My heart rate rose. I felt my heart beat in my head. I covered both my ears, then I tried not to move.
Suddenly the shadow I was in disappeared. The umbrella I was hiding under was snatched up. I saw the woman’s angry face.
‘Mum! Don’t…!’
I could not finish my sentence. The slap landed hard on my cheek.
Glad you were able to get out. And all jokes aside, I’m glad everyone was safe. The tension is so palpable in your story above, you captured that stress you must have felt very well.
The rain falls around us. I’m holding onto the black umbrella under lamp-lit streets in London. Underneath its arms, it shields us like a mother hen with her chicks. Urging us to stay close and nestle under the warmth of feathers. I look down at my wife clutching onto me in the cold wet air. I’m her mother hen and she is my chickling. Instead of feathers, she has brunette hair and green eyes.
“Hold me close,” she says.
“Always.”
That’s when I see the bright lights heading toward us and hear the screech of tires on pavement.
“I know! She even had one of those fancy umbrella things, from like Victorian England — you know what I mean?”
“Bumbershoot?”
“…uh, no?”
“parasail?”
“Yeah— wait, no, that’s the hang gliding thing behind the boat.”
“Oh yeah… parasaur? No, that’s a dinosaur…”
“Parasol! That’s it — parasol. Anyway, what was I saying? Oh right, the lady: she’s walking down King Street, it’s like 96,000 degrees out, and she’s in a full lace dress, gloves that reach to her teeth, even one of those bonnet things that like tie onto your head! It was crazy, I’ve never seen anything like it.”
Jefferson Peetree was in agony. It had been three days since he'd cried like a baby under the Urologist's instruments of torture, but the pain was getting worse by the hour.
He hunched over the bowl sweating, red faced, the need to let out that flow of sweet release burned him to the core... but yet not a drop came..
"Jesus help me!" he sobbed, shaking his pain shrivelled manhood gingerly.
The phone rang.
"who is it?" he choked.
"Dr Forbes, from the clinic. I think you might have taken my umbrella home with you. No... not THAT sort of umbrella."
A guy runs out of hospital. Where he was on his deathbed, to feel the last raindrops on his skin, the guy with an umbrella is the Grim Reaper taking him, as his body gives up. The shouting voices are supposed to be nurses running after him.
Franny was no debutante but had never heard anything like how Zozo’s dad talked to Zozo.
He started railing about her ink. Then the studs. Her weight. Her crop top. Even her nose for God’s sake, for which his substandard chromosomes were at least half responsible.
When he left, Zozo preempted any questioning with the same look of daggers she wore throughout the onslaught.
“I know what you’re wondering. Well, he touches me he knows he’s a dead man. Otherwise, he can rain all the shit on me he wants. Long as I don’t care, I won't feel a drop.”
The rain fell hard as Julie hurried down the alley. She had just passed the bakery when she noticed it—an umbrella lying flat on the ground, its handle broken. Odd.
She bent to pick it up, then froze. A shoe, barely visible, poked out from beneath a dumpster.
Julie’s chest tightened, her breath quickening.
“Looking for something?” a voice said from behind.
She turned slowly, gripping the broken umbrella like a shield.
The man smiled. “You picked the wrong night for a stroll.”
Julie tightened her grip, realizing too late it wasn’t enough.
Under the Black Umbrella
for Crystal
We rush, arms entwined, rain drumming our shared black shield.
City blurs—streets gleam like secrets, but I see only you:
Damp curls framing rain-speckled cheeks, lips pressed tight.
Our steps match, swift and sure, thighs brushing with each stride.
Electricity builds beneath this gentleman's cover,
Rain whispering us closer, closer still.
En route to royal stories, you're my queen now—
Hand at my waist, claiming me wordlessly.
Rain intensifies; we press tighter, wrapped in wet pavement scent.
Our umbrella hides us from prying eyes,
Each raindrop a stolen kiss, each step pulsing with unspoken desire.
We race towards the promise of after, hearts keeping time with the storm.
PROMPT: UMBRELLA
THE TROPICAL STORM
It’d clearly been a mistake to come to the Caribbean during the wet season.
The rain was lashing down most days, and now, a tropical storm was heading our way.
The water was already starting to cause flooding in the streets, and the palm trees were bending in the high winds.
We needed to make it back to our hotel, but we were going to get soaked.
And what we’d been given to cover ourselves with was going to be no help whatsoever.
But then, it was my own fault for asking the cocktail barman if he had any umbrellas… 😎
I state before I start here, this is one of my top 3 pet peeves in life so this is more a release than anything...
'When I come into power (believe me it's just a matter of time) there are several things I shall implement for the benefit of the world. Tackling poverty and hunger are priorities, but that’s expected, right? But high on my list will be laws that make all umbrellas transparent and you must be over 5’ 8” to own one. Do you have any idea how many times I have nearly lost an eye to some squat marauder taking wild unexpected turns like a homicidal Roomba?!
Until then I remain vigilante to the short, dry and spatially oblivious of the world.'
Comparing short people to roombas mate 🤣🤣🤣🤣😭😭 I’m dying
I curled and pulled my knees to my chest. I could hear them shouting inside. Soon they started hurling stuff at each other. The sound of breaking ceramics and glasses always startles me. Though I have heard them countless times.
My heart rate rose. I felt my heart beat in my head. I covered both my ears, then I tried not to move.
Suddenly the shadow I was in disappeared. The umbrella I was hiding under was snatched up. I saw the woman’s angry face.
‘Mum! Don’t…!’
I could not finish my sentence. The slap landed hard on my cheek.
Glad you were able to get out. And all jokes aside, I’m glad everyone was safe. The tension is so palpable in your story above, you captured that stress you must have felt very well.
Yeah, seems like it weighted on me without me realizing it
The rain falls around us. I’m holding onto the black umbrella under lamp-lit streets in London. Underneath its arms, it shields us like a mother hen with her chicks. Urging us to stay close and nestle under the warmth of feathers. I look down at my wife clutching onto me in the cold wet air. I’m her mother hen and she is my chickling. Instead of feathers, she has brunette hair and green eyes.
“Hold me close,” she says.
“Always.”
That’s when I see the bright lights heading toward us and hear the screech of tires on pavement.
Thank you for joining in Caleb 😁
Knowing you have one more moment before the reaper takes you. Precious. 💕
Microdose Unbrella 100 words - dialogue only
“I know! She even had one of those fancy umbrella things, from like Victorian England — you know what I mean?”
“Bumbershoot?”
“…uh, no?”
“parasail?”
“Yeah— wait, no, that’s the hang gliding thing behind the boat.”
“Oh yeah… parasaur? No, that’s a dinosaur…”
“Parasol! That’s it — parasol. Anyway, what was I saying? Oh right, the lady: she’s walking down King Street, it’s like 96,000 degrees out, and she’s in a full lace dress, gloves that reach to her teeth, even one of those bonnet things that like tie onto your head! It was crazy, I’ve never seen anything like it.”
Jefferson Peetree was in agony. It had been three days since he'd cried like a baby under the Urologist's instruments of torture, but the pain was getting worse by the hour.
He hunched over the bowl sweating, red faced, the need to let out that flow of sweet release burned him to the core... but yet not a drop came..
"Jesus help me!" he sobbed, shaking his pain shrivelled manhood gingerly.
The phone rang.
"who is it?" he choked.
"Dr Forbes, from the clinic. I think you might have taken my umbrella home with you. No... not THAT sort of umbrella."
"My knees hit the puddle" made it for me! Rain always gets all the focus and adoration.. puddles need some love too!
what's going on in that one, Miguel? i can't quite catch it...
A guy runs out of hospital. Where he was on his deathbed, to feel the last raindrops on his skin, the guy with an umbrella is the Grim Reaper taking him, as his body gives up. The shouting voices are supposed to be nurses running after him.
ah... of course... i was way off... was thinking about ricin pellets and poison umbrellas...
Franny was no debutante but had never heard anything like how Zozo’s dad talked to Zozo.
He started railing about her ink. Then the studs. Her weight. Her crop top. Even her nose for God’s sake, for which his substandard chromosomes were at least half responsible.
When he left, Zozo preempted any questioning with the same look of daggers she wore throughout the onslaught.
“I know what you’re wondering. Well, he touches me he knows he’s a dead man. Otherwise, he can rain all the shit on me he wants. Long as I don’t care, I won't feel a drop.”
I like the attitude in this one
Thx Nick!
that's a really neat story. you get a lot into those words.
Thx. Loved the reminiscence you wrote yesterday.
ah thanks scott 😎
A solemn piece, beautiful in the way rain is.
Glad you only dealt with a murder mystery setting and not a murder mystery itself.
This teller's piece will be after the evening meal most likely.
Crimson Cover
The rain fell hard as Julie hurried down the alley. She had just passed the bakery when she noticed it—an umbrella lying flat on the ground, its handle broken. Odd.
She bent to pick it up, then froze. A shoe, barely visible, poked out from beneath a dumpster.
Julie’s chest tightened, her breath quickening.
“Looking for something?” a voice said from behind.
She turned slowly, gripping the broken umbrella like a shield.
The man smiled. “You picked the wrong night for a stroll.”
Julie tightened her grip, realizing too late it wasn’t enough.
Cool microstories, Miguel, as usual!
I can’t wait to read your fiction about your weekend’s misadventures! :)