I loved your story, Miguel. It holds quite the punch.
Here’s my contribution to the prompt.
With a final push, cries fill the air. “You did it.” He whips her forehead.
She smiles weakly, melting into the bed. She carried the child for money. Now, he’ll make the money last. She’s lost in a haze of exhaustion until her eyes are pried open.
She blinks in confusion. “Let's celebrate.” He holds up a glass of wine.
She examines the bottle, and her stomach drops when she sees its price. Her work is far from over.
He breathed deeply the garnet liquid in his glass. He noted a bouquet of cherry, currant, and a hint of rose.
Then the first taste, from the tip of the tongue and around the teeth, touching each cheek in turn before settling in the back of the throat. Crisp, spicy, a little sweet. A second tasting added clove and blackberry. Low tannin. Dry, but balanced. So a cool climate. Fog and water. Loamy soil, mixed with clay. Perfect Pinot Noir.
Ed poured his glass of wine with pride. “It’s been breathing for a bit,” he commented. He sniffed the opening of the glass. “It has a fine bouquet.” He rolled the wine around inside his glass. “It has the right colour” he reflected.
“Nectar of the Gods,” intoned Ed with a touch of pride as he sipped his first sip. “I think it works”
Josie snorted. “So now you think you are a connoisseur because you bottled your own wine?”
“It’s a difference of 16 milligrams, Thomas,” Petra said.
“It defies scientific logic,” the skeptic replied. “Prove it.”
“Look at the math. To generate 80 milligrams of wine, it would take 64 milligrams of water, owing to the 20% that’s alcohol and sugar.” Thomas nodded reluctantly. “Using Einstein’s equivalency, it would have required a massive amount of energy. Something like 1.4 times ten to the twelfth power.”
He had promised her a bottle of Château Margaux when they met again in Paris. Ten years later, she sat alone on a rainy balcony near the Seine, the bottle unopened until tonight. Below, a street musician played their song. She poured a glass, letting it breathe, then drank slowly, tasting complex and bittersweet. No text. Not even an excuse. Only the wine, full-bodied and faithful. She raised her glass toward the river and sighed.
Her date was not going well. The dude kept sweating up a storm, using the napkins as towels. He kept talking without allowing her to speak or respond. She had already used the excuse me, but I have to go the bathroom card twice. This date was definitely not going well, so Abbie enjoyed the wine and waited for time to pass.
80 words on"wine" - Hurricane season is expected to be even worse than last year. The problem is that with the DOGEbags fucking with NOAA, we may not see the next one coming. I guess we go back to that old rope dangling from the tree out back. If the rope's wet, it's raining. If the rope is swinging, it's windy, and so forth. All we can do is be prepared with the right supplies. I'm OK. I've got about 500 bottles of wine.
Inside the shop, wine was in colors: Red, White, or Rose, pale yellow; Soft or Dry: Sec, Demi-Sec, still Dry, Sweet, Fruity, with smooth, smokey, spicy, fresh, vivacious, bright undertones; Champagnes in Brut, Sec, Demi-Sec, and Doux; from France, Italy, Spain, the United States, and others. Without sommelier training, how could I ever decide?
Turning, I left the bewildering array behind, drove to a grocery nearby and bought a bottle of low-cost Moscato. Experimention would have to wait.
He poured a full glass from the carafe. “Here you go,” he said, handing his guest the crimson fluid.
She took a sip. “Interesting. I don’t recognize this vintage.”
He smiled. “It’s very special. A very rare vintage indeed.”
She took another sip. “It’s very clean, with notes of blackberry and honey. It’s rich and warm. I rather like it.” She took one more sip. “Ah. O Negative?”
Monty, the picture of feline sophistication, adjusted his morning coat with a sigh. “A gentleman must earn his breakfast,” he declared, eyeing the bird above. Wine grapes shimmered temptingly along the vine. “A touch of vintage with my triumph, perhaps.” He climbed, murmuring, “Elegant... refined...” as tendrils wobbled beneath velvet paws. “These grapes were not made for scaling.” Near the top, he smiled—almost there. The bird chirped, flitted off, and splatted him mid-chest. Monty blinked. “Utterly disgraceful. That was not the bouquet I expected.”
Jeannine, I have recently discovered that my Cat Monty is indeed a way to bring more fun, a different tone and mischief into my writing and I too enjoy it very much, when his muse strikes me.
Gerry was the newest altar boy. He slurred his prayer responses and swerved down the aisle, almost dropping the candles.
“What’s come over you, boy?”
“At St. Mark’s we would sneak sips of the communion grape juice all the time.” Then he giggled and plopped down on his backside.
Father Malcolm thought he had seen it all. He buttonholed the assistant priest. “His family just converted and transferred in from the Methodist church across town. We’re gonna need some coffee!”
Gerry sounds like my dearly departed uncle. He was an altar boy for a while. My Mémère had hopes of his becoming a priest, but it was not in the cards. His altar boy antics are legendary in my family... in addition to his sampling the wine, my favorite story involved a boobie trap he set for the priest, which released a huge pile of marbles when the communion tray was lifted. No, he didn't last long as an altar boy. I suspect you and he might have been pals if you'd met.
Kerry didn’t drink wine, but Ted hadn’t bothered asking before pouring her a hefty glass of merlot.
“You haven’t touched your drink,” he frowned. “It was kind of expensive.”
Wow. Dream date.
Kerry took a polite sip. All wine tasted like vinegar to her.
“Can you taste the plum?” asked Ted.
“Absolutely.”
Ted sighed. “There is no plum. I don’t know why females pretend to know about wine.”
Kerry smiled. “You know what, Ted, I think this date is over.”
I loved your story, Miguel. It holds quite the punch.
Here’s my contribution to the prompt.
With a final push, cries fill the air. “You did it.” He whips her forehead.
She smiles weakly, melting into the bed. She carried the child for money. Now, he’ll make the money last. She’s lost in a haze of exhaustion until her eyes are pried open.
She blinks in confusion. “Let's celebrate.” He holds up a glass of wine.
She examines the bottle, and her stomach drops when she sees its price. Her work is far from over.
He breathed deeply the garnet liquid in his glass. He noted a bouquet of cherry, currant, and a hint of rose.
Then the first taste, from the tip of the tongue and around the teeth, touching each cheek in turn before settling in the back of the throat. Crisp, spicy, a little sweet. A second tasting added clove and blackberry. Low tannin. Dry, but balanced. So a cool climate. Fog and water. Loamy soil, mixed with clay. Perfect Pinot Noir.
I know this is unrelated to the theme, but I wanted to credit you for my latest entry or "Moonspell" that I finally revised. I hope you like it!
https://open.substack.com/pub/rgarron/p/moonspell?r=336zru&utm_campaign=post&utm_medium=web&showWelcomeOnShare=false
Saving it and getting to it later!
Ed poured his glass of wine with pride. “It’s been breathing for a bit,” he commented. He sniffed the opening of the glass. “It has a fine bouquet.” He rolled the wine around inside his glass. “It has the right colour” he reflected.
“Nectar of the Gods,” intoned Ed with a touch of pride as he sipped his first sip. “I think it works”
Josie snorted. “So now you think you are a connoisseur because you bottled your own wine?”
80 mg of WINE
“It’s a difference of 16 milligrams, Thomas,” Petra said.
“It defies scientific logic,” the skeptic replied. “Prove it.”
“Look at the math. To generate 80 milligrams of wine, it would take 64 milligrams of water, owing to the 20% that’s alcohol and sugar.” Thomas nodded reluctantly. “Using Einstein’s equivalency, it would have required a massive amount of energy. Something like 1.4 times ten to the twelfth power.”
Thomas grimaced, “That’s beyond comprehension.”
“That’s why they call it a miracle, silly.”
That's a good one Gillian!
Thank you my friend!!
hmmm---sounds like a wedding party trick?
I would LOVE to be able to make an extra bottle appear…
Or a dozen water jugs full ;)
Yeah I do suppose if you’re using that much energy, you might as well get yourself stocked up!!
Promises
He had promised her a bottle of Château Margaux when they met again in Paris. Ten years later, she sat alone on a rainy balcony near the Seine, the bottle unopened until tonight. Below, a street musician played their song. She poured a glass, letting it breathe, then drank slowly, tasting complex and bittersweet. No text. Not even an excuse. Only the wine, full-bodied and faithful. She raised her glass toward the river and sighed.
“Wine ages better than promises.”
Her date was not going well. The dude kept sweating up a storm, using the napkins as towels. He kept talking without allowing her to speak or respond. She had already used the excuse me, but I have to go the bathroom card twice. This date was definitely not going well, so Abbie enjoyed the wine and waited for time to pass.
PROMPT: WINE
THE BOTTLES
We’d just bought some brand new BB guns, and excitedly took them out to the garden, where we lined up a small row of bottles as targets.
But just as the first ball bearing struck, and the glass loudly shattered, our mother came running out of the house, screaming for us to stop.
We told her we were just practicing our shooting, and she’d said we could use some wine bottles.
“Yes”, she replied, “But I meant the empty ones…!” 🍷😎🍷
I do not drink wine
It's a medical condition
I had quite a time
Figuring out my situation
I got the runs when I drank
My.good times always sank
Onto a toilet for the worse
I thought I had a curse
But a doctor from way back when
Earned his pay by giving children everytime a shot
Needed or not
So, developed candidiasis
Whie THE DOC gathered fees
And moved into a big house
With no regard for me,the louse!
So I stay away from carbohydrates ,
Lots of protein is my fate
While the world is drinking wine,
DRINKING water suits me just fine .
THANK YOU , MIGUEL!
Thank you , Scott!
Water here, too. My medical condition causes alcohol to feel like burning acid in my belly. I figure it's healthier, at least.
Thanks, Jeannine!
You can sit in the corner with me when the drinking starts !
80 words on"wine" - Hurricane season is expected to be even worse than last year. The problem is that with the DOGEbags fucking with NOAA, we may not see the next one coming. I guess we go back to that old rope dangling from the tree out back. If the rope's wet, it's raining. If the rope is swinging, it's windy, and so forth. All we can do is be prepared with the right supplies. I'm OK. I've got about 500 bottles of wine.
Inside the shop, wine was in colors: Red, White, or Rose, pale yellow; Soft or Dry: Sec, Demi-Sec, still Dry, Sweet, Fruity, with smooth, smokey, spicy, fresh, vivacious, bright undertones; Champagnes in Brut, Sec, Demi-Sec, and Doux; from France, Italy, Spain, the United States, and others. Without sommelier training, how could I ever decide?
Turning, I left the bewildering array behind, drove to a grocery nearby and bought a bottle of low-cost Moscato. Experimention would have to wait.
Back when I could drink wine, mine came in a box. 😉
80mg - Wine
Based on one of my favorite movies, ' Lost Boys'.
_________________________________________________________
Star was new in town, quiet and curious. At school, some kids invited her to a party. Wanting to fit in, she said yes.
The house was dark, music loud.
A boy handed her a glass. “Try this wine.”
She sipped.
It tasted strange—metallic, sweet.
Everyone stared.
Her head spun.
“What was that?” she asked.
The boy smiled, showing sharp teeth. “Not wine,” he said. “Vampire blood.”
Star's heart raced.
The room blurred.
Everything after tonight was about to change.
"A Rare Vintage"
He poured a full glass from the carafe. “Here you go,” he said, handing his guest the crimson fluid.
She took a sip. “Interesting. I don’t recognize this vintage.”
He smiled. “It’s very special. A very rare vintage indeed.”
She took another sip. “It’s very clean, with notes of blackberry and honey. It’s rich and warm. I rather like it.” She took one more sip. “Ah. O Negative?”
He laughed. “The very same. Now, drink up.”
She drained her glass.
80 mg of Wine
OD by 4
Monty, the picture of feline sophistication, adjusted his morning coat with a sigh. “A gentleman must earn his breakfast,” he declared, eyeing the bird above. Wine grapes shimmered temptingly along the vine. “A touch of vintage with my triumph, perhaps.” He climbed, murmuring, “Elegant... refined...” as tendrils wobbled beneath velvet paws. “These grapes were not made for scaling.” Near the top, he smiled—almost there. The bird chirped, flitted off, and splatted him mid-chest. Monty blinked. “Utterly disgraceful. That was not the bouquet I expected.”
I love your elegant poetry, but when you decide to go funny, you do a great job! 🐱
Jeannine, I have recently discovered that my Cat Monty is indeed a way to bring more fun, a different tone and mischief into my writing and I too enjoy it very much, when his muse strikes me.
Gerry was the newest altar boy. He slurred his prayer responses and swerved down the aisle, almost dropping the candles.
“What’s come over you, boy?”
“At St. Mark’s we would sneak sips of the communion grape juice all the time.” Then he giggled and plopped down on his backside.
Father Malcolm thought he had seen it all. He buttonholed the assistant priest. “His family just converted and transferred in from the Methodist church across town. We’re gonna need some coffee!”
😂
Gerry sounds like my dearly departed uncle. He was an altar boy for a while. My Mémère had hopes of his becoming a priest, but it was not in the cards. His altar boy antics are legendary in my family... in addition to his sampling the wine, my favorite story involved a boobie trap he set for the priest, which released a huge pile of marbles when the communion tray was lifted. No, he didn't last long as an altar boy. I suspect you and he might have been pals if you'd met.