Inside the Mind of Isadora


18 Comments

WDYS – A Murder Mystery Surprise

I was reading when my eyes felt the softest hands on my face. You couldn’t mistake my joy when I saw my granddaughter. 

“Let’s go, Nanny,” she said. “I’m taking you to lunch.” 

“Such a pleasant surprise, dear.” 

“You read murder mysteries all the time, so I’m taking you to one,” she revealed as she whisked me away.

The room darkened, setting the stage for the actors to enter.

After the lights were out, an aura of mysticism filled the room immediately.

Creepy, creaking sounds filled the atmosphere. 

I knew it was a Murder Mystery train, but I felt a cold chill.

I was beginning to feel it would be much more frightening than I had expected.

“Be Gone, were the first words spoken. You’re not needed here.”

I thought, What on earth does he mean? 

Fear stirred within me.

“Fear not,” I hear him say. 

Trembling, I wonder how he knows I’m afraid?

A long silence, along with heavy breathing, permeates the room.

Something or someone brushes past my shoulder. 

I scream. 

cannot stop. 

Suddenly, the lights go up.

 I hear shouts of “Surprise!!! Happy Birthday!!!”

2022©Isadora Delavega

~~~~~~~~~

For Sadje’s ‘What Do You See’ Challenge 

to join in click here

~~~~~~~~~

                                                         

Word Count: 188

Genre Flash Fiction

Photo Credit:Andrea Piacquad @ Pexels

 

 


8 Comments

WDYS – Thomas Reads Aloud

#WhatDoYouSee #139

Teachers saw the possibilities in Thomas. From the first day he entered the classroom, he was enthusiastic about learning everything there was to learn. 

His mother had always taken pride in the way he looked. His father wore vests, and collared shirts, Thomas wanted to wear them too. When she heard the children would be reading from their primer on Friday, she was as excited as Thomas but nervous too. 

Had he sufficiently learned to read after three months? 

She thought he was bright, but she was his mother. After all, he was only 6. 

She began to have thoughts of her own mother’s words:

A child is like a butterfly in the wind.

Some can fly higher than others

But, each one flies the best it can.

Why compare one to another?

Each one is different.

Each one is special.

Each one is beautiful.

She decided to have faith in her little Thomas.

2022©Isadora Delavega

The Power of Reading

~~~~~~~~~

For Sadje’s ‘What Do You See’ Challenge 

to join in click here

~~~~~~~~~

                                                           Image credit: Ben White @ Unsplash

 

 


11 Comments

WDYS – Remember & Return to Me

#WhatDoYouSee

Who are You?

I see you in the broken mirrored glass.

My eyes express my fragmented edges. 

Where has the very rational, 

patient, and very curious person gone?

My desire to learn and meet new challenges is gone. 

He will return after the world settles again.

Our freedoms are stolen because, in war, there isn’t a choice. 

Our life’s emotions are destroyed and stripped away, separating us.

Remember and return to me. 

2022©Isadora Delavega

 

~~~~~~~~~

For Sadje’s ‘What Do You See’ Challenge 

to join in click here

~~~~~~~~~

                                                           Image credit: Amine M’Siouri @ Pexels

 

 


15 Comments

Her Name is Ruby

#WhatDoYouSee

She’s pensive. 

He wonders if she’s unhappy with the long stem red roses. The florist had assured him that all women loved red roses. 

She seems deep in thought. 

He was hoping for a big smile and the touch of her soft hand on his. Instead, I’m feeling the Cabernet slide down my tightly muscled throat. Dating is difficult, but meeting for the first time in person instead of on Face Time felt awkward.

Ruby wondered if he could feel her angst.

She loathed her name. She was tired of being told it was an intense color. The only thing she felt strongly about was her angry resentment for her mother. She was a prostitute who wore ruby red colors because the men she accompanied prized the color, especially on her curvy body.

Was this a joke my mother played on me?

The name Ruby means nothing to me. It’s the color of blood, a sign of death. A death I would take pleasure in if it just happened to her by chance.

 Yes, red long-stemmed roses from Randolph would have been lovely if she didn’t hate the color.

Smiling, she squeezes Randolph’s hand. “Thank you for the lovely flowers. You shouldn’t have”.

2022©Isadora DeLaVega

~~~~~~~~~

For Sadje’s ‘What Do You See’ Challenge 

to join in click here

~~~~~~~~~

                                                           Image credit: Olga Solodilova @ Unsplash

 

 


13 Comments

No Words Left

It’s been a year now. 

As I put the key in the door, I remember the day I realized I had to move in. 

My father had always been demanding. I was reluctant to take on the responsibility.

Sure, I could have added him to the long list of seniors waiting for a room at the senior assisted living. But, after all, he was my dad. 

 On that summer morning, my father tried to open the neighbors’ door, helping me make my decision. 

His memory was fading. Confused and exasperated, he called. I knew he was desperate. He would never admit his decline.

After he died, an older gentleman approached me at the wake.

He said, “You’re a good son.”

Sadly, Alzheimer’s had prevented my father from telling me.

2021©Isadora DeLaVega

~~~~~~~~~

For Sadje’s ‘What Do You See’ Challenge 

to join in click here


12 Comments

Santa brought a Schwinn

Christmas fills our minds with memories we hold dear. I’ve shared this story before.

It’s a tale of the innocence of childhood. I hope you enjoy it again … it’s a repost.

If you’re reading it for the first time, I hope it brings memories of your past Chrismas’.Dear Santa, 

I forgot to mention I want a bicycle. 

Thank You, Doris  

(my family called me this name when I was growing up)

 

On Christmas morning, those were the words that rattled inside my mind when I saw this very shiny bicycle near our Christmas tree when I was 9 years old.

I know what most of you are thinking, ‘Why did she believe in Santa Claus at age 9?’  Isn’t that a little old to believe in things that don’t exist? 

But, I always believed everything my parents said to me even if classmates said there wasn’t a Santa Claus. Parents wouldn’t fib to their children. Besides, we were taught every day in Catholic school that lying was a sin. I didn’t want to believe my parents would commit a sin on purpose. My little sister was 5, then, and she believed in Santa. Should I have spoiled it for her? No. And so, I believed. 

On this particular Christmas morning, I questioned whether or not I’d asked for the right gifts. Even though, I had 2 gifts this year there had always been just one. I must have been really good. 

I was thrilled when I opened my first gift and it was the special Shirley Temple doll I had asked for. She had the prettiest smile and blonde curls. She was wearing a plaid skirt with a crisp white blouse and a beret atop those ringlets of curls. 

The second gift was the exact beret Shirley Temple wore when I’d seen her at the Macy’s store on 5th Avenue. My family had gone into the city to see Santa and all of the wonderful New York decorations. As I think back to that day, my grandmother had taken us to have lunch while my mother did some errands. Doing Santa’s work, I’m sure. Well, he did fulfill my wishes. 

But there in the middle of the living room, next to a brightly lit tree, was this blue and white shiny bicycle. It had a giant white bow and my older sisters’ name on it. It was so pretty. It was remarkably high too. I could barely reach the handlebars. It was gleaming and satiny bright. When my sister saw it she squealed and jumped all around the living room. She had a huge smile on her face while slight giggles emitted as she spoke. We all gathered around it as we oohed and aahed. 

Excited and ready to get her new bicycle outside, my sister ran into her room to get dressed. I waited in the living room with my Shirley Temple doll. I knew she wasn’t going to be able to ride.  When she grabbed her bicycle and was ready to go my mother told her she couldn’t go outside. 

Stunned she asked, why? 

She was told the bad news. It had snowed 5” during the night. The sidewalks were covered in snow.

Well, she wasn’t having any of it. She trotted down the flight of stairs with her new bicycle and went outside. She rode on the snow. Of course, she fell a lot too. It didn’t matter to her. She wasn’t going to be stopped. All of us watched from the window and laughed.

Weeks later the weather improved. Eventually, she gave me a ride on her new bicycle. I didn’t know how to ride a 2 wheel bike. She had to hold onto me and the bike as I attempted to reach the pedals. It was futile. I was too short. Since she’d asked for a boys bike with the bar that ran across from the handlebars to the seat, my riding days quickly ended.  We did have great fun rides with me sitting on the back fender while holding onto the seat.

Four years later, when she left home at 18, I was given the bicycle. I’d learned to ride a 2 wheel bike by then but I was never as interested in bike riding as she was. 

I guess I did get the right gifts from Santa that Christmas, after all.

2019©Isadora DeLaVega


55 Comments

Friday Fictioneers – The Farm

Their marriage was good. They had dreams.

He wanted a farm. 

She needed space; wide open space to breathe.

Their friends lived on the adjoining farm. 

Dad rode his tractor in cover-alls, a plaid shirt and a straw hat Mama made him.

Mama’s floral house-dress draped with her home sewn apron, worn proudly, was as stylish as she wanted to be.

She’d carry brother on her hip while holding a wash cloth in her other hand.

It was a time for fixing things. Things we kept forever. Things we treasured.

It was a way of life they loved.

2018©Isadora DeLaVega

 

 

Genre: Flash Fiction

Word Count: 100

Photo Prompt: Nathan Sowers

To join Rochelle and her Friday Fictioneers challenge

click here

to read more great stories – click blue froggy


46 Comments

Friday Fictioneers – Footprints in the Snow

Everyone was beginning to get cabin fever.

How much longer could they be snowed in without tempers flaring?

The wood pile was getting low. Soon, they’d have to go outside and chop some more.

A chill swept through Helga’s spine. It would be her luck to lose when they were choosing who’d collect the fire wood next.

She was happy to be away from them, even for a short time. She couldn’t bear having Niklaus around. He was being crudely salacious.

Helga turned.

Footprints in the snow appeared behind her.

“Niklaus,” she screeched.

Frightened, she ran.

2018©Isadora DeLaVega

Genre: Flash Fiction
Word Count: 100
Photo Prompt©J-Hardy Carroll

 

 Join Rochelle and her Friday Fictioneers challenge
click here or the froggy button above

 

 

 

 


24 Comments

Footprints in the Sand

The sun is sparkling over the crystal turquoise water. It’s warm as I lie on the sand staring at the sky. A warm sensation fills me with extraordinary peace. I feel free. I’m in the center of this beautiful landscape.

Colorful sailboats skim across the water. Beautifully dressed flamingos settle by the water’s edge. They resemble little gentlemen wearing pink shirts with yellow spotted ties. I watch them for some time. Their pink bodies blending with the turquoise water.

Upon a mossy tree filled mound sits a young man painting. His brush capturing footprints left behind on the grey speckled sand.

As sunset begins, he picks up another canvas ready to paint the night sky. The sky changes from a sunny yellow and blue to pink, red and orange. Stars dot the darkness. I’m feeling exuberant as I watch the changes. Another day’s set. Tomorrow, the exquisite scenery will return.

2017©Isadora DeLaVega

Genre: Short Story
Word Count: 150
Photo Prompt: aFrank

aFa Writing Challenge – Footprints in the Sand

to join in click here