The Friday prompt for Stream of Consciousness Saturday is “bookmark.” Use as a noun, use it as a verb, use it way you’d like. Just write, let it go, have fun!

Tagged for later with a post-it note, 
a quick "save" to a Pinterest board, 
a highlighted passage in yellow,
a turned down corner of a page in a book, 
a scribbled on scrap of paper lost in the blackhole of my purse, 
a bookmarked website I want to visit again...
but for what again? 
A craft that looks promising,
a perfect quote, an outfit I want to replicate, 
a place I want to visit,
something funny I want to remember, 
the way a room was designed, wisdom for my soul,
a new exercise program to try.
a how to
a need to 
or a want to. 
Yet, I can highlight and tag or bookmark away, 
and most likely will continue to do so, 
only to never return to any of it
to view again. 

The Friday Reminder and Prompt for #SoCS April 11, 2026 provided by Linda G. HiIl

​The seagulls circled in restless spirals, almost impatient, waiting long enough for him to take his leave. I lie on the cooling sand and watch him shrink. Our small sailboat carving its way through gray waves, disappearing with no plans of return.

​Salt and blood mark my tongue. My vision becomes cloudy. It doesn’t matter. There’s nothing more to see anyway. What’s done is done. The gulls no longer wait, and they argue over me as if I’m already gone. They tug and tear. 

We both knew one of us wasn’t leaving the island. I’d just hoped it wasn’t me. 
                          
                            (100 Words Exact)


Friday Fictioneer challenge is hosted by Rochell Wisoff-Fields. Read other stories base on the picture above Here.

​ “Don’t touch that,” the lady shifted forward. “I’m warning you.”

To that point, she hadn’t moved or said a word but allowed me to carry trash bag after trash bag from her home. Having worked with hoarders, I knew this situation wouldn’t be much different.

"It looks like this bucket has been up here a long time, Ruby.” I stepped up the ladder. “It’s time to let it go.”

“Don’t,” she said. One simple word.

I pulled the bucket toward me and found it rather heavy. Once at eye level to peer inside, I turned and vomited on the floor. 

                                                                                                       (100 Words Exactly)

​Rochelle Wisoff-Fields is the host of Friday Fictioneers.

Leave a comment! Let me know you stopped by! 

Comments feed me :) 

From the dark corners of her website, “Contemporary Wiccan,” she printed the customized order.

Crushing the gooseberries along with their toxic leaves, she simmered and stirred them in the bronze kettle pot—nine circles counterclockwise and then nine circles the opposite.

As an added touch, she finalized the mixture with a dash of Devil’s helmet, a pinch of thornapple, a tablespoon of brown sugar, and a hint of vanilla extract for a palatable taste.

Once brewed to its final thickness, she poured the tar-black jam into a small decorative jar, sealed it with a lid, and gave it a simple tap of her finger for more than good measure.

The cutesy, printed label, “Cackleberry Conserve” mentioned nothing of the contents hidden agenda, touting ingredients of freshly picked blackberries, pure cane sugar, natural preserves, and orange zest—nothing nefarious at all.
​
But for those who knew exactly where to find her and what precisely they were looking for, she offered up the most extemporary of customer service. 

Six Sentence Story hosted by GirlieOnTheEdge. This week's prompt word: ORDER

​Join HERE or read other stories. They are all so different and oh so fun!

Comments feed my soul! Literally, it's how I stay alive :)

“That is the fakest, saddest looking piece of shit I’ve ever seen.” Harry waved an arm around, indicating the webbed trellis. “Seriously. Look at it! Who do they think they’re fooling?”

Scarlet only stared at him.

“They’re not, that’s who! Noone is going to believe THAT”—he swung his arms for emphasis—“is real!”

“They’re not going for real, darling. Besides, they can’t. They don’t have the capabilities.”

“But it’s a mockery of my reality, my art, my livelihood!”

“It’s a haunted corn maze, darling. That’s all. Just a bit of fun.”

Harry huffed.
​
Then the two spiders crawled away. 

​                                                                             (Exactly 100 Words)

Friday Fictioneers is hosted by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields. Check out other posts or add your own here.

CHILLED WHISPERS

​I had only meant to walk along the edge line of the darkening forest. 

Now, the branches of the trees hung thick overhead, knitting together to obscure my view of the sky and hinder the light of the moon.
​
The woods had drawn me in, circling, tightening, guiding me deeper – the path becoming a perilous influencer. 

Each foot placement I took was matched by another, a synchronized march mimicking mine, stepping when I stepped and pausing when I rested, though I was certain I had entered the forest alone.

I turned quickly around, trying to catch what followed me, and saw nothing – just as I had expected – and released my breath. 

But when I began my slow journey again, trying to find my way out of the tree of mazes, chilled air brushed against my ear and whispered, “I think... you already know... how this... is going... to end.”

PROMPT WORD: "MARCH" brought to you by GirlieOnTheEdge

For this weeks Writer’s Workshop, John Holton offers six writing prompts and we can choose one of the prompts (or as many as we want). I've chosen two of the prompts this week:

1. Write a post inspired by the word taxes.
2. Write a post in exactly 7 sentences.

So here we go...

FRIGGIN' TAXES

I’ve found myself wrestling with the idea of not wanting to pay federal taxes, to join the national tax strike, especially when every paycheck feels tighter than the last and the federal government has lost its damn mind.

The temptation to claim exempt and keep my money in a high yield savings account seems quite like the, "stick it to the man" I'm looking for.

But at the same time, I'm terrified of the consequences.

There’s a constant tension between not wanting my hard earned money to go towards things I do not support (while also not feeling represented) and understanding that the tax system has rules with real punishments.

I’ve heard TikTok stories of penalties, audits, and garnishments that make the risk feel very real.

Even if the short-term gain seems appealing, the long-term uncertainty creates a kind of lingering anxiety - and I'm already one anxious person.

​For now, I’m stuck somewhere in the middle—wanting to take a stand somehow but wary of the price that might come with it in the end.

​From her website, “ Contemporary Wiccan ,” she printed the nameless order. Crushing the gooseberries along with their toxic leaves, she simmered and stirred, then poured the tar-black jam into a jar. The cute, printed label mentioned nothing of the contents hidden agenda.

​(41 Words Exactly)

Join Sammi Cox’s Weekend Writing Prompt, where the challenge is “gooseberry” in exactly 41 words. Weekend Writing Prompt #460: This weekend your challenge is to write a poem or a piece of prose in exactly 41 words using the word “Gooseberry”.

I rest my backside against the porch railing,  a dangling cigarette between my fingers, letting my thoughts grow more agitated as I watch my husband through the window.

He laughs at something on the television, unaware of how carefully I’ve begun to study his routines, his idiosyncrasies, and the simple yet overly boring structure of his life.

I take a long drag, letting out the smoke slowly, and eye the ax kept for splitting wood, its weight and reason no longer just practical in my mind.

I tell myself I’m only imagining it—how easily one swing could change everything—but even as the thought keeps returning, I wonder if I'm truly capable of something so vile and barbaric.

The air suddenly feels heavier now, thick with every small cruelty I’ve swallowed and every silence I’ve kept over the years.

Even as I put out the butt of the cigarette, grinding it into the dirt with the soul of my shoe, I realize I haven’t decided what direction my life will take—only that I've decided something will change tonight.

​​PROMPT WORD: "SWING" brought to you by GirlieOnTheEdge