The Starving Activist is the sometimes-home for words. AR Neal (that’s me) finds them, cultivates them, and leaves them here. Enjoy.

Scribe's Cave Picture Prompt: Uncle's House

Mother licked her handkerchief-covered finger and wiped furiously around my cheeks. "How do you get so filthy in such a short time?" Before I could answer she had yanked me up the steps. "Stand up straight; Uncle's coming." A cloud swept over the sun, the wind stopped blowing, and zombies scratched at my back. Or not."Come in," said the shadow that opened the door. Mother nudged me to my doom through curtains of ivy. I looked up, up, and still could not see a face. "Hello, little one," the shadow addressed me. "It's fine, Eugenia; you can go. The child will be fine," the shadow addressed Mother."I'm just a telegram away," she threw over her shoulder. I guess she felt the zombies, too; she hurried back out into the sun.She was gone, and I was alone. Or not."Can you fly yet, little one?""I have no wings, Uncle.""Ah, your father's genes, I suppose.""But Mother hasn't any wings either, Uncle.""No?" There was  a sound like many bats. "Guess it's just me then. Let me take you to your rooms." He grabbed me and we were off, up! The summer would be grand.38.%20Eastern%20State%20Penitentiary%20-%20Philadelphia%2C%20Pennsylvania

I decided to use just one of the two SCPP photos this week in my 198-word tribute to Mr. Ray Bradbury's October Country story, "Uncle Einar." I hope I did it justice. Thank you, Mr. Bradbury; thank you.Click the photo link up.

August Month In Review at Flash Fiction Chronicles

It's Not Too Late!