"The Power of Love" by Kay West

The prairie grass was dry, brittle, long past the bright green shoots of spring, the ripeness of summer grain. The house she just fled from was as bleak as her grieving heart.
  
Sarah pulled herself upright, determined to return to those waiting.

It wasn’t her nature to collapse and give in. Sarah came from sturdy stock, steady, and dependable. But with the untimely death of both of her parents, she was overwhelmed by her sense of loss and abandonment.

The plains wind blew tendrils of dark hair across her face.

“Get up, Sarah,” her mother’s voice whispered in the wind. “Get up. We’re with you still.”

Sarah faintly heard her father’s voice entwined in the currents of air, “Reach deep, dear daughter!”

Comforted by the belief that she hadn’t been left totally alone, she did as her father urged and reached deep, deep enough to get to her feet and walk slowly back to the house.

Strengthened by love that not even death could take from her, Sarah looked up at the brightening sky and resolved to provide the support the others would need of her now.

~ Fiction Inspired by Andrew Wyeth's Christina's World ~

"An Education" by Kay West

Vice-Principal William Connors assured them he had done his utmost to persuade the Mayor to keep their small rural school open, in spite of the Depression wiping out any chance of funds. Everyone was hit hard. It was a bleak time for the school and the community.

“But, what about the children, Bill? We can’t forget our duty to the children!”

“Margaret, I’ve done what I can. I assured the Mayor and town council that the teachers and staff will work for next to nothing. There’s nothing more to be done. It’s a lost cause, I tell you.

Margaret’s back straightened. “I’ve not been the principal of this school as long as I have to give in now! There has to be something else we can do to save the school for the kids!”

The three of them turned at the knock at the door.

“Who can that be at this late hour?”

“Excuse me, folks. Sorry to interrupt your meeting.” It was Mrs. Betty Brown. Five of her brood of children attended the school. She held an old cigar box in her arms as she timidly poked her head through the doorway.

“I don’t mean to be a bother, but all of us parents got together and took up an offering. And we met with Mr. Armstrong at the bank to mortgage our homes. Our kids are our lifeblood. We hope this money will help keep our school open. If our kids lose their education, we all lose!”

Margaret threw her arms around Mrs. Brown. The principal knew Betty and the other parents hadn’t learned their wisdom from a book, but was humbled by their determination to provide something better for their children.

~ Fiction Inspired by Edward Hopper's Midnight Meeting ~

"Untitled" by Cara Strickland

Finally living instead.  Reading grew dull.

~ Six Word Story ~

"Haunted Words" by Cara Strickland

I can see them. Even as she reads the sweat and tear-stained words, far from the ravaged home and family she describes. She speaks in measured tones which fill the hushed auditorium of the out of the way college that I attend. We are transfixed. She has lost everything. Afterwards, we go for a drink. She comes along and I wonder how she can, after all she was, and no longer is. She tells me, though I don't ask: "I have not truly lost them. They appear, every time I tell their story."

 

~ Fiction inspired by Andrew Wyeth's Christina's World ~

"Untitled" by Cara Strickland

Inciting a riot in stocking feet.

~ Six Word Story ~

"Untitled" by Cara Strickland

It could have been the middle of the day. The coffee was on. Light streamed through the window. He whistled as he watched me, waiting for our visitor to leave. He had done his part, the license was signed and sealed. The other two had gone home already, but I could tell, he was hoping for a cup of coffee and a chat.

He was an old friend of the family after all. 

 

My husband (would that ever sound natural?) continued to whistle and began to tap his foot in time. I loved him for not throwing out the old judge, though I knew he'd like nothing better than to be alone now, possibly forever. I tried to seem sympathetic to both at once. Truth was, I wasn't sure I was ready for the judge to leave just yet. 

 

"Coffee?" I asked the judge, my voice trembling a little. 

 

"Don't mind if I do," he said. "If it's not too much trouble." 

 

My husband caught my eye and must have read my soul. 

 

"I'm going to bed," he said. "Goodnight Judge." 

 

I poured the coffee, my eyes on his retreating form, nearing the bedroom. Our bedroom. 

 

"You know what, Judge, I'm gonna head to bed too," I heard myself say. "Getting married has taken it out of me."

 

He smiled and left without a word, leaving his coffee on the table.

 

~ Fiction Inspired by Edward Hopper's Midnight Meeting ~ 

"Pay Day" by Stephanie Hill

“And now, you will uphold your end of the deal, Mr. Figgins. Lie down on your back and keep your shirt sleeves rolled up,” Ms. Helmsley ordered.

“Can't we talk about this? I've got another idea!” Figgins pleaded.

“The time for talk has passed. You accepted our investment and have produced no return. Guido? Open your kit.”

The man in the cocked-back fedora obeyed. From the orange and yellow case he retrieved a set of rubber tubes, plastic bags, large needles and hand-pump bladders.

Figgins lay down and breathed heavy. Guido swabbed Figgins' inner arms with iodine and felt for veins with his fingertip. He pressed a needle into each arm and secured them with tape. Rubber tubes ran from the needles to the bags.

“Both!?” Figgins yelled. He had forsaken all else to try and turn a profit, but workaholism, especially with other people's money, rarely pays off.

~ fiction inspired by Edward Hopper's Midnight Meeting ~

"Back on Earth..." by Stephanie Hill

Dreamed. Got hungry. Learned to cook.

~ Six Word Story ~

"Untitled" by Stephanie Hill

Christina's World hung over Meme's couch in a retirement community apartment, a metaphor for her inability to return to the beloved farm of her childhood.

“Such a beautiful piece of art,” someone absently commented. The story goes that Christina made it, dragging her limp legs one bony arms length after the other, uphill, through the pale, dry color of the wheat field bristle after harvest.

These take time: reconciling oneself with lost years; going on one's own from a lonely field to the threshold of Home.

~ fiction inspired by Andrew Wyeth's Christina's World ~

"The Fall" by Marissa Carlson

She'd had no idea when leaving the farmhouse that morning that it would be so difficult to go back. But it was. Standing below the road, looking at the pale gray buildings against the bleached sky, she willed her legs to carry her back. But they wouldn't.

Too many things slammed in those ugly buildings. Too many voices raised. Why had she come here? "It's your bed, now get on," she whispered.

A gargantuan effort moved one leg towards her home, but the rest of her body went so limp she fell; felt the short wheat pinch into her thigh. Unable to retreat or advance, she wept.

It was only supposed to be a short walk, and breakfast would be late.

~ Fiction inspired by Andrew Wyeth's Christina's World ~