Fiction Writings – Page 2 – Married in Arkansas

First, let me share this. I put in a prompt into Suno ai to create a little song about dust bunnies. My mom called them dust balls but I call them dust bunnies and this is what Suno created. I really think it is quite funny. I do suggest reading the story before you listen to this. I am also going to create a YouTube video on my channel.

This is a little story written by my mother a long time ago. Lord rest her soul—she passed in 2014, and she had written this cute little story. I guess this is where I got my creative writing skills. I did clean up the punctuation and tweak it a little bit more to make it more current and interesting. I hope you enjoy this.

Mrs. Martha decided to clean the house while her husband took the kids fishing on a Saturday afternoon. After searching a first-floor closet, she found her old Hoover Vacuum Cleaner in an upstairs hall closet. Unsure if it still worked, she decided to try it in Sammy’s and Bobby’s bedroom.

Under the bed, dust balls lurked everywhere. Martha plugged it in, stepped on the foot lever, and clicked on the on/off switch. The swooshing and whirling of the machine was so loud it vibrated the carpeted floor and the hallway too. All at once, the dust balls got scared.

Momma Dustball had been living happily under Sammy’s bed. She yelled to her children. They were the smaller dust balls Harry, Mary, Jerry and baby Charlie.

“Hear that?” Frantic now, Momma Dustball began to rush her children. “Run up under the bed quickly now!”

The children were yelling and crying in need of a place to hide.

“Up here children.” Momma helped baby Charlie first. “Hold on, Jerry. Harry help your brother and sister. Get them up under the bed frame, quickly!“

As the vacuum passed nearby, Mary held onto her Mommy. The vacuum moved back and forth closer to the bed. The others gripped the bed frame while scared dustballs floated around.

“Oh no! Help me!” Harry yelled as he lost his grip and flew towards the strange machinery that only Momma Dustball had seen before. Just before he was pulled into nothingness, the noise and wind stopped, and everyone sighed with relief. He was safe.

“You are all safe for now. Come here, my babies.” Momma Dustball hugged her little ones tightly.

The End.

From my second-story window, I could see the old bag lady. She pushed her wobbly Harvest Foods shopping cart across the Eighth Street Bridge. She wobbled like the cart from an old hip injury and sang an inaudible song as the wheels squeaked. I could always tell when it was midnight because that’s when I’d hear the first sign of her approach from the south. Looking out my window, I could see the library that I had checked books out from last week, and a tall apartment building for retired people blocked my view of the state capital. When the dirty, gray-haired woman’s singing voice died away, I would get restless and felt the need to walk to the park a block away.
I might as well get up. I can’t sleep again tonight. I said to myself as the baby kicked inside of me. I wore the sleeveless, blue-striped dress my husband’s grandmother made for me. We couldn’t afford to go out and buy maternity clothes. We couldn’t afford anything better than a one-bedroom, roach-infested apartment in the downtown area. I grabbed my keys and slipped on my sandals with a broken strap. Might as well go to the park and soak my aching feet. I descended the twenty steps easily. I was six months pregnant and, at least, I could still see my toes.
At the bottom of the entranceway, a white aluminum door was my only protection from the bums who lived on the streets. I had my keys to unlock that thin door and the solid wooden door to our upstairs apartment, but safety was the last thing on my mind. I walked south to the corner where a beer/liquor/candy/cigarette store stood. I sure to miss the sweet smell of cigarette smoke. I thought as I saw the display ad for Marlboro. I quit smoking when I found out I was pregnant in March.
Our street was well lit, but the street going east and west was quiet and dark. At the 3rd house on the left, some people were sitting on their front porch. I assumed they were talking about me. I could feel goose bumps make my arm hairs stand on end. I walked faster until I passed by the cold brick house. I never felt safe until I reached that fountain. The red, yellow, and blue lights under the water made the fountain iridescent. The safe place had a low, five-brick-wide edge for me to sit on and to feel the sprinkling of stray water hit my face and legs. I slipped off my shoes and plunged my feet into the water. The icy water felt angelic on my tired ankles.
I wonder where my husband is tonight? I wonder if he even knows that I come here? I wonder if he even cares? This is my special place. This fountain takes away all my pain. It makes me feel that the only things that exist in life are the two of us. My baby kicks inside of me. I lay back on the hard, cold bricks that feel my frustration. I hear nothing. I see nothing. I relax to get away from my life.
To the east, a harvest moon like a big white ball in the sky hides behind a five-story building under construction that has ghost-like light shining through its big holes. A silver fence surrounds it and protects it from the park. A brown, haunting gazebo sits on empty barrels above the man-made, clear water pond. South of that, a high-foot bridge, with wire across the top so no one—two women and three teenage boys—can plummet to their deaths onto the busy freeway underneath. To the west of the safe place, 6th Street is lined with crack houses and stolen cars.
Sometimes, I would see red lights illuminating from a bedroom window or a drug deal going down on the street. If they looked my way, I would pretend I never saw a thing. I pulled my wet, wrinkled feet out of the water and slipped them into the old sandals. I walked east, toward 6th Street, and saw a group of men coming out of the shadows towards me. I turned north. I walked faster. When I reached the corner store, I heard a voice say, “We’ll get’r nex time.” I knew it was the nineties, but safety wasn’t important to me. All I cared about was getting away from the cramped apartment and finding a place where I could dream.