Poor Thing

“.... trapped under the rubble, was no choice but to amputate.”

I’d recounted the events so many times.

“Poor thing”, they always said.

“Poor thing - no way.  Lucky me. Could’ve been both legs.” 

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33 words written for Trifecta: Week Seventy.

Using the word prompt lucky with context producing or resulting in good by chance : favorable

Trifecta Writing:

Birds

I miss him.

Every day, he comes. Same time, same place. Pushing his worldly possessions in a shopping cart, he stops by the fountain. From the cart, he extracts a little folding chair, which he opens and places next to him. From his pocket comes a slice of bread. Then, sitting down, he meticulously breaks the bread into tiny pieces. These are spread in a gentle arc about him. The grass instantly turns into a carpet of birds. For a few moments, it is a sea of beaks, feathers and claws. Then, just as quickly the birds evaporate, and it is green again. With no time wasted, he folds the little chair and packs it back into the cart. Off he goes, purposefully pushing his world in front of him.

Then one day he isn't there. Nor the next and the next.

What has become of him. His humbleness has managed to infect me profoundly. A man with nothing, but always enough for the birds. I think of him often. I miss him. I hope he is happy.

Who will feed the birds.

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Written for Trifecta: Week Sixty-Nine
.

Using the word infect with the context:

a : contaminate, corrupt <the inflated writing that infects such stories>  
b : to work upon or seize upon so as to induce sympathy, belief, or support <trying to infect their salespeople with their enthusiasm>

Five Minutes

Five minutes
Five minutes, shit
What do I write
I've got to get something out
Thirty Three words
What
Aaaaaaaarghhhhhhhhhh
Think
There must be something
Clever
or
Witty
or just stream of consciousness
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Written with just 5 minutes before the deadline for Trifecta - Trifextra week Fifty Seven. A bit indulgent, but I challenged myself at the cusp.