Little did she know pursuing those six pack abs would mean she’d end up six feet under.

Too bad she didn’t question what was inside the kettlebell she swung to strengthen her abs, or why her personal trainer had only one arm. Mr. Monk did, after studying her autopsy results.

“Grandma?! Why are you here?”

“It’s Thanksgiving.”

“Oh. I’m having bourbon roast turkey at the Union.”

“Nonsense. We’d enjoy your company at the farm. ”

“The farm…how could you go back after decades in New York city?”

“How could you break my violin? Come along. I brought the Lincoln Town Car.”

She walked around the lagoon with her eyes closed. The flapping wings of the geese sounded like fans. Pushing aside the willow tree branches made a noise like a gentle rain shower. The distant street sweeper was a hum from deep under the earth. “Honk, quack!” The sound of goose/duck solidarity.

Note: a mini-saga is a story told in exactly 50 words with a title no longer than 15 words.

She spotted a bottle of Baby Rum and started wondering. Is it to soothe baby’s gums while teething? For treating diaper rash? Or for mom to take a swig of after baby’s bouts of colic? Her eyes brightened at the possibilities.

“It’s BAY Rum, you silly. A cologne!”

“Oops… Alas.”

“God damnit!”

“You and God must be quite acquainted if you can give him orders like that.”

“Nah. God’s got his phone off the hook. Wouldn’t pick up even if he could”

The professor looked over the footbridge.

“Hell’s bells! What happened to your violin?!”

“I guess it attempted suicide.”

Note: A mini-saga is a story in exactly 50 words, with a title no longer than 15 words. This one is a continuation of  this mini-saga. I decided to see what that red haired college boy was up to. Maybe I’ll bring him out again sometime.

He came from an intense household. His red hair and love for music reminded his mother of his dead father, which made her drink. It made his grandmother glad. He carried their projections along with his violin case down Bascom Hill. A big concert tonight. He paused on the footbridge.

The footfalls on the crunchy fall leaves near the lagoon startled the Great Blue Heron. He flew away and found a tree in which he could ruminate, as herons are wont to do. Eventually his mate sailed past and he joined her; they made figure eights in the sky together.

Ida poured the girl a Coke and sent it down the bar on a wind-up coaster. Then she pulled on her pink cardigan.

“How long have you been a bartender?”

“Going on 40 years. Say, I ever tell you about the Amish girl found dead in the cornfield? She liked Coke too.”

Nancy was the fastest keypunch operator – even faster than that crackerjack high school kid. Her wry one-liners flew faster than her fingers.

One day she was gone.

“Nancy was killed.”

“What?”

“Her husband… knocked her cold and dragged her to the garage… left the car running. Their 4-year-old saw it all.”

She slipped into her pajamas at 6:30, recklessly thinking she could burrow in for the night. “Could you drive to the library and pick up my books?” asked her daughter. Argh! Then she realized… when else does she have an excuse to wear a trench coat on a warm sunny evening?