The Frog Lady, 5

The cabby stopped and pointed up the street. “Two blocks that way. That’ll be $14.95.”

Ron gave him the 20. He headed up the alley. Most of the houses had 6 foot wooden fences. He could see through the slots between the pickets. When he got to the McBride house there were frog statues everywhere. There was no order or plan to where they were, nothing to make them look decorative. A shallow pond covered with lily pads bulged with frogs like ants in an ant hill.

Please leave a comment with your first 50 words on the topic “pickets.”


Author: Virginia DeBolt

Writer and teacher who writes blogs about web education, writing practice, and pop culture.

5 thoughts on “Pickets”

  1. He closed the one eye that wasn’t swollen shut and leaned his head against the tile wall. I looked at his injured leg again and winced. The bone poking through the skin looked like a sharp, white picket on a fence. “No cops”, he pleaded. “Please, lady, just give this money to the guy at the bar. It’s a matter of life or death–mine”.

  2. We bought our new home in Australia, a colonial-style building set in a large garden surrounded by a white painted picket fence. We were puzzled, we got our dream home for a very good price. The previous owner had a nervous breakdown and left. We were woken by a loud grating, croaking noise a few days later. The house was surrounded by huge cane toads peeping through the pickets.

  3. I’ve always wanted the white picket fence, the lush green yard, the stars twinkling at night and the sun greeting me in the morning.
    That’s what I see when I look out my window. That’s all I see when I look out my window. Hard, cold, bitter concrete staring back at me.

  4. The bellowing from the frogs was disturbingly loud. Ron opened the side picket fence door and the croaking stopped; perfect silence. As he approached the McBride’s front door through the gardens a faint hum started again. The closer he got to the McBride’s door the louder the frogs’ cacophony became. No escape now.

  5. The colorful tulips had managed to bloom through some of the broken pickets at the bottom of the fence. It was as if they were saying, “Look at what we’ve managed to do!” Their haphazard distribution along the fence gave the dilapidated structure character and a little more curb-appeal.

    This favored the widower, who was in the process of selling the house, for he could no longer maintain it. Sad how he had to part with the dwelling he had resided in for the past forty years. All the memories made within it was all he had now, but what he missed most was his wife because she had been a great part of all those memories.

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