The pipe’s leak had begun in September. Every attempt to find its source failed.
The first icicle formed over a frigid October night. The leak continued, and the icicle grew.
By December more icicles formed, each growing over the subzero months as the leak continued. January’s thaw was too brief to melt the unintended sculpture as it continued to reach the floor. Lights from the adjacent bar cast the object in a supernatural glow.
It finally touched the floor during a final arctic blast in February.
Spring reduced the sculpture back to its original form.
Gillian thought her husband’s obsession with keeping their lawn greener than their neighbors was ridiculous. But her attitude changed when Priscilla delivered homemade gingerbread cookies to everyone on their street that December.
“Aren’t these wonderful?” her neighbors cooed during Gillian’s holiday party. Gillian didn’t agree, finding them tasteless and poorly decorated. Gillian also didn’t like how discussing the cookies took attention away from her holiday decorations.
She responded by making her own cookies, with more flavor and decoration than Priscilla’s.
Priscilla better bring her A-game, Gillian thought, anticipating a rematch. I’ve got fondant and I’m not afraid to use it!
Wrote another story in response to this Reedsy Prompt: Write a fairy tale about someone who can communicate with woodland creatures. My entry, Bibi and the Moldunberries, is now available. Writing a 2000-word story in a week is no easy task, but it’s the type of work that gives me the most satisfaction.
The streetlight had been out since summer. The city’s service department said replacing the light was “on the list.” The alderman promised he’d “get something done.”
Holiday lights provided momentary relief, but darkness feasted the street at night with January’s arrival.
Coming home from a party one evening, a utility worker noted how the defective streetlight made his friend’s neighborhood seem overly fearful. At the end of his next shift, he drove to the streetlight with his service truck and replaced the bulb.
The street’s residents were relieved to have the light resume its nightly watch over the neighborhood.
The bridge explosion of 1938 remains the greatest disaster the town has ever suffered. But with the passing last year of the final resident alive at the time, the tragedy became like Napoleon or the Revolutionary War, a point of history that didn’t seem relevant to current day concerns.
The violence of the train explosion sent portions of the track flying for miles across the valley below. Larger remnants were retrieved to recover the scrap metal, but smaller portions were left to rot in the wilderness.
To this day, hikers still find memories of the forgotten catastrophe.