Feb 262015

Welcome to Thursday. Welcome to Micro Bookends 1.20. I don’t know about you but this wintry weather puts me in the mood for a bit of good old fashioned rock ‘n’ roll.

Blueberry Hill was written in 1940 by Vincent Rose (music), Larry Stock and Al Lewis (lyrics). It was (in)famously sung by Vladimir Putin at a charity concert, and has been released countless times by artists such as Glenn Miller, Elvis Presley, Louis Armstrong and – my personal favourite – Fats Domino.

Antoine “Fats” Domino Jr., who celebrates his 87th birthday today, has had 35 top 40 hits, including Ain’t That A Shame and I’m Walkin’. Blueberry Hill remained number 2 on the Billboard for three weeks and was his biggest hit. He was inducted into the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame in 1986. In August 2005 Domino chose to remain at his New Orleans home when Hurricane Katrina hit. His home was flooded and rumours circulated that he had died. He released the Alive and Kickin’ album in early 2006 to prove otherwise.

Three cheers for The Fat Man with this weeks photo prompt:

Photo Credit: Esben Theis Jensen via CC.

Photo Credit: Esben Theis Jensen via CC.

The Judge

Judging this week’s contest is me!


A story of between 90 and 110 words starting with BLUEBERRY and ending with HILL and incorporating the photo prompt.


Anyone, but especially you!


Why not! Because it’s fun. Because it’s a challenge. Because the winner will receive their own winner’s page, their story on the winning stories list, a ‘who is the the author’ feature to be posted next week, entry into the ‘Micro Bookend of the Year’ competition, and a copy of this year’s winning stories compilation.


Now! Get your entry in BEFORE 5:00 am Friday (UK time: http://time.is/London).




Post your story in the comments section. Include the word count and your Twitter username (if you’re Twitterized). Don’t forget to read the full rules before submitting your story.

Anything else?

Please give your story a title. It will not be included in the word count.

Please try to leave comments on a couple of other stories. It’s all part of the fun, and everyone likes feedback!

Remember, only stories that use the bookends exactly as supplied (punctuation is allowed) will be eligible to win.

  221 Responses to “Micro Bookends 1.20 – BLUEBERRY [micro] HILL”

  1. The Storm (word count: 107) @koebnig

    ‘Blueberry! B-R-E-A-K-F-A-S-T!’
    Nothing. Not even the rapid tip-tap of overgrown nails scrambling for purchase on the wooden staircase.
    Which reminds me I really need to start fixing up this place. It’s been a month since the storm ripped the heart out of the town.
    I need paint. I need rugs and I need to choose which paintings to hang.
    Blueberry’s food bowl feels heavy, as though I’m holding a brick instead of a white plastic bowl.
    Where is that dog? ‘B-L-U-E-B ..!’ Then I remember and his bowl slips through my fingers and crashes to the floor.
    I buried him at the bottom of his favourite hill.

  2. No Children Allowed
    Word Count: 110

    Blueberry stains smeared Chelsea’s face as she sat at the top of the marble stairs. The dominoes led a path down to the lobby where Mr. Garcia, the doorman was standing.

    She’d imagine his face at the noise the dominoes would make. He hated children. “Children, worse than rats.” He mumbled those words under his breath whenever Chelsea came through the lobby gripping her grandmother’s hand. His teeth were yellowed and his face sagged, and he reminded her of a monster.

    She knocked the top domino, and a smile spread across her face when she heard Mr. Garcia yell and shout from downstairs. Jack and Jill fell down the hill.

  3. Word Count including Title 110

    Just Desserts

    Blueberry pie awaits, all I have to do is reach the last column and steps. At each one I picture someone I want to throttle, I pause, get it over with and move on to my next victim.

    At the very top of the heap, is my partner Ray, this was a present from him. I suggested we were getting a little rounded and needed to get in shape and he said the old joke that round was a shape, gob sheen.

    He booked us into boot camp and has sailed through everything with me panting after him just wait until I reach the top of this hill.

  4. Love’s Sweet Melody
    109 words

    Blueberry pancakes, maple syrup, milk. Sticky fingers. Giggles.

    “And speaking of the wedding breakfast, mum, could you have a look at our seating plan?”

    Plans become dreams come true. A thrill so unexpected when I first see you that for a moment, the universe stands still.

    “You’ll love the venue, mum. There’s a lovely sweeping staircase leading down into the hall where we’ll say our vows.”

    The Wind in the Willows, Harry Potter, Heidi. Cuddly toys and cupboards under the stairs, Lego houses on the mountain. No, don’t be sad it’s bedtime now-magic never ends! You cling so tight you’re part of me, as we climb the wooden hill.

  5. Word Count – 110


    Blueberry pancakes, trifles galore, fun and laughter who could ask for more.
    Chocolate’s my favorite smeared all over, I’m rolling in clover.

    Mature adult fun a fetish for food, eating and indulging the senses on fire.
    Peanut butter rubbed in can help me joints, a wee bit fattening so moderation counts.

    Blocks of fudge candy that look like pillars, yum think were following the wrong steps program.

    He especially loves strawberry cream, lathered everywhere, his ultimate dream. Sausages and chips, sauces and dips, whatever’s your fancy is here.

    I’m no longer a spring chicken but can still partake when the want is gone I’ll know I’m over the hill.

  6. Word Count 99


    Blueberry Hill
    Where I come for my thrill
    Killings my game
    Couldn’t call it any other name

    Internet dating
    New prey creating
    Coffee for lunch
    Eases the punch

    Sometimes it takes a week or two
    To completely and utterly woo
    Holding the door
    Who could ask for more

    Chocolates and flowers
    Kindness empowers
    Fall at my feet
    Such a treat

    Never date for long
    Before the need is too strong
    I’m ruled by desire
    Murder flames my fire

    I like to take my time
    Often regale them with rhyme
    Killings such a thrill
    Right here on Blueberry Hill

  7. The viewing

    @geofflepard 106 words

    Blueberry. Large and soft like an overdue baby. Juice like spurting laughter covers her dress. One step at a time, one memory.

    The third step; long, cared-for fingers prising my hand from hers; the rain on the carriage window camouflages any tears.

    The scent of lilies, catching me by surprise. Someone’s funeral, someone else being gifted my tears.

    Silence on the landing, the slammed door echoing his desertion; the man in the hat who might be my father.

    Four more steps; dependency, decadence, desertion and decay, a four act life.

    Her body awaits inspection. For once I look down; I am the king of the hill.

  8. Killer Art

    “Blueberry, or Banana Cream if they have it,” Maggie shouted up the stairs as her mother rounded the corner on her way to the Museum of Modern Art cafe’. “Ok, fine honey, you stay down there with Gramps and the baby, don’t let them wander.” Maggie was left tethered to her baby brother Alex and her grandfather at the bottom of the stairs. Mother slipped and upset the first cement tablet of an art installation along the railing and the others fell like dominoes. Grampa had had a long life but Alex would never grow to be “over the hill.”

  9. The Hills
    (104 words)
    Blueberry the dress was. Deep blue in a room of cold white!
    ‘You didn’t tell me the theme,’ I say.
    ‘Thought I did,’ he says before joining her.
    I can still see her laughing at me behind her white gloved hand.
    I got drunk. Turned the air blue. He denied. I knew.

    This morning, I followed him, the door is open. I walk into the clinical white house again.
    Sex is quiet with us, yet I recognise his sex grunt.
    I take a deep blue marker pen, and write  on pristine walls before I begin the ascent:
    ‘Broken. Down. Broken. Crown. Jack. Jill. Hill.’

  10. Gotcha

    Blueberry Security Systems was not your ordinary security agency. They were 100% “green” and used no electricity at all. Through a series of booby traps and noise-alert-systems (NAS) they would set up customized units to meet the needs of their low budget clients. Most of their work came from new customers because, well, let us say they did not have the best results. Their only true success entailed sending an intruder through a trap door, sliding down a waxed laundry chute and then tumbling into the backyard to a trip line triggered dog crate at the bottom of a steep hill.

  11. @stellakateT
    108 words


    Blueberry House built deep in the woods amongst the cowslips, wild roses and hooting owls where the witches live, two old sisters wizen and wise. They make potions out of flowers, roots and shooting stars. They enchant you to fall in love, have babies, endure bad luck, suffer all sorts of ills and even make you commit murder. I wanted them to remove the curse but they laughed. They said they were no more witches than I am. But I see and hear things. When I’ve cleared up the blood from the staircase and re-positioned the magic stones on each tread I’ll bury them together on the hill.

  12. True Artist

    Blueberry was never bored. She saw possibilities for joyous expression everywhere. She made colorful collages from discarded magazines and gave them as personalized gifts. She bent soft twigs into heart shapes and suspended them from elastics pulled from her socks to make elaborate kinetic mobiles. She used broken blocks of cement to create art on the steps of the run down housing project where she lived with her six siblings. Blueberry saw beauty everywhere. In her mind she lived in a glorious wonderland of her own creation. She was the curator of a great museum on the hill.

  13. Word Count 102


    “Blueberry, here, good, yes that’s better, right beside the Custard Creams.”

    How embarrassing this bloody outfit is one big rotund body and scrawny legs. I came here to act and this is my latest big joy an advertisement for party food. It is bloody freezing here, if it gets any colder there going to have to change the ad to Iceland.
    How does Custard Creams look so good, good enough to eat, ha ha I crack myself up.

    “Everybody all set, big smiles.”

    I came here ready for my big climb to stardom but don’t think I can scale this hill.

  14. Sticky Fingers (110 words)

    Blueberry juice dripped off of Hank’s fingers, as did blood. Jamie’s blood, to be precise.

    “Nothing against ya, babe, just hungry. Mama used to plop a whole wagon-sized bunch of blueberries on the biggest pancakes your pretty little green eyes would ever surely see,” Hank said, to her lifeless body.

    He licked his fingers, his tongue moved in around the wrinkle, slurping up the juice and Jamie’s blood. Both were bitter in their own way; her blood a bit banal.

    “I hear there’s a small diner up over the hill. Maybe they have serviceable pancakes. Whatcha think Jamie?”

    She said nothing.

    “From my perspective, it sure is a pretty hill.”

  15. To The Moon And Back

    Blueberry? Silly Daddy! You’re not a blueberry.”

    He smiled. “You’re my Pumpkin, aren’t you?”

    “That’s diff’rent! That’s a… nickname.”

    “No fooling you,” he said, tickling. The giggles were springtime rainwater trickling down a drain.

    “Be-lla!” Pam called from upstairs.

    “Bedtime, Pumpkin.”

    She turned to go. He pulled her back, hugged her a little too hard, then kissed her forehead.

    “Love you to the moon and back, Bella.”

    “Love you too, Daddy.”

    Bella needn’t know what a UN “Blue Beret” was and why Daddy had to help stop those dominoes from falling.

    As Pam drove him to the base, he watched Bella’s bedroom window until the car crested the hill.

    Word Count: 110

  16. Details
    108 Words

    “Blueberry, blueberry, blueberry.”

    “What are you doing?” J.P. asked.

    “Studying,” Jason said.

    “With fruit?”

    “It’s that thing where you use letters and words to remember details.”

    “Is it working?”

    “Nope. It just made me want pie.”

    J.P. had never thought pie was a luxury. He had also assumed that he would be married with kids by now, and thankfully that hadn’t happened.

    When J.P. finished school they would buy so much pie. Right after they fixed the house and bought some new clothes.

    “You’ll do fine. You always do,” J.P. said. Jason’s smile lit up the room and reduced the mountain of the problems to a manageable hill.

  17. Curved Hill Café by Carolyn Ward 110 words @Viking_Ma

    ‘Blueberry? No, we have 64 flavours, but not blueberry.’ The server shuffled from foot to foot. There was a queue running down the stairs, with people lined like dominos.
    The woman scowled. ‘Blueberries are a superfood!’
    ‘So go to the store and buy a punnet!’ replied the server, exasperated.
    ‘I WANT BLUEBERRY ICE CREAM!’ she screamed. A hush fell over the café, as people froze, spoons in mid-air.
    ‘BLUEBERRY!’ Her voice was getting higher. People clutched their ears and sundae glasses shattered.
    The server fell to his knees as the café windows exploded. The supersonic screeching gained power as it echoed around the valley, magnified by the odd curved hill.

  18. Another Provocation

    109 words

    Blueberry jam, thought Jack as he watched the blood congeal at the corner of her mouth, a purpling path mingling with the bruises. It had been a simple request but she had forgotten. Another provocation. Like the pail that stood empty by the door; it should have been full of water.

    Jill said nothing, just glared at him as they stood at the top of the stairs. He’d interrupted her routine. Another provocation. She swung the bedpan as he lashed out causing both to lose their footing. Jack fell first and, like always, she went tumbling after. It was some time though before either went back up the hill.


    Brian S Creek
    108 words

    “Blueberry muffins I get,” said Mike. “But what’s with all the white bricks lined up around the museum?”

    “Those ‘white bricks’ are Tasmanian Sleeping Stones,” said Chris as he placed the last one by the foot of the stairs. “The clacking sound will put any troll to sleep in seconds.”

    “We’re hunting a troll with muffins and dominoes?” said Mike, more than a little disappointed. “But I brought my sword.”

    “How about we call that plan B?”

    “This is just like with the dragon.”

    “Fair point,” said Chris. “You’re feeling emasculated. Tell you what, tomorrow night, you call the shots when we visit the House on Haunted Hill.”

  20. edit : dominoes ! thank ye kindly

  21. Blueberry Hill
    110 Words

    “Blueberry pancakes,” Alan said.

    Rachel thought for a second. “No, blueberry jam.”

    “Blueberry jam on blueberry pancakes?”

    “Okay, agreed. That was Mom’s best.”

    Rachel smiled and plucked a blueberry from the wild bushes that dotted the hill beside their childhood home. She popped it into her mouth and was surprised by its tartness. Her pursed lips stretched into a sad smile.

    Alan recognized her smile as the same one their mother wore as she watched her children leave home in a domino effect that left the house like a forgotten museum.

    “Not the same as you remember?”

    “No, it really isn’t.”

    Alan squeezed Rachel’s hand as they descended the hill.

  22. Fate
    109 words

    Blueberry Watkins steadied herself on the handrail as she looked at the stairs looming up before her. Feeling the familiar prickle of excitement she took a deep breath before ascending. Blueberry had come to the museum on a mission and soon found what she had been looking for. Her family history were stored here, they were a well-known family who had lived in the area for centuries. She’d come to learn about one in particular, one she’d been named after and with who she shared the gift of divination. Blueberry Watkins could see the future, but her end would not be that of her ancestor, death at Hangman’s Hill.

  23. “Live”
    Approximately 100 words

    “Blueberry muffins? Are they done yet?” I fluff my hair in the mirror and pluck a white fuzzy puff off my shoulder.

    “Help your sister down,” Mom calls.

    My feet pad across the wooden floor until I reach the steps. “Ready, Missy?”

    Stubby arms reach for me. Missy’s eyes blink like a flicker on an old movie reel. Bad start to the day. I scoop her small body out of the wheelchair. Missy is floppy in my arms, but firm with life. I settle her into the elevator chair to take her downstairs.

    I keep hoping one day she’ll make it over the hill.

  24. Forever Falling, Forever Young
    A.J. Walker

    Blueberry Penance winced as the sunlight streamed through the stairwell. Her mother was on one of her adrenaline missions when it was best to leave her to it.

    There was never a dull moment when you’re mother was called Spring Forever; even if your dad is an accountant called Steve Jones.

    “What a find!” said Spring.

    Blueberry laughed. “Why were you in the basement anyway?”

    Spring peered down from Floor 8 after placing a couple more giant dominoes. “You know, I don’t even remember?”

    “Blueberry!” shouted Stephen, from the ground floor. “What’s going on?”

    “Mum! Don’t worry.”

    “Lordy! Last time you said that she went cheese rolling down that hill.”

    (110 words)


  25. — House Of Escher —

    “…blueberry! And there’s the belvedere on the hill.”

    Lucy turns to Alice.

    “Put down that sketchbook and hold this. I need to explore.”

    Stepping over the ant trail, Lucy bounds up two flights of stairs. On the sill sits a glass.

    “This one’s strawberry,” she shouts. “No tower. But I can hear a waterfall. I’m going up.”

    As she rounds the landing, Lucy looks upstairs.

    “Why didn’t you wait downstairs, Alice?”

    Alice keeps drawing.

    “I did.”

    Lucy pants.

    “I’m hot. Pass me that milkshake, please.”

    Alice obliges as Lucy gazes out of the window.

    “Yuck, blueberry! And there’s the belvedere on the hill.”

    109 words

  26. Distant Spread

    Blueberry manslaughter was splashed on the kitchen floor and Eliza’s plaid pajamas.

    “I made you a healthy shake, Daddy. There’s banana in it too.”

    Two sloppy glasses sat on the counter next to the blender. “Thank you, Sunshine. Is that one for mommy?”

    “Yes. If she drinks it she won’t sleep so much. It’s a magical potion.”

    “That’s a wonderful and caring idea. How about you run upstairs and bring it to her. She’ll love it.”

    Her concoction actually tasted good, a refreshing palate cleanser, but it didn’t have the nutrients to purify Kate’s marauded bloodstream. Eliza and her fruity medicine would never ascend that precipitous and terminal hill.

    109 words

  27. The Museum of Childhood Sins
    100 words

    “Blueberry, strawberry, sweet potato pie…”

    The chant follows Mary up the stairs from the courtyard outside. Memories strobe in her mind, unbidden, unwanted. Once she was one of those girls.

    “Huckleberry, rhubarb, strych-a-nine.”

    Events stand next to each other, unconnected until that final, fatal catastrophe clarifies everything.

    “Momma called the doctor, doctor called the cops.”

    She stands before the door of her old apartment, not sure if she should enter. So much has changed.

    “How many times did Mary get shot?”

    As she passes through the door, she wonders if her mother ever looks for her grave on the hill…


  28. Foy
    WC: 110


    “…Blueberry heeeeeeeel.”

    Jazz notes saunter up the stairs to where I sit. This is the 27th play-through so I’ve been waiting an hour. There’s a word in Inuit, “Iktsuarpok.” It expresses frustration of endless anticipation.

    “When I found you/The moon stood still.”

    Like Vladimir and Estragon, waiting by that barren tree, I repeat, “He’ll come. He promised.”

    “But all those vows you made/Were never meant to be.”

    Nervous, my dance shoes taptaptap. The thought creeps in. What if he doesn’t?

    Another expression flashes hot on my brain, German this time, “Backpfeifengesicht.”

    “Godfrey, if you stand me up…”

    I’ll slap his face so hard, he rolls backward up the front hill.

  29. A Family Outing (99 words)

    Blueberry picking had kept the Harrison family out for the morning. Squished in the backseat, Jackson and Mackenzie carefully extracted the juiciest berries from the plastic bin when they thought mom and dad weren’t looking, popping the berries into their little mouths, savoring the summer sweetness. Their purple stained fingers and lips betrayed them upon arrival at their hilltop home, yet their punishment was limited to the ominous warning of a stomachache from dad. Opening the door, they were greeted by the white bricks lining the staircase. The signature of the Domino Butcher, in their house on the hill.

  30. Unconventional

    Blueberry pie,/i>? Instead of wedding cake?”

    Sarina ignored her mother’s tone and simply nodded her agreement.

    Then she suddenly added. “With ice cream, it has to be pie ala mode.”

    Her mother ignored her, this time. She started up the steps of their house and then with an angry impulse, she tipped the top domino cascading them all down the steps.

    The bride-to-be choked back tears and her matron blushed crimson with shame.

    “It’s alright,” Sarina said gracefully. “We will simply move the wedding to the park across the street, instead of the top of the stairs we will stand on the top of the hill.”

    108 words (Never sure how to count hyphens. So the count might be 106 if you trust Word.)

  31. Trust Blueberry and Saline. (title)
    Blueberry was going to save his ailing eyesight. Meanwhile, he was taking no chances. He lined his staircase with blocks of salt. When the hurricane comes, the salt will melt and create a solution of high density. He will float around in his home. He will never be pushed down into the flooding waters and drown. He had experimented with one block of salt and calculated the time it took for it to melt in water, by immersing it in a barrel. Saline is this other big thing that is going to save him. The excess solution will flow down the hill.
    (102 words)

  32. Fertile Ground (102 words)

    Blueberry bushes now covered the once-tidy cemetery. Greta tasted a single blueberry from each grave she passed. Which was sweeter, long life or short? The moon hung still, spotlighting the tombstones spaced like dominoes, the steps of the shuttered church-cum-museum atop the hill. Greta had taken all her high school girlfriends here but hadn’t been back in twenty monogamous years. Then this morning, newly single and bold, whispering to the green-eyed woman from Nora’s school… Would she show? What would it be like to kiss new lips after all these years? Who will Greta be when she comes back down the hill?

  33. Picking One’s Battles
    110 words

    Blueberry couldn’t mask the briny consequences of spirulina. I set down my glass. “No thanks.”

    “It’s alkalining,” she said, gulping her own but watching mine like a prison guard.

    “It’s disgusting.”

    Last year, we would have laughed over my aversion to all things macro-pro-bio-bucha. I only had so many last meals to waste one on primordial ooze.

    She worried at her lower lip. “I’ll put it in the fridge for later,” she said brightly.

    “No need.”

    Her hand drummed the fridge handle. She hauled the freezer open, pivoted, slammed down an ice cream container. My favorite flavor.


    I savored her care on every decadently non-alkalining bite of Strawberry Hill.

  34. Up the Wooden Hill
    110 words

    “BLUEBERRY hue, found any yet? Time’s running out…”

    “Blue Beret Hugh, can’t find him anywhere! I checked the phone book, the internet, even the electoral register. I bought a street map and there is NO Lee Terrace, never mind number ten!”

    “Blueberry HUE I said! I asked you to look for ten litres! The preview’s this evening and this Three Baker’s Dozen for the stairs are stark naked pillars of salt sculpture still – we’re almost out of time and the artist and curator are due any moment now move it!” Slamming the phone down, I at least remembered to place the title on the post, “Up the Wooden HILL”.

  35. Well David, once again I miss out due to the difference in time. I think our schedules are just too different for me to be a part of this. I wish you well as you continue to grow Micro Bookends. Cheers!

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