The challenge for Flash Fiction for the Purposeful Practitioner will open early Thursday morning, January 26th. Allow the prompt to take you anywhere you want to go! (Limit your stories to 200 words.)

This challenge is open until 11:00 pm Wednesday night, February 1st, 2017.

Flash Fiction for the Practical Practitioner


He watched the koi swim lazily under the water, bobbing randomly to the surface in the hope of food. They were fat and huge and scared the crap out of him; the thought of how they would feel in his hands – slimy – their bubble eyes staring up at him with malicious intent; slowly gliding along, waiting. He didn’t know for what and he didn’t want to know.

“Hey,” Bobby said, coming up beside him. “Look at those things. I wish we could toss in a line.”

The thought made him cold all over.

They watched the summer tourists sauntering across the bridge to the far side of the man-made lake, heading for the shops on that side of the water. The koi turned, swimming back towards them, fishy cold eyes staring up at him.

He stepped back from the railing.

Starting back across the bridge towards the front of the shopping center, Bobby called, “Let’s get some dinner.”

With one more look behind, he hurried after his friend.

‘Soon,’ a cold voice whispered in his head. ‘Soon.’



Sunday Photo Fiction – January 31th 2017

“Is this some weird ball game?” she asked, watching the floating balls trailing behind the ship.“No,” Brad laughed. “They’re floats. We use them to mark the location of…. well, anything really. Dive sites. Lobster traps. Crab pots.”

“In other words, the yellow sticky notes of the water world.”

“Exactly. I knew there was some reason I wanted to date you. I love pretty smartypantes.”

She slapped his shoulder. “So, what are we up to today?”

“Cozy island. Picnic lunch. Beach blanket.”

Something swirled under the boat, rocking it side to side.

“What was that?”

“You’ll see.” He nosed the boat into a small island cove, lowered the anchor and shut down the engines.

Grabbing a bucket of fish, he moved starboard, tossing a few into the water. A dark shape rose towards the surface. The fish vanished. A snout tipped above the waterline as Brad lifted another fish above his head. The rest of a reptile-like head followed, taking the fish gently, then rising to tower above them, long neck arcing gracefully down.

“Oh my God…is that….?”

“This time,” he said, holding out the bucket, “you feed him.”

Eyes wide with wonder, she held up a fish.

JSW Writing Prompt 1-30-2017



“I wasn’t informed I needed to bring my own plastic.”

He chuckled, gun still pointed at me. My stomach actually. Gut-shot is so not the way to go. If, that is, I planned to go, which I didn’t.

“So….. now we wait for me to fall down?”

His head cocked. “Will you?”

“Fall down? I’m not planning to, no.”

He shot me again, this time on my right side.

“Nope. Not even close.”

Frowning, he shot me again. Left side this time.

I sighed. “Enough yet?”

He emptied the rest of the clip. Now that hurt. I still wasn’t going to fall down. I was too damn stubborn to give in. Besides, he’d pissed me off and no way would I die before giving back what I’d gotten.

I walked towards him, eyes never leaving his. Level and slow, one step following another. Ten feet. Nine. Eight. Seven. Until he began to panic, fumbling for another clip.

“Where’s your plastic now, you son of a bitch?”

Just as he clicked the clip home, I reached him. Eye to eye. In his face. Mocking grin on mine. He died in two seconds, neck snapped. I was, if nothing else, neater than he. Turned just as Laura entered the room.

“About time.”

She laughed. “You were doing fine on your own, lover. I’d of hated to take away your fun.”

For a moment, cold eyes met hers. A wish and a promise. And then, I began to laugh.



Anyone who’d like to join the fun, please free to run with the prompt and link to my site. I’ll reblog.

Daily Post One Word Prompt – Yellow (Gone, Pt 3) 1-29-2017


Gone, Part 3

Yellow. As in piss poor. Rubber ducks. The sun. Lemonade. Flowers. And dead if the man heading into the bank didn’t perform up to snuff. He’d wanted to kill the bait before, had argued for it, but had been overridden. Nobody wanted to listen. Nobody wanted to believe.


It was dangerous to use one piece of bait too long. Too dangerous, not only to the bait – which didn’t matter to him – but to the job. There was always more bait. There wouldn’t be another mission should this one fail.

He drew in a long breath, not looking at the asshole beside him or the rest of the team watching from above; strategically placed around the street corner on which the bank was situated.

“Good afternoon, Mr Marshall. I hope for a productive meeting.”

“I am sure it will be, Mr. Jenkins. I am sure.”

Listened to the sound of walking. The rustle of clothes. The almost silent breath. Checking the bait’s vitals on the machine beside him, he cursed. The bait was going to panic; he’d been waiting for this to happen. You don’t pluck bait from the street and expect them to function in the high-stress situation of a mission. This one had lasted longer than the others. He’d almost believed things would work out this time.

More fool, he.

The sound of a door opening and closing.

“This will be suitable for your review, I hope?”

“Yes, fine.”

More rustling. The thump of a briefcase laid upon the table.

“I will call you when I am done.”

“Very well,” the bank manager replied, clearly reluctant to leave. “Let me know if you need anything.”

“Thank you,” the bait said a moment later. “I’ll give you a call.”

Rustle of clothing and the squeak of door hinges opening and closing.

Now, the fun began.

Gone, Part 1

Gone, Part 2