“Tea for three?” she asked, fluffing her skirts, giving him a shy smile.
He looked at the three teacups perched on the spindled legs from a table. “What type of tea shall we be having?”
“Earl Grey, of course.”
He watched her dance around, pretending to make tea and pour it into the cups. Done, she handed him a straw with which he pretended to sip at the pretend tea.
“Do you like it here?”
“Oh, yes,” she said. “There is tea and sometimes Mother gives me crumpets.”
“You like crumpets?”
“Oh yes, with butter and raspberry jam!”
“I love raspberry jam.”
She squealed. “I wish Mother had given me some today.”
“I’ll bring some next time I come to visit.”
“Will you come again?”
“Of course. Tea for three is my favorite time of day.”
She began searching for flowers. “I must put them on Mum’s grave this evening. She shall be ever so sorry if I forget.”
He watched for a moment before walking back into the house.
“What do you think, Doc?” Jamison asked.
He looked out the window, at the woman dancing in the field, flowers in her arms. “I think,” he said, “we should all wish to be as happy as her.”
Guide for Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers
1. A prompt photo will be provided each Tuesday to be used as a base to your story. Please include photo prompt with your story.
2. Linking for this challenge begins on Tuesday and runs to the following Monday evening.
3. Please credit photo to photographer.
4. The story word limit is 100 – 150 words (+ – 25 words). Please try to stay within this limit.
5. Pingback to the challenge post in your story’s post.
Chris and Jay leaned on the hotel railing, looking down at the bronze and gold fence and the estate beyond.
“Fancy enough,” Jay remarked, eyes drifting down to the line of what looked like tiny pots. “So what do think those are?”
Chris’ gaze followed Jay’s. His first thought was drums. It was not a serious thought, but his mind tended to see music before anything else. After a moment, he suggested:
“Odd country this,” Jay mused, slight smile on his face.
It was the bands first time in India and the culture differences fascinated them all.
“Can you believe we’re actually here?”
“I always told you we’d be here,” Chris reminded him, breathing in the scent of a foreign land; a land he would come to explore and love in the years to come.
They bumped shoulders.
“Life is good,” Chris said.
“Amen,” Jay responded.
And so it was.
– John Locke
The challenge for Flash Fiction for the Purposeful Practitioner will open early Thursday morning, August 24th. 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 Friday night, August 31st, 2017.
“It’s there again!” he said, peering out beyond the window shade.
“The green bicycle.” Whispered.
“Oh for God’s sake, Sam, grow up.”
“But it’s a spy bike,” he assured his mother. “Really.”
“It’s a bike, nothing more.” She swished back into the kitchen.
“It’s not,” he whispered, still watching.
A window above the bike opened and a boy dropped to the sidewalk. He jumped on the bike and pedaled quickly away.
Sam ran to the door. He was just about to step outside, when his mother called.
“Sam! Come back and finish your supper!”
Sulking, he slunk back to the table. “Spies don’t eat peas.”
“Of course they do, Sam. That’s what makes them so sneaky!”