Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers 12-13-2017

This week’s photo prompt is provided by yarnspinner.
 Guide for Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers
1. A prompt photo will be provided each Monday pm to be used as a base to your story. Please include photo prompt with your story.
2. Linking for this challenge begins on Monday pm and runs to the following Monday pm.
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. Please indicate the number of words in your story at the end of your story. (It doesn’t count into the amount of words).


“What the….”

“Language!”

“Sorry.” Leaning closer, he studied the plate. “What in the… world… is that?”

She shrugged. “Does it matter?”

“Does it matter! I’m not going to eat  anything looking like that!”

“Oh, come on, don’t be a whiner. We paid a lot of money to attend this event.”

“Wasted money, if this,” pointing downwards, “is the fare!”

He turned his head back and forth, bent over to look at the plate upside down. Nothing made the contents of the plate more palatable. Or recognizable.

“Nope, no way am I eating … whatever it is.”

He gave up, turning to look around the ballroom.

She hummed and hawed, cajoled and begged, but he remained steadfast.

“Oh, for good grief,” she finally said, grabbing his hand and leading him towards the exit. “This is the thanks I get for trying to expand our horizons!”

He said nothing. Steak and potatoes. A few green beans to cleanse the palette. Apple pie.

Why would anyone want to expand from the best?

(176)

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Response 12-11-2017 – JSW Prompt 11-6-2017

20170711_180535.jpgPhoto by csk
Feel free to join in and respond to the prompt. Please try to keep your response under 300 words. If you reply, I will re-blog your post to my site (sometimes I am slow, but I get there).

The tunnel opened up to curving road, a half circle here, almost-full circle there, knotted twists and turns between. Like always, he was driving too fast, the need to test the limits of his car, his reactions, his fear, drowning him. He’d done it before and he’d do it again. So far, he’d survived, a realization to which he rarely paid attention.

He sped around another curve, tires sliding towards the edge of the cliff, heart pounding with the thrill of almost destruction.

His phone kept ringing. And ringing. He didn’t answer. It would be Jay or Kerry or one of the others, not knowing where he was, but knowing what he was doing. Teasing death. Taunting. Longing. Always on edge.

He’d always known he’d die young. Geniuses did. Look at Kurt Cobain.  Jimi Hendrix. Chopin. Mozart. Schubert. Billy the Kid. Joan of Arc. Okay, so the last two weren’t musical geniuses, but that wasn’t the point. The point was they died young.

And yet, here he was. Twenty-five and still alive. Not that, in the overall scheme of things, he wanted to die, but he didn’t see any alternative to the cold edge of darkness sliding knife-edged through his veins.

Jay again on Voice Mail. “Where are you? Don’t do it. Please, Chris. Don’t.”

It was the fear and pain in Jay’s voice that reached him. He could hurt himself without fear, but to hurt his friends? He couldn’t do that.

Slamming on the brakes sent him skidding sideways, struggling for control, seeing the guard rail looming closer and closer. And, for an instant, fear.

 

 

 

 

Sunday Photo Fiction 12-6-2017

219 12 December 3rd 2017


He watched the hotel draw closer as the boat slipped through the water, studying the almost-blank face of the building. To be honest, it looked more like an apartment building on the steadily-growing-seedy side of town than a five-star hotel.

“It’s beautiful,” she said, coming up beside him and sliding an arm around his waist.

He’d seen better, but didn’t say so. This was special to her, even if it wasn’t to him. It should be special to him, but he just couldn’t make it so in his own heart.

Truthfully, he loved her but he didn’t much like her anymore. Her neediness; her desperation to fit into his world when she didn’t. The band tolerated her because of him.

And that was a bad sign.

Because he loved her, he’d arranged this last weekend. It was gonna hurt like hell to walk away, but he would. Family was more important and the band was his family.

Turning to her, he smiled, determined to give her one more happy memory.


Friday Fictioneers 12-6-2017

PHOTO PROMPT  © Dale Rogerson


A Father’s Love

It’d been years since he’d been inside a school and the ice outside mirrored the cold inside his heart. He’d ruled school, yet lived against a backdrop of emptiness and fear and alienation. He hadn’t known it then, but it was true.

“This is a very serious issue.”

“I understand, however, I seriously doubt Sammy intentionally pointed his pencil at the student’s eye. Five year olds aren’t normally weapon-wielding maniacs.”

“We have to take ever incident seriously.”

“I understand. As do I.”

Taking his son by the hand, they walked out of the principal’s office.

Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers 12-5-2017

 Guide for Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers
1. A prompt photo will be provided each Monday pm to be used as a base to your story. Please include photo prompt with your story.
2. Linking for this challenge begins on Monday pm and runs to the following Monday pm.
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. Please indicate the number of words in your story at the end of your story. (It doesn’t count into the amount of words).
This week’s photo prompt is provided by Enisa.


The kitten snuggled down in his lap, purring loudly, as if she knew they were heading to the barn. Most of her time there was spend snuggling on a hay bale in the breezeway, watching and listening and, occasionally, trotting off to deal with an errant mouse. She didn’t kill the mice; she wasn’t that kind of cat. What she did was scare their little mouse stuffings out so they never bothered to return.

Some of the horses snickered at her, but she paid them no mind. What did they know about catness? Most of the time, they barely seemed to understand horseness. Her person understood catness and she understood Joshness. For that, she was perfectly pleased.

Come nighttime, they drove back to their place, eating hot dogs and spaghetti in front of a tiny black and white TV, before curling up on their narrow cot. Tucked behind his knees, she purred them both to sleep.

Response 10-23-2017 JSW Prompt 12-5-2017

I apologize for my laxness with JSW Prompts in the last few weeks, but here’s hoping that I’m better and ready to go again.
Feel free to join in and respond to the prompt. Please try to keep your response under 300 words. If you reply, I will re-blog your post to my site (sometimes I am slow, but I get there).
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The door slammed behind me as I sank back into the seat, tossing my briefcase beside me. By the time I stepped into my penthouse tonight, I would be millions of dollars richer. Not bad for a single day’s work.

With a swoosh of tires, the cab drew away from the curb, heading downtown.

“I need to go to 12th and Madison,” I said, leaning forward. Which was the exact opposite direction.

He didn’t acknowledge I had spoken.

Pulling out my phone, I dialed my assistant.  “I might be late. I’ve gotten one of those drivers who can’t speak a word of English.”

“This isn’t the time to be late,” Andy reminded me.

“Don’t you think I know that?” I shot back, “but I can’t do a thing until I get the idiot to stop.” Hanging up the phone, I started back on the driver, asking, demanding, and then cursing, for him to stop immediately. Nothing seemed to penetrate his foreign haze. When I attempted to reach through the interior window and grab him, he slammed the glass shut.

Pulling my phone back out, I called Andy and then the others who would be present at the meeting. Who would already be at the meeting.

If this driver screwed the deal…….

We seemed to drive forever, deeper and deeper into a part of the city that I did not know. Nor, having looked out the windows, did I care to know it. Run-down buildings, burned out cars, trash everywhere. Dark shapes of boys in the shadows, watching the taxi cruise by like lions waiting for the gazelle at the watering hole.

Finally, the taxi pulled to the side of the road, behind a trashed car. The driver turned to look at me, motioning for me to get out.

“I am not getting out here,” I shot back, “you imbecile. I don’t know what you think you are doing, but you’ll lose your license for this.”

He stared at me with empty eyes.

I looked back at his face. Not empty eyes; empty eye sockets.

I almost fell out of the cab, stumbling to the cracked sidewalk to land on one knee.

The taxi pulled away, disappearing into the night.

 

 

Apologies from the Peanut Gallery 12-04-2017

My computer – yes, my new computer – will no longer start. I apologize for not keeping up (again) with JSW, Quote For The day and Tuesday Word of the Week, not to mention all the writing challenges.  Hopefully, it  will be back to rights soon so I can get back to having fun!

Sigh:)

 

Connie