“We don’t ask to be eternal beings. We only ask that things do not lose all their meaning.”
― Antoine de Saint-Exupéry
The challenge for Flash Fiction for the Purposeful Practitioner opens Wednesday morning, May 3rd. 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, May 12th, 2017.
Fog swallowed the night, glowing tail-lights of the car and the wound-slash of the sputtering bulb above the abandoned way-station the only light.
“You ‘re late.”
Voice cutting my spine like the knife which killed me.
His fingers wove webs of pain. My pain. His pain. Pain conscious in the night and fog.
His hand grabbed mine, placing it on the string and stone between us.
“Bone-bread. Bone-bread, let me walk with the spirits of the dead.”
Bone-bread. Bone-bread. Words echoing in my head. Bone-bread. Bone-bread. Clear thy sight for the spirits of the dead.
“Bone-bread. Bone-bread. Clear my sight on the spirits of the dead.”
The pain was sharp and sudden. There shouldn’t be pain. Not in the land of the dead.
The night filled with shifting shadows.
Bone-bread. Bone-bread. God help the summoned dead.
Trying my hand again, so here goes…
The scent of roses hides
Shadows cold under the dark sky
Soft baby warm light.
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.
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.’
“Humph,” was all he said by way of admitting the broken statue concerned him. I knew better than to expect more though I always hoped for the real truth, his real feelings and concerns, hopes and dreams and whether the cat should be outdoors, indoors, or both.
“Get somebody in,” he said, opening the door and stepping through into the dim hallway beyond. As if he knew he’d been discussed, the cat scooted out around his legs, stopping to look furtively at me before hurrying off to wherever it was cats went in the daytime.
I started the daunting process of finding someone who might be able to repair a broken statue. Forty-five minutes later, I’d found an artist who, thought he did not know if the statue was fixable or whether he could fix it in such a case, he at least agreed to come out and look.
The artist arrived and, after a minuscule inspection, thought he might be able to help. The door opened and he was invited inside to discuss price. I started dialing again, hoping to find another willing artist. After that, I would spend my day working up the disaster for tomorrow.