FLASH FICTION FOR THE PURPOSEFUL PRACTITIONER 6-2-2017

The challenge for Flash Fiction for the Purposeful Practitioner will open early Wednesday morning, May 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, June 2nd, 2017.

Flash Fiction for the Practical Practitioner

fire

https://www.pexels.com/photo/accident-action-danger-emergency-260367/

“It isn’t right,” he cried, frustration welling up in his words.

Tamereon grasped his arm, holding him back. “I know that and you know that, but saying that isn’t going to help anybody now.”

He looked at her and then away.  Deep breath. “It’s not right.”

“Agreed, but there is nothing you can do. Now.”

“They’re saying he was stupid, he shouldn’t have gone into the house, that he made a mistake.”

“He didn’t,” she said, voice softening.

“He went in because that was his job. To help people.”

“I know.” She didn’t dare show him how much it hurt.

“They shouldn’t have called it a mistake,” he said again, turning to walk away from the memorial. “They should have called him a hero.”

 

Friday Fictioneers 5-25-2017

sunrise-ff-bannerPHOTO PROMPT © J Hardy Carroll

j-hardy-rubble
They stood in the doorway, looking at the ruins of the classroom. Just yesterday it had been filled with the shriek and laughter of a dozen children.

“Damn arsonist!”

“For sure?”

“Pretty. Have to wait for the site to cool.”

The Detective scowled. “Least it happened at night. “

The Arson Investigator nodded.

Their eyes met. It was decided.

Tomorrow they would start collecting supplies for the new classroom.

Sunday Photo Fiction – December 11th 2016

spf

The idea of Sunday Photo Fiction is to create a story or poem or something using around about 200 words with the photo as a guide. Please try to keep it as close to the 200 words as possible. It doesn’t have to be center stage in the story, I have seen some where the placement is so subtle, the writer states where it is.

See more Here.

185-12-december-11th-2016

He stared at the Flame, almost feeling it. Smelling it. Tasting it.

He liked Pain, the way it blazed through his body, washing him clean. Fear, too. He liked Fear. Tasting Fear. Wanted to know how it felt to…

Blinked and looked away. He couldn’t…. shouldn’t. It only made the Voices louder. Angrier.

DO it. DO it DO it Doit doit doit doitdoitdoitdoit!

Dry tongue licked dry lips. Heart pounded. Breath rasped. Hand shaking.

Put your hand in. Put it in! Putitinputitinputitinputitin!”

He tasted fear and ash and burned flesh. Vomit in his throat.

“Do it!”

Him or the Voices? He wouldn’t know without trying.

A hand reached out.

Flame and Pain and…

Nothing.

Nothingnothingnothingnothingnothing….

Daily Press One Word Prompt – Joke.

Joke

Them was laughing at me, I know they was.  I know.  I know these things, don’t bother to ask how. It’s a secret between Momma and me.

Course that was a couple weeks ago, before she got so sick and went away. Them folk took her, said it was the law, didn’t listen to what Momma wanted.  So I hadta go and steal her back. Folks made a mess of noise over her, but there weren’t no toehold in the silencing wall.

She eats her meals with me now. Mostly, that’s the time I see her. We don’t talk much, Momma and me, but it’s nice to sit at the table with her, the table Grandpop twice-back made with his two hands, all by hisself. I think I woulda liked Grandpop.  He wouldn’t have helped them folk wanting to hurt us.

Momma and me, we like our lives just fine.

But, them folks coming tomorrow, for me and for Momma. Momma don’t want to go back and I ain’t gonna let’em have her. We go together or not at all.

That’s why we’re sitting here at the table so long after dinner. I washed the dishes just how Momma liked’em done, straightened the house until she was happy with the look of things.

‘Don’t ever leave trash behind you,’ she always used to say. ‘Cause them folks will judge you by the trash and not from yourself.”

The crackle of the fire slicks my skin with heat.  I reach out and take Momma’s hand. “Won’t be long now, Momma,” I say, flames sweeping the floor, lapping table legs.

A day at the beach,  Momma.  You remember that day at the beach? Just remember Momma, we’ll see Grandpop soon.

 

Sunday Photo Fiction 5-1-2016

untitled

The idea of Sunday Photo Fiction is to create a story / poem or something using around about 200 words with the photo as a guide.

Sunday Photo Fiction

The cars sped around the track in a billowing cloud of dust; if it hadn’t been for his facemask, he would have been blind. He was still blind, but not with dust in his eyes. Whoopie!

Sarah hadn’t wanted him to race, not today, but he’d insisted.  She’d insisted something would happen, he’d get hurt, but he’d just laughed. How many hundreds of times had he raced with nothing more serious than some cracked ribs or dehydration. He was smart, cool, professional. He knew how to handle himself on the track. She worried too much.

If only he’d listened, maybe he wouldn’t be trapped in a world of pain, even with the drugs the Doctors had given him. What he’d give for dust in his eyes, for seeing her face one more time, but the fire had burned his eyes. Seared his throat with toxic fumes. She couldn’t even hold is hand.

The memorial was the next Friday, before the race run in his honor.