JSW Prompt 6-25-2018

Feel free to join in and respond to the prompt. Please try to keep your response under 300 word (recommended, not law). You can write a story, poem, essay, anything which strikes your fancy. I will re-blog posts to my site.


 

 

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Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers 6-20-2018

This week’s photo prompt is provided by Enisa.

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 in the amount of words).

 


She sat at the rickety table, staring at the one thing she had left (besides the crappy furniture and the cracked mirror in the bathroom). A fake crystal vase. He’d given it to her once upon a time, with a single peach rose inside, a token of his love.

A love that hadn’t lasted long until the lies started and never stopped. Bad enough a divorce and then the medical problems and now bankruptcy. Where, and how, had she gone wrong?

Was it wrong to want to live a normal life? To experience love and happiness? To honor truth? Sometimes, she felt that it was, at least for her.

Maybe, she didn’t deserve a normal life, even if she wasn’t sure why. Something had to be wrong with her, didn’t it?

Didn’t it?

Rising, she walked to the back door and stared outside.

Sunset, a beautiful sky.

The last day of despair?

Or, simply the last day?

(157)

Response JSW Prompt 6-18-2018

Feel free to join in and respond to the prompt. Please try to keep your response under 300 word (recommended, not law). I will re-blog your post to my site.


 

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“Nothing personal, I assure you,” he said, flipping his knife in one hand.

I’ve always wondered how they do that. I’d cut off my fingers for sure.

“So are you a paid killer or just doing this for recreation.”

“Paid.”

“So this is your job? I mean, all the time?”

He took a step forward, apparently tiring of the chatter.

“I was just wondering what makes a man take up this profession.”

He hesitated. “It is what I do best.”

“How so?” I asked, feigning more interest that I felt.

He frowned, considering. “I’m just skilled with… well… weapons. I like them and I have no problem with killing.”

“So, if you weren’t a hired killer, do you think you’d be a serial killer?”

A snort. “Hardly. I take out my target. I get paid. Simple transaction. Why would I want to do this for free?”

“A business man then.”

He seemed to like the label. Considering a moment before nodding.

Stepping forward again, he switched the knife to blade forward, ready to make intimate contact with my heart. Or ribs or belly or wherever he might strike.

I held up a hand. “I’m still curious. Did you grow up like this. Not feeling anything about killing somebody?”

He scowled, but stopped. “Yeah, I suppose I did. Never cared much for people. Showed talent in the area and attracted attention.”

I shifted slightly to the side, pretending to lean a shoulder against the wall, looking much more comfortable than I had any reason to be. Drawing in a breath, I held it though I’m not sure why.  It’s not like holding my breath would protect my insides from the sharpness of his blade.

As his muscled tensed, I dropped to the floor as Wally shot him in the back of the head. Blood and brains splattered everywhere and I wiped them from my face.

“One more attempt thwarted.”

Wally snorted, shook his head. “Tomorrow you are on your own. I got a dentist appointment.”

“But he’ll be back tomorrow,” I protested. “Isn’t my life worth more than your teeth?”

He smiled. “Hey, don’t feel bad. If you avoid him tomorrow, I’ve got your back on Friday.”

Friday, great, but better than nothing.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Sunday Photo Fiction 6-17-2018

Sunday Photo Fiction

DSCF5305Photo Credit: Susan Spaulding

 


He sat quiet, watching the coming and going in the park, Alfred standing to the side, staring off towards the pond.

“After we eat, don’t worry,” he said, taking a bite of his biscuit. Sipping coffee. Tossing half of another to his friend. Alfred ignored the sharing.

He shrugged. It was early. Alfred wasn’t a morning bird.

Neither of them were young. Maybe that was why they were such good friends. Both of them looking at the world from the wrong end of the telescope.

He hope Alfred went first. Who’d take care of him if he passed first? Alfred was a quiet bird, a reflective bird, set in his ways.

Taking his last bite of biscuit, he crumbled the bag and tossed it into the trash bin. Two points. He still had it.

Glancing down, he saw Alfred eating his biscuit, settled back to wait. Friends waited for each other. Friends accepted each other. Friends were friends.

Besides, he enjoyed the quiet. The pond would wait.

 

Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers 6-15-2018

photo prompt from wildverbs

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 in the amount of words).


“Where would you go, ?” Jace wondered, “if you swan down inside the fountain?” He was always asking questions like that, nonsense really. Impossible fantasies.

I turned towards him. “Everybody knows you’d go down into the things that make the fountain work.” Pipes and plumbing, of course, but I didn’t know the words or the details then. I still don’t know the details, but I’ve gotten the basics down.

“Are there whales down there?”

“Of course not, Stupid!”

“Baby whales?”

I pushed him off the bench and ran away. Mom found him later, still on the bench, still watching. Still dreaming dreams nobody understood.

I remember those days on the bench, watching the fountain. Sometimes ducks would come, treading water with orange paddle feet.

Sometimes….

I tuck the picture away into my pocket, hidden but not forgotten, knowing something soon would spark the memories, bring him back to me, if only for an instant.

 

 

 

 

Friday Fictioneers 6-14-2018

 
PHOTO PROMPT © Jean L. Hays

Danny watched the quail pacing back and forth outside the screen, forehead scrunched in concentration.

“What’s wrong?” Mom asked.

“Quail.”

“Why is it on the window ledge?”

“Quail.”

“It doesn’t look injured.”

“Quail.”

“It’s not nesting season.”

“Quail.”

Mom looked at Danny and smiled. “You’re right, Danny. The quail has come to visit. We should offer it something.”

Danny took a slice of bread and shuffled out the door, flopping to the ground. With a hop, the quail bobbed over and pecked at the bread.

Mom smile. Thank heavens for small miracles.