FLASH FICTION FOR THE PURPOSEFUL PRACTITIONER- June 12, 2018

Another of my favorite writing prompts is back!

The challenge for Flash Fiction for the Purposeful Practitioner will open early Wednesday morning, June 6th. 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 Thursday night, June 14th, 2018.

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He stood just off stage, waiting to go on, heart pounding like he’d already run a marathon. The dull roar of the fans sounded like a hurricane, ready for him to blow them away. Lift them up and away into the magical world inside his head.

He was ready. More than ready. Sweat tinting his hair-line, slicking his back, his upper lip. Already feeling the keys beneath his fingers.

A tech bustled around, adjusting his battery pack, checking the charge. The Sound Manager doing one final check. Pyrotechnics ready. The other band members milling around, cyclones of their own nervous energy.

“And now, welcome to the stage, the band everybody has been waiting for….”

The rest lost in a tsunami of noise; lights flashing like shooting stars.

Rudy tapped the rim of the snare, counting out the beat towards heaven.

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FLASH FICTION FOR THE PURPOSEFUL PRACTITIONER- 5-2-2018

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The challenge for Flash Fiction for the Purposeful Practitioner will open early Wednesday morning, May 2nd. 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 Thursday night, May 10th, 2018.

 


Tommy knelt beside the drying frame, one hand touching the leathering skin. Soon, it would be ready, but for what? Nothing was made from real things any more, not in the white man’s world nor in the world he’d left behind when his parent’s moved them from the reservation to Bradford, MA.

His parents wanted him to be white. He wasn’t white; would never be white; heart longing for two hundred years ago when his people were great, when their land, their lives, were their own, not cast-off from government.

If nothing else, he could make a rabbit-fur hat for his little sister. She wouldn’t wear it to school, but she might at home. She wanted to be white. Have white friends, play white games, go to white schools.

He wanted to hunt buffalo across the plains, count coup, dance the Sun Dance, ride his pony like the wind, sleep under stars and sky.

Hands dangling between his knees, he hunkered by the frame for a long time, listening for far-off sounds he knew he would never hear.

 

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Flash Fiction for the Purposeful Practitioner 9-27-2017

The challenge for Flash Fiction for the Purposeful Practitioner opens early Thursday morning, September 21st. 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, September 29th, 2017.

Flash Fiction for the Practical Practitioner


 

He leaned back in the taxi, ignoring the glitterati of the city around him.  It had been a long day, dawn to dusk, full of horns and exhaust and the low, steady, rumble in the heart of the city.

Beethoven sounded loud in the cab – Dun Dun Dun Da – and he pulled out his cell.

“Yes?”

“The vote came in about fifteen minutes ago, Mr. Dunbar.”

“And?”

“Sandy Thompson won.”

“I see.”

There was a long pause. “What did you wish me to do, sir?”

“Nothing at all.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, Mrs. Jones, I am.”

He clicked off the phone.  “Nothing at all,” he repeated to himself. He had Ms. Thompson right where he wanted her.

The sounds of the city were music to his ears.

Flash Fiction for the Purposeful Practitioner 9-8-2017

Rusty Gate

Flash Fiction for the Practical Practitioner


 

Tom pulled himself up and over the wall, dropping into the overgrown courtyard beyond. “Come on, dude.”

Danny dropped beside him. “This is stupid.”

“Which room?”

“On the left.”

Tom ran across the courtyard, followed by Danny.  They peered into the darkness, seeing a broken table, a blanket of leaves and trash scattered into the corners.

“Who was killed?”

“A hooker.”

“How?”

“Like Jack the Ripper!”

Tom’s eyes widened. “Truth?”

“Yeah.”

A clatter sounded from across the courtyard.

They turned to stare; saw nothing.

“Let’s go.”

Ignoring him, Tom crept into the murder room, foot kicking something under the leaves. He pulled up a rusted knife.

“Is that blood?”

“No.”

“Yes!”

Another clatter.

“Someones coming!”

“Hide!”

“Run!”

The sound of footsteps approaching.

“Run! Run! Run!”

They tumbled out of the room, pounding across the courtyard.  Up and over the wall. Neither stopped running until they reached Tom’s house.

Behind them, in the shadows, something chuckled.

 

FLASH FICTION FOR THE PURPOSEFUL PRACTITIONER 8-26-2017

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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.


Flash Fiction for the Practical Practitioner


 

“It’s there again!” he said, peering out beyond the window shade.

“What?”

“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!”

“But MOMMMMM!”

“No!”

Sulking, he slunk back to the table. “Spies don’t eat peas.”

“Of course they do, Sam. That’s what makes them so sneaky!”

 

 

 

FLASH FICTION FOR THE PURPOSEFUL PRACTITIONER 8-26-2017

bird

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Flash Fiction for the Practical Practitioner

 

“Do you think it would be good to eat?”

She cuffed him. “Birds aren’t for eating!”

“Of course they are! I know they are!”

“You are nothing but a silly boy. You just wanting to kill everything.”

The bird’s tail feathers twitched and both were instantly mesmerized, eyes taking in every detail. Bo-Bo flicked his tail, making silent meowing sounds.

Princess curled her tail, cuffing him again on the ear with one paw. “Stop that. You’ll scare it away. It’s pretty.”

“Pretty? Pretty? Who cares about pretty?”

She sniffed, just enough to show her disdain.  “Killer.”

“Fluff-head.”

“Take that back!” she hissed.

“You take it back!”

They tumbled together, teeth and claws. Neither realized the bird was gone until too late.

Both hissed, glaring at each other.

“What mother would name her kitten Bo Bo?”

“Better than Princess.”

“No it’s not! Princess is a great name.”

“Is not!”

“Is!”

“Isn’t!”

Another bird settled on the fence.

“Shuuush!”

“Pretty.”

“Good to eat.”

“Shuuuush……..”

 

 

Flash Fiction for the Practical Practitioner 8-12-2017

bus

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Flash Fiction for the Practical Practitioner


She watched the red-haired boy from the back of the bus, excited to be on the way to Hogwarts with Ron Weasley.

Paul McCartney had written “Eleanor Rigby” for her. They’d had a torrid affair, but, devastated when Linda died, he’d pulled away.

She’d tried an affair with Tom Cruise, but he was too short.

Harrison Ford, but he was too old.

Hamlet, but really, who needed that?

So, she’d started an affair with Chris Crenshaw, rock-n-roll and sex god all wrapped in one. They were going to get married as soon as he dumped the latest ‘it’ girl on his arm.

She hated ‘it’ girls. So pretty. So stupid. So vapid.

The bus stopped and Ron-who-wasn’t-Ron disembarked. She like Harry better, anyway,

At the next stop, she stepped into the drizzle, heading to H&H Accounting.

“Morning,” the first H said as she walked in.

The second H called, “I need these figures yesterday!”

She sat down to enter them into the computer.

“I’m going to lunch with Chris, today,” she told them.  “I have to leave by eleven.”

She never even saw the bus coming.