Flash Fiction for the Practical Practitioner 8-12-2017


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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.

Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers 8-4-2017

This week’s photo prompt is provided by TJ Paris. 

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.



Sunshine glittered off shimmering waters,  reflecting in his sunglasses; beach silent but for the soft whisper of waves. Back in the cottage, his phone would be ringing, but he didn’t want to talk. He didn’t want to even be in the same universe as anybody he knew.

“You know,” he said to the salt and the sand, “I’m not crazy.”

The salt and the sand didn’t answer, nor had he expected them to. That would be crazy.

A seagull flew overhead, silent.

Water lapped his toes.

He could almost hear the ringing. Ringing. Ringing.

“I don’t need any help.”

Which was true, but not honest.

How could such a beautiful world be so ugly inside?

He imagined diving into the crystal water and swimming away forever.

A seagull flew overhead, screaming.

Slowly, he turned and headed back towards the cottage, footsteps trailing behind in the sand.

Ringing. Ringing. Ringing.





The challenge for Flash Fiction for the Purposeful Practitioner will open early Wednesday morning, February 15th. 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, February 24th, 2017.



He stumbled across the bottle half-way along his walk; the roar of waves, the feel of tiny shells beneath bare feet, comforting him like little else in the world. He dreamed of staying on the beach forever. He wouldn’t miss the hectic world of work, the few moments of play, which dominated his existence over the past years. To be honest, he wouldn’t miss anything and nothing would miss him.

It was an old wine bottle, or maybe one of those fake champagnes. He’d heard countless stories, seen countless films, of bottled messages, but he’d never imagined he might find one himself. It was a romanticized idea with no place in his realistic world. And yet, the bottle felt real in his hands, crusted with sand and seaweed.

“My name is Kylie. I feel alone. Arigatou gozaimasu.”

It ended with an address in Japan.

The note fluttered from his fingers. Who was he to take on anyone else’s loneliness? Didn’t he have enough of his own? And yet, he picked up the note and crumbled it into his pocket.

Returning to his cottage, he sat on the deck, paper on his lap. After a moment, he began to write.