A photo prompt topic is to be used as your ‘muse’. They will arrive promptly at midnight each Thursday morning. Include the photo prompt and its credits with your story on your blog. All stories are to be crafted and honed to under 200 words in length.


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It was impossible to see far into the cave, but that didn’t matter.  What was he here for if not to explore, take risks, feel life flashing through his veins?

“You sure you want to do this?” Cricket asked.

He glanced over at her, face rimmed with the fur of her hood. So beautiful.

“Yes.” This was all he had left. This and Cricket, but he wouldn’t have either long. He didn’t want her to watch. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t right. And he damn well just didn’t want to put her through the trial.

“You will be careful?”

“Of course.”

“And come back?”

There was the rub. Coming back.

“Love you, Cricket,” he said, kissing her cold lips. “Always.”

She smiled. He didn’t want her to suffer. She didn’t want him to go, yet she wanted to respect his wishes in death as she had in life.

“Love you,” she replied, eyes meeting his for a moment before looking away. Listened to the swish of the oars, the crunch of snow and ice. Water like wind to wash away tears.

When she looked back, he was gone.




FFfAW Challenge-Week of January 3, 2017

Week of 01-03 through 01-09-2017



Guide for Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers

1. A prompt photo will be provided each Tuesday to be used as a base to your story. Please include photo prompt with your story.

2. Linking for this challenge begins on Tuesday and runs to the following Monday evening.

3. Please credit photo to photographer.

4. The story word limit is 100 – 150 words (+ – 25 words). Please stay within this limit.


This week’s photo prompt is provided by Grant-Sud. 

He lived on Indian Time, that time which meant one is never early and never late. At college, Indian Time caused a good bit of hassle, for him, his professors, and his friends. When he’d come back to the sandstone mesas of his childhood, time settled once more into the still dark depth of his being.

Closing his eyes, he breathed in the vastness of the buttes and mesas around him. Yes, he’d been tempted to stay, but no, he’d never regretted his choice. This was home and home meant Harmony.

The petroglyphs carved onto the faces of the rocks circled him like family, endlessly patient, all-knowing and wise. He felt close to his ancestors here. He felt understood.

Tomorrow he would drive into Shiprock in his Uncle’s old blue pick-up and start his new job. Working at the Clinic would be hard, but he wasn’t afraid of hard. He was afraid of no longer being Indian enough.

Home. Harmony.

The sound of drumming far in the distance.