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 try to stay within this limit.
They stepped onto the boat, woman flinching as the deck tilted beneath her, gentleman assisting her to a seat. He chose to stand at the stern, clear view to where she sat.
He should have killed her the minute she knew, but he hadn’t. And he was pretty pissed at himself for not having done so. With so many ways she might destroy him, he needed to find out how she’d known.
Besides, a watery grave was no better, nor worse, than one landlocked.
The cool of the night surrounded him, moonlight sparkling off water, beautiful against the garish lights of the taxi. So much to do before he abandoned his life here. He’d liked living here, loved it in fact. But done is done.
He’d only taken his gaze from her for an instant, but when he looked again she was no longer in her seat. His eyes searched the boat, nostrils flared, but no matter what he thought, wanted, or believed, she was gone.
You’ve just been handed a message that makes you drop to the floor, trembling uncontrollably.
The floor was cold. That was my first recollection. Concrete cold. Concrete hard. Trembling with cold and something else, something I didn’t understand. When he handed me the note, I’d felt bolts of lightening stabbing up my arm and to my heart. The next thing I knew was cold floor, body still jerking and trembling.
McBrown still stood over me, manic grin plastered across his face. I’d learned quickly to fear McBrown. His work was to make life as hard as possible for those of us here.
Beyond my cell, other inmates howled and growled, typical reactions to his presence. He knew not to come too close to the bars, knowing any one of us would gladly claw him to shreds.
He’s pressed against my bars though, knowing I am helpless to reach him. He prods me, laughing as each jerk of electricity rattles inside me; laughing as if the piece of paper clutched helpless in my hand is somehow his private joke on my world.
Maybe it is. Why else would a lawyer come to see me unless my sentence is set? I know they would not come to pardon me. I’ve done horrible things, things for which no pardon could ever come.
I don’t want to die, but I will. The lawyer will come. He will inform me of the date I will die in his cold, clinical voice, no emotions on his face. No emotions in him at all, the hollow shell of a man who once knew the meaning of sunshine. Like me.
Holy Mother of God, I don’t want to die.
Please, Lord, let me go to my end without breaking.
Outside the empty cell, the other inmates remain silent in memory.
The drive to the shipyard was nothing but headache, then we arrived, staring at the confusion of building and roads and docks.
“How do they know what to do… and where?” Wendy asked.
“What I want to know, is how we know what to do and where?” Joshua.
“What I want to know, is who they are?” Me.
Except for the abandoned cars we’d passed on the highway and here, everything was deserted.
“What I want to know is can we go home?” Phil.
The silence was enough to make me want to go home, too.
“Go left,” Me.
Wendy turned the car left, weaving in and around obstacles until the road ended at a concrete barricade. A solitary ship rolled gently at the dock.
“And she was named Rustbucket.” Joshua, of course.
“Is this smart?” Wendy.
“No,” but I got out of the car anyway. We picked our way to the gangplank and stalled. No one wanted to go first, so I went, testing each step before I moved. At the top I halted, waiting for them to catch up.
I heard the screech of tires on asphalt. Behind me, the dock lay empty. Car sounds faded into the distance.
I stepped on board and started walking.
“Bravery is not the absence of fear but the forging ahead despite being afraid”
― Robert Liparulo,
When the Kings move from L.A. to a secluded small town, fifteen-year-old Xander is beyond disappointed. He and his friends loved to create amateur films . . . but the tiny town of Pinedale is the last place a movie buff and future filmmaker wants to land.
But he, David, and Toria are captivated by the many rooms in the old Victorian fixer-upper they moved into–as well as the heavy woods surrounding the house.
They soon discover there’s something odd about the house. Sounds come from the wrong directions. Prints of giant, bare feet appear in the dust. And when David tries to hide in the linen closet, he winds up in locker 119 at his new school.
Then the really weird stuff kicks in: they find a hidden hallway with portals leading off to far-off places–in long-ago times. Xander is starting to wonder if this kind of travel is a teen’s dream come true . . . or his worst nightmare.
A thoroughly enjoyable book, good enough to read the next in the series but not good enough to keep on my shelf (thought I keep very few books on my shelf after they are read). This is, after all, a Young Adult book probably more suited to the 10 – 13 age group. The story is told by both brothers, David and Xander. It is well written but, compared to a book like The Raven Boys, it is more simplistic than many of the Young Adult/Teen books I have read. Perhaps I didn’t enjoy it more because I had already read a book built around the concept of a house with doors going into different world and times. I also found the basic plot of the book – to find their Mother after she had been kidnapped – thin at times.
All in all, a fun read but if you want a more engaging book, I’d suggest something like The Raven Boys by Maggie Stiefvater or even the Morpheus Road Trilogy by D.J. McHale.
“Live to fight another day was an expression that did not take into account the loved one who would die because you didn’t continue fighting today.”
― Robert Liparulo,
“The terms we use for what is considered supernatural are woefully inadequate. Beyond such terms as ghost, specter, poltergeist, angel, devil, or spirit, might there not be something more our purposeful blindness has prevented us from understanding? We accept the fact that there may be other worlds out in space, but might there not be other worlds here? Other worlds, in other dimensions, coexistent with this? If there are other worlds parallel to ours, are all the doors closed? Or does one, here or there, stand ajar?”
― Louis L’Amour,