Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers 5-9-2017

Week of 05-09 through 05-15-2017

photo-20170206154748327

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.

photo-20170508154649843
This week’s photo prompt is provided by Yarnspinner.

He gazed down at the prepared venue, contemplating his responsibility in bringing the meeting to a positive outcome. An impossible responsiblity. First, there was no way for the meeting to end positively. Second, he didn’t care one way or the other. Not that it mattered. His job was to find common ground and prevent murder.

Or so, those participating believed.

Pulling on his jacket, he straightened his tie, stepping out of the chamber.

Which side would win?

Well, that was up to him wasn’t it?

 

 

Friday Fictioneers 3-10-2017

untitledff

yellow-bug-shaktiki

PHOTO PROMPT © Shaktiki Sharma

Friday Fictioneers

“Closer, move him closer,” Jacs whispered.

“I’ve got it!”

“So move him closer.”

“Shut…..!”

Which he did for about five seconds. “I can’t hear.”

“Well,” Tim whispered, “if you’d just shut up and let me work…..”

“Okay….”

Another five seconds.

“Hurry.”

“SHUT UP!”

“You are the only person I know who can shout in a whisper.”

Tim ignored him, jumping the grasshopper inside the door.

“Oh, look, a grasshopper.” Female. Footsteps like thunder.

“Crap!” in unison.

The woman tossed the grasshopper out.

“Thank god. If the BugsMilitaryListeningDevice prototype had been destroyed, we’d be in deep you-know-what!”

But it hadn’t.

Success!

JSW Prompt 3-10-2017

151dfc7f6b64dc5fe57f55e38750544b

“Nothing,” she replied calmly.

“Right, so how come you aren’t looking at me?”

“Really, Jeremy? Psychoanalyzing me now?”

“I’m sorry, darling, but….”

“But what?” She sniffed dismissively. “You think I’m some murderer?”

That came out of nowhere. “No, I just wanted to know if you were burying treasure in our backyard.” Where had the murderer comment come from? Even as he wondered, he didn’t really want to know. Guilt was a strong motivator, but what did she have to feel guilty for?

“I’ve got to go to work,” she replied, taking up her purse.

“Of course.” He kissed her cheek. “I’m grilling tonight.”

“Sounds wonderful.”

Would there, he wondered, be grilling tonight?

He watched her drive away, mind still wrestling with the question of the garden. Maybe, he was wrong. It had happened before.

Maybe she had been burying food scraps or… a dead mouse she’d found in the yard….. or…. He pushed such thoughts away. Forced himself to clean up the breakfast dishes before heading to his home office. No patients today, but he had piles of papers to work through.

By lunchtime, his curiosity overwhelmed him and he had to go to the garden. Taking a trowel, he walked to where she’d been digging. Did he really want to know? Was it worth breaking her trust to find something meaningless like a dead mouse? Their cat brought in dead creatures all the time, but Kathy had never buried them before.

Kneeling, he started turning soil. Murderer didn’t mean she’d really killed somebody, he told himself. She would consider herself a murderer if she’d accidentally killed said mouse. That didn’t make her ‘one who murders’ or was he just finding excuses?

Maybe her paranoia was returning. Or maybe his. Maybe she’d had an affair, thought he wasn’t sure how that might equal digging in the garden.  Maybe…..

He kept digging until his trowel hit something hard.

Daily Post One Word Prompt – Yellow (Gone, Pt 3) 1-29-2017

Yellow

Gone, Part 3

Yellow. As in piss poor. Rubber ducks. The sun. Lemonade. Flowers. And dead if the man heading into the bank didn’t perform up to snuff. He’d wanted to kill the bait before, had argued for it, but had been overridden. Nobody wanted to listen. Nobody wanted to believe.

Yellow.

It was dangerous to use one piece of bait too long. Too dangerous, not only to the bait – which didn’t matter to him – but to the job. There was always more bait. There wouldn’t be another mission should this one fail.

He drew in a long breath, not looking at the asshole beside him or the rest of the team watching from above; strategically placed around the street corner on which the bank was situated.

“Good afternoon, Mr Marshall. I hope for a productive meeting.”

“I am sure it will be, Mr. Jenkins. I am sure.”

Listened to the sound of walking. The rustle of clothes. The almost silent breath. Checking the bait’s vitals on the machine beside him, he cursed. The bait was going to panic; he’d been waiting for this to happen. You don’t pluck bait from the street and expect them to function in the high-stress situation of a mission. This one had lasted longer than the others. He’d almost believed things would work out this time.

More fool, he.

The sound of a door opening and closing.

“This will be suitable for your review, I hope?”

“Yes, fine.”

More rustling. The thump of a briefcase laid upon the table.

“I will call you when I am done.”

“Very well,” the bank manager replied, clearly reluctant to leave. “Let me know if you need anything.”

“Thank you,” the bait said a moment later. “I’ll give you a call.”

Rustle of clothing and the squeak of door hinges opening and closing.

Now, the fun began.

Gone, Part 1

Gone, Part 2

Daily Post One Word Prompt – Upredictable

Unpredictable

The Neighbors, Part 4

There are those among us who live unpredictable lives. Nasty men. Vicious women. Forgotten children. You will never see them. They pretend normalcy; friends and neighbors and co-workers. Inside they are monsters.

Am I one? Some things are best discovered on your own.


He stood at the top of the stairs, neither up or down, in or out, waiting. He had no clue what he was waiting for, maybe for clarity, reality or maybe just for his brain to come back together into some sort of logical sense.

He’d never. Not once. His entire life. Been this. Indecisive.

What the hell was happening? Whatever it was, he wanted it stopped. Now.

He closed the door to the basement, backtracking his steps to the kitchen. Bare lines, empty counters, metallic shine of the appliances. This was his favorite room in the house. Spartan. Clean. Cold. Empty.

Like him. Like his life. Before.

He’ never understood the concept of before and after. How could something be right then and wrong now?

So what was he going to do?

A cup of tea. Everything went with a cup of tea. Even the feeling your life was falling apart.

The Neighbors Part 1

The Neighbors Part 2

The Neighbors Part 3

 

Daily Post One Word Prompt 7-8-2016

False

The Neighbors, Part 1

There are those among us who live false lives. Nasty men. Vicious women. Forgotten children. You will never see them. They pretend normalcy; friends and neighbors and co-workers. Inside they are monsters.

Am I one? Some things are best discovered on your own.

They moved in in late July, one rusty truck filled with rickety furniture, broken plastic toys and a mangy dog tied to the tailgate. I watched for an hour, until the truck was unloaded, before heading out to welcome them to the neighborhood.

James, Jane and little Janice. Could smell them half my yard away.

I introduced myself without offering to shake hands. Who knew what I’d come back with that I hadn’t had before.

“You come a long ways?”

“From Phoenix.”

“Nice place, Phoenix. So I’ve been told.”

He shrugged, bored already.

Janice ran over tugging the dog behind her. I stepped back just enough to keep her from grabbing my slacks.

“Do you have a dog?”

“No.  I don’t.”

“Did you used to have one?”

I shook my head. “Don’t like dogs.”

Her face fell. The dog snuffed the grass, lift his leg.

Least he was on their yard. I’d need a fence, I decided. And soon.

 

FFfAW Challenge – Week of 06-28-2016

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.


untitled
Picture by The Storyteller’s Abode.

The scarecrow was all she had left. Ironic that after all these years, the only thing he left her was a tattered thing in her old clothes. Why build a scarecrow so far from any crops crows might conceivably bother. Moreover, who build a scarecrow to guard gate, concrete and hill?

Maybe he had gone mad like they’d said, those men who’d come looking for him.

Ripping off the flower, she torn the scarecrow to shreds, scattering pieces across the damp ground. Taped round the pole was a plastic-wrapped paper.

‘Susan. In the concrete vault behind the scarecrow are accounts set up for you.  Love forever. Mike.’

Now came the tears.

Quote For The Day 6-28-2016

Sorry means you leave yourself open, to embrace or to ridicule or to revenge. Sorry is a question that begs forgiveness, because the metronome of a good heart won’t settle until things are set right and true. Sorry doesn’t take things back, but it pushes things forward. It bridges the gap. Sorry is a sacrament. It’s an offering. A gift.”
Craig Silvey, Jasper Jones

Friday Fictioneers 5-6-2016

grey-day-with-pigeons-roger-bultot

The signals came in through the satellite dish, buzzing down the line to the tiny receiver tucked in the back of his closet. No matter how much tech he brought, it only worked as fast as the world he was in. This one was tech challenged, one might say. They had the telephone, if you called the old rotary dial a real phone.

He didn’t. Obviously.

The message blinked up. “Today. Midnight.”

Inspirational, that. Clicking off the receiver, he broke it down, tucking important components into his bag and tossing the rest out various windows. The Dishes, he broke down and discarded.  He’d not need them here again.

Midnight. One shot. And then, lickety-split,  home again.

FLASH FICTION FOR THE PURPOSEFUL PRACTITIONER: WEEK #17 – 2016

The opening sentence for the April 21st Flash Fiction for the Purposeful Practitioner: “I’m sure that the little girl in that back seat was signing us…” Please use this sentence (or this thought) somewhere in your flash. (200)

This challenge is open until 11:00 pm Friday night, April 29th, 2016.

To read more, click Here.

car

Randolph studied the dash. Right, England, so the whole wheel and pedals were ass-backwards.  Bucking up, he started the car,  hoping he remembered to stay on the right… no left… side of the road.

His phone chirped.  “Hey, Ran, you coming?”

“On my way.”

“You remember the directions?”

“Turn at the lightning-split tree then straight on to the boonies.”

“Don’t have boonies here. Call it the way-back-of-beyond. Don’t get lost.”

Three hours later, he pulled to the side of the road. He’d remembered to stay on the left – most of the time – but now he was lost. He looked at his phone. No signal.

The forest hung quiet, trees casting him in shadow. Too quiet. The thrum of something stared in his feet, moving up his body. Why had he ever come to England? Honor? Prestige? Blah. Blah. He just wanted to be home.

A small metallic blue car whizzed past. Framed in the back window, a small girl stared back at him, waving, beckoning him to follow. His hand started towards the gear shift.  The car drew away until all he could see was a dog staring back at him, teeth bared.