FLASH FICTION FOR THE PURPOSEFUL PRACTITIONER- 2017 WEEK #07

 

The challenge for Flash Fiction for the Purposeful Practitioner will open early Wednesday morning, February 8th. 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 17th, 2017.

FFftPP

guitarhttps://pixabay.com/en/guitar-music-man-play-strum-chord-869217/

His fingers flowed across the guitar strings, coaxing forth music as deep and broken as his soul. He used to play for folks, in straggly bars and tucked-away clubs, pure guitar or mixed with other voices, but no longer. Now, he played alone, heard only by the trees and the animals and the night.

“Come back, we want to hear you play,” the people cried. They offered money, then more money. Prestige. Fame. And still he played alone. Still, they didn’t understand.

She’d died at midnight, the soft strum of the guitar the last sound she heard; the first he heard in this new life without her. Maybe, if he’d stayed home, held steady against the temptations, she might still be alive. Maybe, if he hadn’t come home too late.

Sometimes people change. Sometimes, things are never the same.

Daily Post One Word Prompt – Tempted- 1-5-2017

Tempted

Gone, Part 2

He’d been tempted, yeah. What man in his right mind, even a married man, wouldn’t have been when the offer came tied in such a beautiful bow? Now he knew what the beautiful bow had concealed, but it was too late. He’d been snared and didn’t have any real choice in the matter.

Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.

He could have refused, could have walked away, but they knew where he lived, had pictures of Susan, leveled threats he knew they meant.

He’d thought, stupidly, he just need to help a few times and then go home, but that hadn’t been the case. A year now and to infinity.

He looked around, wanting to scratch his new-growing beard, but didn’t. One wrong step. He’d been living with that phrase for months now. One wrong step and you know what will happen.

He did, oh yeah. And he’d do anything to keep his wife safe. He’d wanted to tell her in the months they’d given him to tie up his affairs, make her think he was leaving for another woman, but he knew what would happen. The only way to ensure her safety was to remain quiet.

And so he had, walking away from everything which had ever meant anything to him. Susan, job, friends and family. He’d spent their marriage taking care of her, giving her whatever she wanted to make her happy. One, because he could, and two, to keep her safe with a wall of money between them and the world.

God, he’d been such a stupid shit.

“Problem?”

He frowned; hated earpieces. It was them watching over his shoulder. Straight and narrow. Eyes on the prize. Staying alive.

He shook his head, running a hand through new-blacked hair, and stepped off the curve, walking quick and confident to the First Bank of Farmingham.* He had fifty minutes. Taking a steadying breath, he opened the door and stepped inside.

Gone, Part 1

 

  • The First Bank of Farmingham, though a real bank, is entirely fictionalized for this story.