Response to JSW Prompt for 6-5-2017

Feel free to join in and respond to the prompt. Please try to keep your response under 300 words. If you reply, I will re-blog your post to my site (sometimes I am slow at this, but I get there!)

I don't get mad...

“Damn it, Jason, where the hell are you?”

“Right here,” his brother replied, close enough to make him jump.

“Frick. You almost gave me a heart attack.”

Too bad I didn’t. 

Marcus rubbed dirty hands on his pants. “Can you please stay here? Where I can see you?”

Jason shrugged. “It’s not my fault.”

“I know, I know,” Marcus sneered. “It’s the witches fault. She put a curse on me,” he complained in a fake high-pitched voice, not like any witch they’d ever come across. “At least appear in front of me.”

“Last time I did that, you almost shot me,” Jason pointed out.

Too bad I didn’t.

They smiled at each other.

“Well, shall we carry on?” Marcus asked.

“By all means,” Jason replied, sweeping his arm in a go-first gesture.

Satisfied, Marcus walked down the path. Behind him, Jason slowly faded from sight and disappeared.

 

Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers 5-21-2017

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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.

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This week’s photo prompt is provided by loniangraphics. 

Snow. Ice. Wind. The night couldn’t get any colder.

“Have you seen the witch?” a rough voice asked, but not to him.

Their horses stamped impatiently, wanting back in their warm barn. As the posse moved forward, he drifted behind, eyes searching the darkness. Stamping down panic.

It was then his eyes met those of the frightened girl, hidden in a jumble of brush across the clearing.

Something crashed in the brush ahead. The men broke into a run.

“Shoot the witch.”

“Don’t let her escape.”

He stared. Demon eyes. No, child eyes. Innocent eyes. Terrified eyes.

Thou shall not suffer a witch to live. What man held the right as judge?

Nothing would be the same.

He would never be trusted again.

Rushing over to the brush, he grabbed the girl out, scooping her up and starting to run.

FLASH FICTION FOR THE PURPOSEFUL PRACTITIONER 5-10-2017

 

The challenge for Flash Fiction for the Purposeful Practitioner opens Wednesday morning, May 3rd. 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, May 12th, 2017.

Flash Fiction for the Practical Practitioner

man

Fog swallowed the night, glowing tail-lights of the car and the wound-slash of the sputtering bulb above the abandoned way-station the only light.

“You ‘re late.”

Voice cutting my spine like the knife which killed me.

His fingers wove webs of pain. My pain. His pain. Pain conscious in the night and fog.

Bone-bread. Bone-bread.

His hand grabbed mine, placing it on the string and stone between us.

“Bone-bread. Bone-bread, let me walk with the spirits of the dead.”

Bone-bread. Bone-bread. Words echoing in my head. Bone-bread. Bone-bread. Clear thy sight for the spirits of the dead.

“Bone-bread. Bone-bread. Clear my sight on the spirits of the dead.”

The pain was sharp and sudden. There shouldn’t be pain. Not in the land of the dead.

The night filled with shifting shadows.

Bone-bread. Bone-bread. God help the summoned dead.