FFfAW Challenge-Week of July 4, 2017 Response 7-20-2017

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 Monday pm and runs to the following Monday pm.

3. Please credit photo to the photographer.

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

This week’s photo prompt is provided by Kecia Spartin.

“Don’t look now,” he warned, “but there is a huge snake in the tree.
“Where in the tree?”
“Right above you.”
“Dandy.” She stood still, hearing the almost-nothing sound of scales on bark. “Is it?” she whispered, “a real snake?”
“Why would there be a fake snake in the tree?”
“It’s March.”
“Ain’t it a beauty.”
“Move on Crocodile Hunter.”
She continued down the path. Snakes didn’t scare her, not like they did her brother.
“You okay back there?”
“I’m fine,” he grumbled, “just keep moving.”
Above him the branch cracked. He screamed

Word Of The Day 3-25-2017





fear of writing


My dear Rankin,—Once more has my graphophobia placed me heavily in your debt.


Greek (meaning write or draw) and phobia is Greek (meaning fear).


Sunday Photo Fiction 3-4-2017


Each week a photo is used, donated by one of the participants of Sunday Photo Fiction, and the idea is to write a story with the photo as a prompt in around 200 words.

The memory of the olive remained until the last. Last moment. Last thought. Last touch of reality. Not that his life had reality, not any more. His life consisted of huddled flesh covered in skin not his own, cringing, crying, screaming to go home, but, unable to admit weakness and running instead, forward, backwards, tree to tree and rock to rock. Screaming. An outlet for paralyzing fear.

He was a terrified little boy, no longer little. A man. No, a boy trying on a man’s shoes and finding himself sadly inadequate. Not that he was; what if his father had faced the cringing and the running and the constant fear of that single last moment when pain and peace became one?

He lived monk-like, taking orders from high-ranked Man-Gods, knowing only he shouldn’t be there. Shouldn’t be death itself, taking from those on the other side of the line. Weren’t they boy-men like himself? Terrified with their Man-Gods behind, lying them on? Wasn’t everybody terrified, Man-Gods behind lying them on?

He was. He knew he was. He knew when the last act opened. Curtains parted. Cheers for the moment when pain and peace became one.

Quote For The Day 2-27-2017

“How should we be able to forget those ancient myths that are at the beginning of all peoples, the myths about dragons that at the last moment turn into princesses; perhaps all the dragons of our lives are princesses who are only waiting to see us once beautiful and brave. Perhaps everything terrible is in its deepest being something helpless that wants help from us.

Rainer Maria Rilke, Letters to a Young Poet



The challenge for Flash Fiction for the Purposeful Practitioner will open early Thursday morning, January 26th. 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 Wednesday night, February 1st, 2017.

Flash Fiction for the Practical Practitioner


He watched the koi swim lazily under the water, bobbing randomly to the surface in the hope of food. They were fat and huge and scared the crap out of him; the thought of how they would feel in his hands – slimy – their bubble eyes staring up at him with malicious intent; slowly gliding along, waiting. He didn’t know for what and he didn’t want to know.

“Hey,” Bobby said, coming up beside him. “Look at those things. I wish we could toss in a line.”

The thought made him cold all over.

They watched the summer tourists sauntering across the bridge to the far side of the man-made lake, heading for the shops on that side of the water. The koi turned, swimming back towards them, fishy cold eyes staring up at him.

He stepped back from the railing.

Starting back across the bridge towards the front of the shopping center, Bobby called, “Let’s get some dinner.”

With one more look behind, he hurried after his friend.

‘Soon,’ a cold voice whispered in his head. ‘Soon.’