The JSW Challenge is open to anybody who wishes to participate. Using the writing prompt, write a flash fiction no longer than 200 words and post to your page. The Challenge starts on Monday and runs through Sunday each week. Please remember to link your story back to this post so everyone can read your entry.
We grow accustomed to Darkness. Darkness is in our hearts. Our minds. Our souls. Anybody who has not been tempted by Darkness is a liar.
Some of us grow up in darkness. Some of us grow up in Light, finding Darkness when we realize Light is not all there is in this world. This is the Darkness which crushes the soul, destroys the spirit, leaving nothing behind but despair.
Some of us live in Darkness all our lives, never finding the path out. Never seeing even a spark of Light, our eyes so blinded by Dark.
Some of us are created of Darkness, some of us of Light. But it is the Darkness which finds us in our hours of despair, when the pain is so all-encompassing we no longer believe in Light. Some of us never escape the Darkness and drown.
Some of us…. all of us…. grow accustomed to Darkness.
Today, we have a paragraph as a prompt. Do whatever you can with it. Reflect on it, twist it, break it into pieces and use a phrase or just write if you agree/disagree or whatever you think about it. As usual, there are no restrictions on length or format. Suit yourself.
PROMPT
“That proves you are unusual,” returned the Scarecrow; “and I am convinced that the only people worthy of consideration in this world are the unusual ones. For the common folks are like the leaves of a tree, and live and die unnoticed.”
― L. Frank Baum, The Land of Oz
“Leaves of a tree, my butt,” grumbled the Flying Monkey perched in the tree. “Ill show him leaves on a tree.” But he wouldn’t. He was, after all, a kind Flying Monkey and not a bit of the meanness in him that consumed his brethren.
Still, he hated to be called a leaf as if he were no more than one Flying Monkey among a thousand Flying Monkeys. And he hated, hated, hated, being called common. Hadn’t he left the Witch’s Castle and set out on his own, searching for a kinder, gentler, place among the vastness of Oz?
No, he was a failure of a Flying Monkey; hadn’t he been told that all his life? Hadn’t the others mocked him and laughed at him as he helped earthworms across the Yellow Brick Road and rescued ladybugs from the dank of the Witch’s Castle?
Dorothy had been a single girl out of thousands. Toto a single dog out of thousands. The Scarecrow a single scarecrow out of however many scarecrows might be around; the Tin Man the single out of the world of Tin Men. And the Cowardly Lion. How many lions were there in Oz? Hundreds? Thousands? Millions? And yet, he was the only one of them who was scared and kind.
Was he maybe the Cowardly Lion of Flying Monkeys? Was he one of a thousand Flying Monkeys who wanted to be kind to those around him? Did that make him common? A leaf on a tree who would live and die unnoticed?
Could he be instead the catalyst of change among the Flying Monkeys? Could he be that one unusual Flying Monkey in a thousand who didn’t die unnoticed? Could he be a hero?
Spreading his monkey wings, he flapped from the tree, racing after the unusual band.
“You are nothing but a silly boy. You just wanting to kill everything.”
The bird’s tail feathers twitched and both were instantly mesmerized, eyes taking in every detail. Bo-Bo flicked his tail, making silent meowing sounds.
Princess curled her tail, cuffing him again on the ear with one paw. “Stop that. You’ll scare it away. It’s pretty.”
“Pretty? Pretty? Who cares about pretty?”
She sniffed, just enough to show her disdain. “Killer.”
“Fluff-head.”
“Take that back!” she hissed.
“You take it back!”
They tumbled together, teeth and claws. Neither realized the bird was gone until too late.
She walked out of the hospital as dark mapped a rainbow-colored sky. Exhausted after a double shift. She thought about napping in the car before driving home, but knew she wouldn’t. She didn’t need the questions which would be asked.
Yawning, she slid into the driver’s seat, closing her eyes for a moment. Would he be home tonight?
Or was he out drinking…. other things.
The marriage was over. She knew that, but pretended she didn’t. She still loved him. Her first boyfriend. First love. First lover. Only husband.
There was a light on in the living room. When she stepped inside, he was standing in the hallway.
This week’s photo prompt is provided by Pamela S. Canepa.
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.
“Looks dangerous.”
“It’s just rocks and slope.”
“And trees. Roots. Snakes…”
“How would you rather proceed?”
“Home for a cold beer and the Red Socks.”
“We’re not going home. I hate beer. And the Red Socks should be the Red Sucks.”
“You may not be going home. You may hate beer. And the Red Socks, but I don’t. See you on the flip side.” He turned and walked away, disappearing quickly into the trees.
His partner made his way over the rocks and down the slope, sliding the final fifty yards on his butt. He didn’t hate beer. Or the Red Socks. He’d said those things to make Carson leave.
A sliver of sky hung low above him. Silence all around; not even a breeze to rustle the leaves. Parting the brush, he peered down the ravine, eyes settling on the opening at the end. The Lost Shepard Mine!
The challenge for Flash Fiction for the Purposeful Practitioner will open early Wednesday morning, May 31st. 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, June 9th, 2017.
She frowned. “Why am I doing this again?” Last time she’d gone on one of Michael’s pre-dawn runs, she’d collapsed half-way through. He’d had to stop and limp her home. Em-barrassing.
“Come on, we’ll take it slower.”
“Than what? A zillion miles an hour?”
He knelt down and tied her shoes, pulling her running pants down around her ankles. “Don’t you want to fit into that beautiful wedding dress?”
“How do you know its beautiful? You’ve never seen it?” Frowned. “Have you?”
“No, but anything on you is beautiful.” He held up the boy scout pledge. “What do you really want, Liz?”
“I want to go back to bed, but then I’ll be fat and you’ll think bad of me cause I won’t ft into my dress and I won’t run.”
He pulled her up. “Liz, I will never think bad of you just because you don’t enjoy something I enjoy.” He kissed her. “Even if you don’t like running.”
“However,” he held up a finger. “You eat my Reese’s Cup and all bets are off.”
“Beast!” She looked at him for a moment. “So are we making the full circle today?”
The challenge for Flash Fiction for the Purposeful Practitioner will open early Wednesday morning, May 24th. 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, June 2nd, 2017.
A Writer's Life 
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