Posted in flash fiction, Word Prompt

Like Michelangelo

Why couldn’t my parents be dream crushers? My proclamation of wanting to become a marble sculptor should have scared them.

Perhaps the pieces which are grand are worth it but starving artist isn’t just an expression, and who buys marble sculpture anymore?

Men who spend on everything and still afford sculptures of themselves. Naked.

“Make sure it’s a testament to my … manhood. Like Michelangelo.” The man, overweight and sweating, purs.

“Michelangelo was the …” Not worth it. “If you insist on staying you’ll have to be quiet. I’d hate for my chisel to slip and … reduce your manhood in anyway.”

Word Count: Exactly 99

Word: Chisel
For the flash fiction challenge at
Carrot Ranch
A new one for me!

Posted in friday fictioneers

Captivate

She appeared in the music shop window. An enigmatic child before Christmas breathing slow circles of lust across the glass. Day after day she faded in and out, inching closer to the gold plated door handles. Her rats nest hair, highlighted by shimmering grey, and clanging camping pots scared patrons away.

The day she finally slid her dirty fingers across the grand piano keys we knew. Whatever she unleashed, it was beauty the world wouldn’t be ready for. 

People looked on. Phones took video. It wasn’t long before every mind became captivated. 

We haven’t seen her in months now.

PHOTO PROMPT © Anshu Bhojnagarwala

Word Count: 98
For
Friday Fictioneers hosted by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields.

Posted in stream of consciousness

Seed

I swallowed a seed
Completely on accident you see
It nestled to the folds of my being
Grew within me
Ivy limbs sprinted for the Sun
I wanted to tell you not to be afraid
But my tongue is replaced
And bark hardens my veins.

Photo: Cal Redback – to see more of his work click here

Posted in friday fictioneers

Best Laid Plans

The plan was fool proof.

I picked up the dress – white lace and satin – and called the priest, well, six. That’s how many it took before I found a priest rogue enough to perform a Catholic ceremony in the dead of night.

All the man had to do was show up.

His bike leaned politely against the building as always. My knock echoed loudly only angering me more.

“Can I help you?” I stared at the woman peeking over his shoulder. “My wife and I were just leaving.” Rage burned through me.

That’s the last thing I remember.

PHOTO PROMPT © CEAyr

Word Count: 98

Friday Fictioneers, many thanks to Rochelle Wisoff-Fields. Click the link to read more.

Posted in stream of consciousness

Today You Won

Today I wondered
What I’d done to survive this long.
How have I
Kept seeing blue skies?
Thoughts kept quiet,
Crept steadily forward.
You weren’t there
But I felt you at my back.
Your voice becomes
The beat to my degenerative drum.
Today, you won.

Posted in What Pegman Saw

Small – What Pegman Saw

“Breathe deep and count to three. When you wake up we’ll be done …”

Jessie’s eyes snapped open. For a man of 38 his back possessed a myriad of problems, waking up on the street never seemed to help matters.

Though it was snowing when the van plucked him from the corner this area was somewhat warm. There was light but surveying the sky Jessie couldn’t find the Sun. As his feet began sliding he noticed the street was covered in a yellow shellac.

In fact, every surface carried slick pastel colors.

Jessie had never heard of this side of town.

He wasn’t sure the “new life” promised was worth the uneasiness settling in his stomach.

“Pssstt.”
“Jess.”

“Fiona? Dave? I haven’t seen you two in weeks!” Dave covered Jessie’s mouth and pointed up.

“All done.” The sky jerked upwards as a monstrous hand deposited a new resident with a small thud.

Word Count: 150

For What Pegman Saw. This weeks location is Portmeirion Village, Wales. When I first saw it I thought “dollhouse” or a lego build … something colorful and childlike. Then, being me …

Click the froggy to read more.

Posted in friday fictioneers

Chicken Little

Sia tapped an unsuspecting puddle with her toe. Startled it rippled away, gently distorting the realities reflected on its surface.

The ripples transformed her brother, straining to peer into the dark general store, to a boy scavenging after Christmas. Barren trees became crumbling sticks, not even good for fire.

The sky was falling.

“Something’s wrong.”

Marta’s back spasmed and her lungs burned as she coughed. Thin strings of blood stretched from her lips to the palm of her hand.

Only her son caught sight of the panic in Marta’s eyes.

“Nothing’s wrong Sia. Stop daydreaming and come on.”

PHOTO PROMPT © Jean L. Hays

Word Count: 98
For Friday Fictioneers courtesy of Rochelle Wisoff Fields. Thank you as always.