Posted in flash fiction

Experiments in Humanity – Stream of Conciousness Saturday

“Hey there hon, what would you like?”

Toki felt a rush of endorphins as her human counterpart, Katrina, took in the male in front of her. His teeth glistened unnaturally against his sun damaged skin. 

“What are the options sweetheart?” His deeper voice sent shivers through Katrina.

Toki could barely think over the quickly increasing noise Katrina’s pounding heart made.

“Well, coffee, tea or me …” The sentence careened from confidence to shyness with the “me” barely whispered.

Why is her voice undulating into that sickly tone?

Blood rushed through Katrina’s viens, something Toki could also feel even if she’d rather not. The male’s smile stretched across his narrow face. He closed in on Katrina, grossly violating what Toki had learned were the human distancing requirements. 

“Well, I know what I’ll choose.” His warm breath brushed by Katrina’s ear. 

Toki hated these overwhelming sensations. The blood rushing around the body, the amount of noise it made, the varying heat sequences. Reading about it didn’t prepare her for the feelings associated with humanity. In just hours Katrina had taken Toki on a ride spanning the emotional bridge of humans. She cried, laughed, yelled and hit every point in between. 

Toki feared this male was going to push her into even more uncomfortable territory. 

His fingers slide down Katrina’s back. Her giggle made Toki’s skin crawl. Of course, Toki was borrowing Katrina’s skin for now. Small bumps spread in waves over Katrina’s arms and neck.  

How does humanity exist like this? 

It was less than 24 hours in and Toki was exhausted.

For Stream of Consciousness Saturday (SoCS)

I enjoyed this, it was nice to find a stream of consciousness prompt different than my usual word based one.

Posted in flash fiction

War Paint

Lilli plopped two tubes of lipstick down in front of her mother.

“Red for strength and energy.” Her mom admired the purple tube and cherry red lipstick.

“Black to signal you’ve been here before.” At this her mother frowned.

“You know I don’t like you wearing black lipstick.” Lilli rolled her eyes and huffed.

“Mom, I really think black lipstick is the least of the problems here. Besides, you need war paint to show the cancer who’s boss.”

Lilli’s mom tucked the black tube into her pocket.

“I’ll just keep this with me … to show the cancer who’s boss.”

Word Count: 99
For the flash fiction challenge at Carrot Ranch

Posted in flash fiction

Voyeurs

We must all be voyeurs at heart but, surveying the waiting area, I see no one else people watching like me.

A middle aged woman scurries past carrying the group coffee haul.

A family of five desperately attempts to redirect the youngest before the situation descends to tears.

Then his eyes.

They meet mine across the noisy space. Maybe there’s a smirk dancing over his lips; caught in the act as we are.

Like tunnel vision, I see nothing else.

Someone pauses before me, an imprint on the outskirts of my mind.

I peer around the figure but he’s gone.

PHOTO PROMPT © Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

Word Count: 100
For
Friday Fictioneers (on a Thursday!). Click the link for the rules and more flash fiction pieces.

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Posted in flash fiction

Game of Thrones

“So, what do you think?”

Martin surveyed the grotesque display in front of him. He didn’t want to risk angering his captor, “It’s an interesting chair.”

“Chair? Marty, my boy, look again. This is a throne.”

The man in full tuxedo and a plastic raincoat strutted around with a slight giggle on the tip of his tongue. “Do you know how many hands this took?”

“I …” Martin’s voice trembled.

His captor caressed Martin’s long fingers. “I’ve always admired yours. They’re the perfect centerpiece. The essential finishing touch, if you will.” His hacksaw rested on Martin’s wrist. “Shall we begin?”

Word Count: 99
For the 99 word challenge at Carrot Ranch.
Fact: This was inspired by Amelia Bedelia

Posted in stream of consciousness

In The Garden

Verdant – RDP word of the day
Music – Dirty Three – Self titled

Luscious.
Fertile.
Sasha’s garden was everything Mari could never inspire in her own. Her belly too, round with verdant life in a way Mari would never know.

Obsession.
Jealousy.
Rage in Mari’s veins blossomed as she feigned excitement for Sasha’s burgeoning life. Sasha’s roses brought home awards. Her daffodils sailed into a spotlight all their own. The baby kicked while she laughed on.

Inspired.
Alone.
Mari took to a rusted axe in order to get the job done.

I forgot to time myself but I intended to aim for 5 minutes to start. This probably took about that long.

Posted in flash fiction

Salt

Saoirse could smell the ocean salt clinging to his skin. She could still see the sunlight reflecting in his hazel eyes. This was where Julian belonged.

It hadn’t been good enough.

He had the ocean in his soul but around here the dark corners echoed of empty promises far louder.

She begged him. He answered their call anyway.

If I could go back, Saoirse wondered, when was the moment you decided?

His mother wiped her tears away.

“This is where he was happiest.”

Saoirse inhaled the ocean air and tilted the urn. They watched as the waves carried Julian away.

PHOTO PROMPT © Susan Eames

Word count: 100
For
Friday Fictioneers (on a Wednesday!) Click the link for rules and more stories.

Posted in flash fiction

Hey Siri

Dan surveyed the film scattered before him.
“There has to be something I’m missing.”
Bodies, splayed open and surrounded by a hodgepodge of mystical ingredients, stared back at him.
He really thought a handful of cinnamon would be the key.
“Hey Siri, how do you reanimate a corpse?”

278 characters  – 48 words
For Twittering Tales
And yes, I asked Siri how to reanimate a corpse (to my disappointment she did not deliver anything funny).

Posted in flash fiction

Gathering Place

You always said the kitchen was our gathering place. 

“Over fine food families are saved.”

We’ve finally begun washing away the smoke gathered on your plates. Odds and ends scavenged from charred remains gather dust among piles of bills. There’s a bill for every emotion it seems but our payment for grief falls short. 

In your absence we gather under your favorite tree. We try to laugh but they burn our lungs on the way out, so we stand and pretend. Maybe we believe you’ll turn the corner, picnic basket in hand. Maybe if we just squint a little harder …

PHOTO PROMPT © Ronda Del Boccio

Word Count: 100
For
Friday Fictioneers, many thanks to Rochelle for herding us in.

Posted in flash fiction

Gathering Place

You always said the kitchen was our gathering place. 

“Over fine food families are saved.”

We’ve finally begun washing away the smoke gathered on your plates. Odds and ends scavenged from charred remains gather dust among piles of bills. There’s a bill for every emotion it seems but our payment for grief falls short. 

In your absence we gather under your favorite tree. We try to laugh but they burn our lungs on the way out, so we stand and pretend. Maybe we believe you’ll turn the corner, picnic basket in hand. Maybe if we just squint a little harder …

PHOTO PROMPT © Ronda Del Boccio

Word Count: 100
For
Friday Fictioneers, many thanks to Rochelle for herding us in.

Posted in flash fiction

Fire Starter

I walked my dog here from the time the rain smelled of flowers through heated summer pains. We grew old here, grey hairs cropping up like pine needles. Soon we were covered with avalanches of them, prickly and sticky like aches and pains. Needles gave way to winters and snows heavy with human sorrow.

I had my first kiss here when birds were still quiet against the rising sun. He rested his hand on my cheek. He told me it would be alright. We planned a wedding through the morning dew and afternoon rays. But when the evening breeze came it left no remains. In the dark they strangled what we thought we had. By midnight it was just me and the needles, alone again.

I find myself in this place, over and over, shuffling dying fire starter from one memory to another. There’s smoke in the distance; the smell of burning dreams. I wonder what’s the cost to catch it all aflame and dissolve into the night, a waft of regret on the scent of what remains.

Photo Credit: Susan Spaulding

Word Count: 178
For
Sunday Photo Fiction – This might as well have been partially written by Dirty Three (seriously, I’ve been on a binge)