Posted in flash fiction

Pen and Paper

As long as I don’t move I pretend no one can see me. I’m a statue, gathering snow. Birds traipse across my table, eyeing my lone piece of banana bread. They examine then flit off to inform their friends. 

It won’t be long before they descend, all for too sweet artificially flavored bread. 

My pen stares stoically at my notebook. It needs to bleed. It needs release. 

My notebook is having none of it, a lovers quarrel I’m sure. It remains steadfastly shut against the longing notes my pen wishes to deposit. 

Quiet conversations erupt into laughter. Engines spurn to life. A world of constant din and none of it can be composed until the notebook forgives the pen. 

I force them together, apologies be damned, but the pens strike is fatal; leaving an ink lined hole where a word should be.

I try again, gently this time. The paper shreds beneath the pen’s flow. Total refusal to cooperate. Ink won’t flow over paper, not while they’re not speaking this way.

All the world’s deadlines building unending pressure. Surely that’s enough to squash any relationship but pen and paper? I thought for sure they were stronger.

Word Count: 196
For Sunday Photo Fiction
Photo Credit Morguefile

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)

Posted in flash fiction

Always the Kettle

It’s the tea kettle, always the tea kettle.

Jada had no idea why it was the kettle. Surely it wasn’t always. How many childhood stories were there about tea kettles being possessed?

Zero.

She couldn’t resist the designs. It begged to be taken home.

Such a tea slut.

The walls rumbled. In front of her individual scales twitched and flapped. A beast of terrifying size draped over her furniture.

Don’t move.

Jada knew the beast couldn’t be real. Yet here it was, half chasing something in its sleep; its forked tongue hanging from between scaly lips. Its serrated claws curled as it feigned trotting through a field playfully tossing its massive head.

And probably a corpse.

A feeling of panic rested low in her belly. Jada’s legs ached to run but she was frozen. 

Don’t breathe.

Its head snapped up. Jada could see her reflection in the glossy red iris. The beast inhaled as its nose passed across her.

Not a snack, the whole meal. Is this really gonna be my last thought before I die?

Its putrid breath filled Jada’s nose. Instead of a roar it let out a series of low clicks.

Oh god, it’s engine won’t turn over.

Photo Credit: C.E. Ayr

Word Count: 200

For Sunday Photo Fiction – It’s my first time joining in with this (we can post on days other than Sunday right?) Also, dragons are like puppies. Who knew?

Posted in flash fiction

Biblical

PHOTO PROMPT © Dale Rogerson

He ran his fingers through the raging water. The boss was right, the rapids were tumultuous enough. The rabid water ripped gentle leaves below the surface, corrupting them beyond recognition.

“We’re all absorbed into chaos eventually.”

His walkie buzzed to life, “Tomas, are you ready?”

The boss said nothing would change without the influence of old words …

“Ready.” His voice was steady but only now did Tomas feel the sun beating down on his neck.

The first strings of red rushed through the rapids towards the town water supply.

They would pay for their dependence on old words today.

Word Count: 100

Many thanks to
Rochelle for hosting Friday Fictioneers!

Posted in flash fiction

Four Feet Deep

Maybe that’s all there is.

Maybe one day you walk out of the office heading for nowhere and end up here. Eye to eye with everything that’s left of Bessie the desert cow you never knew you cared about.

Until now.

You waltzed out of the gas station, one brain cell on reality and the rest playfully baiting eternity, when three pairs of hands and a graying beard shove you into a rumbling cargo van.

Who knows really how long your face will remain plastered over crumbling brick walls and flashed ever sparingly across the bottom of nightly news screens.

Like Bessie it could already be long gone. A skeleton in some rattled detectives closet, only to be unearthed when ground is broken for that new shopping mall in ten years time.

For now you’re flung four feet deep with dirt and desert bugs collecting in the folds of your skirt. Broken blades of grass and decades old Bud Light cans settle into their rightful place nestled among your bruised arms.

Caressing your hair, chopped and dyed, the slow harness of time takes hold.

And you have no choice but to sit with Bessie, the eyes which see it all, and wait.

skull

Image and write photo challenge via Sue Vincent

Posted in flash fiction

Colossus

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Write Photo 10/4

Rocks and the ankles of fragile women; obstacles the ocean must break. These waves scream on approach, all foam and gnashing jaws.

Amber eyes aglow against purple skies, beset concrete brows and permanent growls. No, the ocean sees, intimidation must be quelled.

It has no choice but to settle and whittle. Slowly it carves away that which once was, pulling it out to the deep.

Slow lines hollow into caverns, places steeped in crystalline mystery. While the water gathers, quietly sabotaging steady feet.

We forget secrets the water promises to keep. As we watch colossus fall, we wonder if she ever stood at all.

I’ve seen some people I follow participating in this and I’ve been meaning to check it out. I saw this weeks photo and thought it was just so stunning. But I know I’m kind of late!

Posted in flash fiction

Perfect Moon – Friday Fictioneers

Is it the same moon we see?

Do you watch it roll slowly above the horizon, arcing gracefully?

I trace its path with an uncertain finger, lingering on the point where I dream our palms should meet.

A perfect intersection, a crossing of the souls. A perfect arcing destiny, straight into the heart from Cupid’s bow.

I wonder which plane you left on and if you’ll ever return. If you ever do, I wonder should our hearts meet again, perhaps under glistening Sun?

Dreams come true, if only for a night, a moment. If only under the perfect arcing moon.

gah_windowPHOTO PROMPT © Gah Learner

And thank you to Rochelle for hosting Friday Fictioneer’s every week.

Word count: 100

Posted in flash fiction

Everything That Ever Was – What Pegman Saw

There’s something to be said for being an empath in an abandoned city.

It seems everywhere I step is full of energy, an oddity considering no one’s lived here for decades. The air still hangs thick, even on the cool days, it’s electrified. A man once asked me exactly what I saw in this old city.

You see, it’s not the fear. It’s not the energy expelled in those last few precious moments that binds me here. I think there’s something else, something more that leaked beneath the surface that day.

It’s the memories. It’s everything that ever was and everything that never could be. It’s every smell and slight wind blown treasure which was lost that day.

The energy from those moments, those dreams, those regrets ooze from the blades of grass and dying leaves. They hang in the air, waiting to stir.

That’s the energy binding me here.

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Word Count: 150

A write up for What Pegman Saw, rules here and this weeks location, Pripyat, Ukraine.

I did not take this picture from google earth per the rules. It’s from this article.

I may be a little odd. I would kill to visit this location (not literally kill, despite what I write I wouldn’t do that). The pictures coming out of Pripyat have been amazing, the aura that leaks through them is palpable. I’d be terrified the entire time I was there but I would go in a heartbeat.

Posted in flash fiction

Love Song – What Pegman Saw

“Greetings from Montevideo!”

I write as neatly as I can across the postcard. I even think about slipping it into an envelope with a few pictures of my own.

A landscape shot here. Maybe the view from my office. It’s just the road but I find myself hoping you’re as curious about my life as I am about yours.

Maybe I’ll even slip in a photo of the twins. They’re six now but you never knew they were born.

I’ve never made it a habit to memorize the faces I make but I know I’m cringing.

Desperation, that’s what this smells like.

I turn the postcard over in my hands, even if I sent it completely anonymous … you’d know my writing from a mile away.

I’m sure it’d reek of wrinkled love poems and tear stained confessions.

It’d just become another love song you sing to another silly girl.

Screen Shot 2018-08-13 at 6.50.34 PM

Word count: 149

Joining back in with What Pegman Saw this week. I haven’t participated in a couple of months I think. Rules are here and this weeks location is Montevideo, Uruguay

 

Posted in flash fiction

Like A Barbie – Friday Fictioneers

“Do you think it’s fake?” Shanna focused on the neon green moving in the breeze.

Dena’s eyes focused beyond the grass on one Ms. Leroy. She was tall, blonde and, as their mom said, “100% plastic”.

“Like a barbie.” Dena whispered.

Shanna tilted her head while staring at the stiff blades. No matter how she turned, tilted or squinted the grass looked nothing like a barbie.

“I don’t see it.”

Dena grabbed at her non-existent chest.

“But don’t you see? One day I’ll have some just like that.”

“Are you sure?” Shanna never thought her sister liked plants all that much.

ronda-del-boccioPHOTO PROMPT © Ronda Del Boccio

Friday Fictioneers courtesy of Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

Word Count: 100