Flash Fiction

Remember When

Written for the Sunday Photo Fiction Challenge.  200ish words of fiction based on the photo prompt:

 

bookstore

 

Nostalgia immediately stirred her senses, making her happy and sad all at once. Her mouth watered as the tang of fresh baked sourdough hit her taste buds, reminding her of the warm little shop that used to be just a short bicycle ride from her home. Her toes wiggled, remembering how the cold edge of the shoehorn tickled her heal as it guided her foot into those loafers she coveted as a 6th grader. What ever happened to that nice man in his suit and tie who, after helping her on with the shoes, had watched her walk back and forth across his store, confirming that the fit was just right? Her eyes stung as she remembered shopping with her mother. The plan they followed didn’t begin and end with a single massive purveyor staffed with strangers. It required more thoughtfulness. “Mr. Selby sponsors your brother’s baseball team, so we’ll get the potroast at his butcher shop” her mother would tell her as they developed their route. Community and connectedness mattered more to her mother than the time it took to make multiple stops. As she stepped into that bookstore and smelled it’s glorious mustiness she thought “Sorry Amazon, we’re through.”

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Flash Fiction

Wrecked

Every Friday writers from near and far are challenged to create a 100 word fiction story from a photo prompt. If you’d like to join in the fun, get all the details here: Friday Fictioneers. Click the frog at the end of my post to see other stories from this week’s challenge and to add your own.

antique boat

Copyright – Georgia Koch

Deep cracks in sun crisped lips now constantly taunted him with the tickle of moisture. His tongue couldn’t stay away from them no matter how many times it returned only their metallic disappointment. His bones ached as the weathered hardwood that would most certainly become his coffin dented and dispersed his increasingly tender and unresponsive flesh. He knew that he had earned this. How many days or weeks had it been since he abandoned them along with his integrity and solemn oath? The vast,shoreless blue surrounding him provided no answer. It only whispered over and over “down with the ship”.

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Flash Fiction

Memory Surfer

Entry for Micro Bookends 1.14 challenge.  The story must be between 90 and 110 words, start with peace,end with prize and incorporate the photo prompt.

microbookends 1.14

Photo credit: Aaron Gilson

(110 words)

“Peace? “How can you possibly believe she is at peace?” I ask my relatives of the extended kind, interrupting their analysis of the mental waves that the body they once knew as a cousin was riding. What their limited appearances didn’t allow them to know is that the ebb into limbs with less dramatic angles and a quieter mind is always followed by a dramatic and painful flow back to the shore of her new normal. The caregiver who now needs constant care.  The mother who is now the child. The life of the party who is now the wallflower. Being swept out to sea for good, that’s her prize.

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Flash Fiction

What To Do About Her?

Every Friday writers from near and far are challenged to create a 100 word fiction story from a photo prompt. If you’d like to join in the fun, get all the details here: Friday Fictioneers. Click the frog at the end of my post to see other stories from this week’s challenge and to add your own.

 

courtyard

He had lived on their periphery long enough and they were well aware that he required starkness, sameness. Neutrality kept his mind quiet and them safe. They knew this. It must have been her, in 1B. The one who greeted him with bigger volume and enthusiasm everytime they passed in the hall, convincing herself that he just hadn’t heard her the last 10 times. It had to be her. Her blood red buds were creating a cacophony in his head, just like she did, and they tore a hole in the beautiful gray tapestry of his courtyard. What to do about her?

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Flash Fiction

Unthink and Begin

Every Friday writers from near and far are challenged to create a 100 word fiction story from a photo prompt. If you’d like to join in the fun, get all the details here: Friday Fictioneers. Click the frog at the end of my post to see other stories from this week’s challenge and to add your own.

route 66

Copyright – Jean L. Hays

“Ha!” He didn’t know where that had come from really. It escaped his lungs the way air from the hose at a gas station does when making the PSI just right, sounding as if the H should have been replaced by a P, or, at the very least, preceded by one. The signs made him do it and now they couldn’t be unseen. How many times had he come to a crossroads only to turn and look behind him for guidance? Countless. No more. These signs couldn’t be ignored. They were begging him to begin. Start anew. Unthink what’s been.

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Flash Fiction

The Unbeliever

This story is in response to the Sunday Photo Fiction challenge. Writers submit a 200 word story inspired by the photo prompt provided each Sunday. Click the blue frog at the bottom of the post to view all stories for this week and submit your own.

angel quartz

“You know that’s rose quartz AND an angel don’t you?”. With one eyebrow hiked up nearly into her hairline and her mouth scrunched in a smirky slant on the side of her face, it felt more like a test than a simple request for confirmation. When I didn’t immediately respond, she followed up with “Well, you better be careful. If you get that too close to your cold, dark, atheist heart, it may explode into a million tiny shards and blind us both!”. We laughed, probably too hard, but her question and concern were well-founded. What was a lifelong unbeliever doing clutching that tiny idol? How had that “hippie dippy” store, wedged between the coffee shop and self-serve dog grooming facility, finally lured me in to peruse it’s mystic wares? I had been able to successfully navigate past it for years, unaffected by the wafting tendrils of frankincense, sage, and patchouli that, at times, could tickle the senses from more than a block away. I don’t even know what it means to smudge, this place had nothing to offer me! Why had today been different then? How did I end up with her cool, smooth wings resting in my palm?

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Flash Fiction

Friday Fictioneers – Stairs

Every Friday writers from near and far are challenged to create a 100 word fiction story from a photo prompt.  Get the details here to join in the fun Friday Fictioneers.

Copyright Bjorn Rudberg

Copyright Bjorn Rudberg

Up, up, up….That’s where she was headed.  Making it to this stage could hardly have been imagined all those years ago when she was a shy little girl with a mouth full of teeth that had an agenda of their own.  An overbite so severe that her lips struggled and stretched to contain it and canines so jagged she carried a built in prop for Halloween year round, they had conspired to keep her from this place.  Now at the podium, clutching that sparkling statue, she uttered the only words that made sense “I’d like to thank my orthodontist”.

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