Posts Tagged ‘dark’

PHOTO PROMPT -© Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

Thank you to Rochelle Wisoff-Fields for all her work and organization. You can visit her site and read through the other Flash Fiction postings at:

https://rochellewisofffields.wordpress.com/2015/10/07/2-october-2015/

For those who are new, Rochelle shares a photo prompt to which several #FridayFictioneers compose a 100-word flash of fiction.

Come, enjoy a Snickers.

Here’s my contribution:

Super 8

The motel was called Super 8. Charlotte thought how apropos that name as she surveilled the vehicles in the lot below.

Eight.

They were all driverless, quiet, yet she couldn’t shake the eerie feeling of being watched. They had been trapped here a week, no cell service, no wi-fi, a single Snickers remaining.

As Charlotte walked to 306 to check on Billy the Suburban began to purr, gravel crunched softly as the wheels tracked.

Would help come?

Billy and his bag were gone. From below, Charlotte heard crunching again as Billy broke across the lot.

The vehicles roared to life.

jKb

FFF Prompt moon-and-sky1

Thank you to Rochelle Wisoff-Fields for all her work and organization. You can visit her site and read through the other Flash Fiction postings at:

https://rochellewisofffields.wordpress.com/2015/08/05/7-august-2015/

For those who are new, Rochelle shares a photo prompt to which several #FridayFictioneers compose a 100-word flash of fiction.

Come, let your body rest before you begin your next fantastic journey.

This, from May 2012.

Here’s my contribution:

I Pray You Sing (a letter from Rachel)

Dearest Mother,

I’m sorry. I haven’t always been easiest or prettiest and certainly I’ve let you down. Please understand, I’ve been angry. Children can be. So I ran.

Laying here, grasses crushed beneath, I wonder, can I still feel? Soothing sun. Coaxing breeze. Branches sway. Naked. As I am. Unblinking, imagining our world whole, yet, color fades, Mother, shudder, my heart stops.

Now, I traverse this awakening of permanent sleep, my understanding greater, my love for you ever deeper.

Left me here. Alone.

Cry for me not, Mother. I pray you sing, for I am coming Home.

Ever yours,

Rachel

jKb

fridayfictioneerspromptcopyright-lura-helms-2-300x225

This prompt brought forth a story many of you have already read. It was placed into Madison Woods’ Anthology and selected as the Editor’s Pick. If you are unfamiliar with the publication here is the link:

http://www.amazon.com/1-x-50-100-ebook/dp/B00GU57UWA

I remember writing this story very specifically. My family and I had just finished with a research trip disguised as a vacation to Maine. So beautiful. I was typing notes into my laptop while sipping a thick cup of coffee on my couch. I flipped over to see the prompt for the week and this story fell on me like an avalanche.

So I say thank you to MadisonWoods for all her work.

She passed the torch to Rochelle Wisoff-Fields to whom I’d also like to say thank you for all her work and organization. You can visit her site and read through the other Flash Fiction postings at:

http://rochellewisofffields.wordpress.com/2014/06/25/27-june-2014-summer-rerun-ii/

For those who are new, Rochelle shares a photo prompt to which several #FridayFictioneers will compose a 100-word flash of fiction. Come and play, damnit.

Here is my contribution:

Lover’s Knotty Tree

Seamus gouged letters into the body of the behemoth, his blade old but capable, swiped from the tool shed. Digging, twisting, he outlined with a heart, deepened the grooves, declared his love for Ginny.

He whistled.

He smiled.

He whittled away.

The outstretched arms above shivered as if capturing some invisible breath. Seamus, still working his knife, peered upward.  Leaves spiraled.

Seamus’ world trembled.

The tree groaned, arose, a bleeding heart pulsing on the sleeve of bark. Dirt and rocks flung high, roots poised like octopus tentacles.

A hush.

Seamus stumbled, fell. The giant pounced.

Horrid shrieks echoed through the woodlands.

jKb

madisonwoodsdilapidatedroom

Thank you to Rochelle Wisoff-Fields for all her work and organization. And, a double thanks for this prompt which gave me such joy as I read through years of twisted postings. But back to it…you can visit her site and read through the other Flash Fiction postings at:

http://rochellewisofffields.wordpress.com/2014/06/18/18-june-2014-summer-rerun/

For those who are new, Rochelle shares a photo prompt to which several #FridayFictioneers compose a 100-word flash of fiction. Come, enjoy a little push.

Here’s my contribution from back when:

A Gift

Boards long since pried from window casings, no longer barred entrance. Through the portal, shafts of moonlight pierced darkness, an opaline pool glimmered amidst abandoned filth. Therein, upon that stage, a pristine chair, wooden, hand-tooled, polished to high luster, iridescent in majesty.

Another gift from mother. A baleful reminder of lessons administered.

Beside awaited a sleeping candle and sooted spoon. Glazed eyes surveilled, the impotent King approached, claimed again his stony throne. Flame melted rock, barrel loaded, leather-belt secured with teeth.

Plunger depressed.

A blissful sigh.

An utterance as veiled death flooded his veins.

“Happy Mother’s Day.”

jKb

FFF Prompt Gothic Arch jennifer-pendergast4

Thank you to Rochelle Wisoff-Fields for all her work and organization. You can visit her site and read through the other Flash Fiction postings at:

http://rochellewisofffields.wordpress.com/2014/05/28/30-may-2014/

For those who are new, Rochelle shares a photo prompt to which several #FridayFictioneers compose a 100-word flash of fiction. Come, just don’t try to sell me something.

Most of this is true, except where it is not.

Here’s my contribution:

In Good Faith

Entirely sober, more or less, and enjoying a read involving the demise of a fellow named Barlow when I was interrupted by three lovely stalkers from St. John the Evangelist. They endeavored to explain Jesus loves me and wants me to attend their church so that I may be saved.

Me?

Their faded late model sedan is still sitting with its wheel turned to the curb, their broken bodies are neatly stowed in the root cellar along with several pamphlets promising everlasting life, and now I’m sweaty, thirsty and in need of a shower.

I pray their faith wasn’t false.

jKb

FFF Prompt  FENCE copyright-erin-leary-2

Thank you to Rochelle Wisoff-Fields for all her work and organization. You can visit her site and read through the other Flash Fiction postings at:

http://rochellewisofffields.wordpress.com/2014/05/21/23-may-2014/

For those who are new, Rochelle shares a photo prompt to which several #FridayFictioneers compose a 100-word flash of fiction. Come, join us, we are wide awake, and dreaming.

Here’s my contribution:

If Only It Were A Dream

My fever had lifted. At first light I left the coolness of my sheets to venture outdoors thinking fresh air would revive my soul. The scent of damp earth, the chortle of morning birds, dewy grasses licking my ankles, tickling sunlight upon my cheeks, all sensations of joy and living, yet all were unattainable.

Today there stood a fence, foreign to me, extending beyond my sight and which was certainly designed to contain. But what? I glanced down. In one hand was a can, the other a thick dripping brush, and it was clotted red.

From above a blackbird mocked.

jKb

sheep-and-car

Thank you to Rochelle Wisoff-Fields for all her work and organization. You can visit her site and read through the other Flash Fiction postings at:

http://rochellewisofffields.wordpress.com/2014/05/14/16-may-2014/

For those who are new, Rochelle shares a photo prompt to which several #FridayFictioneers compose a 100-word flash of fiction. Come, the carnival of screams awaits.

Here’s my contribution:

Not What You’re Thinking

The heat was high, the day long, and the night would be even longer. Willy minded his control panel and his lazy eye gazed across the grounds as the gate opened. The flood of prospects spilled into his world.

He swallowed his welling saliva with savoring anticipation.

Willy hadn’t shaved, hadn’t even bathed in two days but he paid it no mind because here they came, these bewitchers, each manicured to perfection, so fresh and nubile. He felt that little tingle and his mind drifted to pleasures and lust and pain and screams.

Yes, tonight would be a good night.

 jKb

Two nights prior Nightshade’s Carnival of Screams had rolled into this very quaint Virginian town. With this carnival comes worse horrors than ‘ol Willy. He’s quite a docile soul when things are right. Mostly he takes tickets and smiles and operates the spinning cups. But like many, he is darker in some places, deeper place, secret places. I think you’re putting the pieces together. So, it’s not what you were thinking. It’s way, way worse.

 

melting-wax-renee-heath

Thank you to Rochelle Wisoff-Fields for all her work and organization. You can visit her site and read through the other Flash Fiction postings at:

http://rochellewisofffields.wordpress.com/2014/04/30/2-may-2014/

For those who are new, Rochelle shares a photo prompt to which several #FridayFictioneers compose a 100-word flash of fiction. Come, listen for the whispers.

Here’s my contribution:

Wick Whispers

Her honed blade easily divided meat and sinew from the gelatinous yellow fat, the result of sickening gluttony. She hummed as she toiled, tossing chunks into the heavy cast pot set upon a rendering flame. The mass would consume several hours before uniformly liquefying which afforded Marta opportunity to arrange her wicks and embellish the simple glass jars with her signature label, Spirit Essence Votive. These were her best sellers for how the melted wax seemed to stretch and reach and some clients would talk of wick whispers.

Marta understood.

Each votive contained a secret ingredient which yearned for escape.

jKb

 

bjc3b6rn-15

Thank you to Rochelle Wisoff-Fields for all her work and organization. You can visit her site and read through the other Flash Fiction postings at:

http://rochellewisofffields.wordpress.com/2014/04/23/25-april-2014/

For those who are new, Rochelle shares a photo prompt to which several #FridayFictioneers compose a 100-word flash of fiction. Come, have a listen.

Here’s my contribution:

The Set Back

Marco ran his arpeggiation with learned alacrity, the tones so delicious that Gerald found he had ceased his accompaniment and was simply savoring the effect. With no hint of arthritic hindrance, Marco plucked away, eyes closed, head slightly canted, lilting along with a subtle curl to his lips.

It is true, music does soothe the savage, and in this fleeting moment Gerald was placated. Not a slip in nearly thirty evenings. But for all his strength Gerald’s will was weakening. And those lips curving, smug, pompous–was Marco laughing? The rhythm of Marco’s nodding head said yeeesssss.

Laughing.

At you!

jKb

 

monsters-dmm

Thank you to Rochelle Wisoff-Fields for all her work and organization. You can visit her site and read through the other Flash Fiction postings at:

http://rochellewisofffields.wordpress.com/2014/04/16/18-april-2014/

For those who are new, Rochelle shares a photo prompt to which several #FridayFictioneers compose a 100-word flash of fiction. Come, but you mustn’t shut your eyes.

Here’s my contribution:

Don’t Even Blink

The word nightmare is not entirely accurate, not for everybody. Sure, most people experienced episodes during their sleeping hours and just occasionally, when the waves of stress and hormone fluctuations comingled with exhaustion, when your ambient subconscious defenses were fatigued, so said the professional literature.

But for Britney the situation was different. Her episodes, quite frankly, were less dependent upon the parameters suggested by research and science. All Britney need do was shut her eyes and they came, a rising wave enveloping you and lifting you off your toes then sucking you under, a wave which couldn’t be out run.

jKb

 

As an aside, I envisioned this child trying to keep her eyes open, the lubrication of her cornea thickening to a cataract, then her lid scraping and drooping toward closure, and dark things begin to leap at her from the shadows, not just from the corners of the room or from the closet or from beneath her bed but from the shadows of her very eyelashes, things she can just momentarily see as her lids drift lower, then there is a rapidly rising shriek, a sound probably only audible to her own ears. She jerks her head up and snaps it back and her eyes pop open. The dark things abate. The terrible sounds of the coming recede to a white hum like that which resides inside a conch shell. She sticks her fingers into the raw flesh of her eyes, she rubs.

Then it presses in again.