Posts Tagged ‘fiction’

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

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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

FFF PROMPT frost-on-a-stump-sandra-crook

 

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/2015/03/11/13-march-2015/

For those who are new, Rochelle shares a photo prompt to which several #FridayFictioneers compose a 100-word flash of fiction. I tried for about 3 minutes to restrain myself to 100 words this week. Some stories resist control. Anyway, hope you enjoy. And do come in from the cold.

Here’s my contribution:

Eight Years Old

I first noticed my shine when I was just a wee little girl. I had this stuffed bunny, Isabella, Izzy for short, and I’d drag her ‘round with me wherever I’d go. Just the two of us, an inseparable pair. Bobby, my older brother, he’s long gone now, but Bobby didn’t much care for my liking of Izzy. So, on a hot August afternoon, when Ma was at the grocery and Pa was off working or fornicating with Ms. Mabel, or maybe just getting drunk, I don’t much recall that part, but I do remember Bobby had made off with Izzy and ran away faster than I could out into the deep part of the yard. I watched as, in one motion, Bobby lopped off Izzy’s head with ma’s sewing shears and tossed her, body and head, off into the woods that lined the property. I can still see through the eyes of a five-year-old as Izzy’s cotton guts stretched and became tangled on some branches. I shrieked. Bobby, he laughed and laughed. That’s when I felt the cold chill come over me. Well, it was more like it emanated ‘from’ me. Things started to frost over and wilt as it spread like spilt milk. I cried and shuddered and choked on tears and snot and the cold spread faster and faster. Poor Bobby. Poor, poor Bobby.

jKb

FFF Prompt grapevine2bgoo1

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/2014/08/27/29-august-2014/

For those who are new, Rochelle shares a photo prompt to which several #FridayFictioneers compose a 100-word flash of fiction. Come, let me ask you. How’s your bones?

This bit is a teaser for something I’ve been working on.

Here’s my contribution:

Seekanauk

His jaw ached and two ribs were certainly cracked. Bradley swung his feet onto the wide-planked pine and sat at the bed edge. All for a girl, he thought feeling his nose. The pain was worse in his sinuses but he couldn’t recall the impacts, just voices, a sucker-punch from the side, and then cold salt-flat mud. He’d been thrown from the dock and left for dead but the rising tide had roused him. And now, as he looked upon his battered reflection there was a tickle, and he saw, what was that, a crab leg wriggling into his nostril?

jKb

FFF Prompt  antique-desk

I’ve been MIA and have no good excuse. I actually do but it’s a secret. Enough of that, let’s just get on with it, shall we?

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/2014/08/13/15-august-2014/

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

Here’s my contribution:

Till Death Do Us Part

Wick gathered the necessary: charred bones, tar, pitch, water. Parts when combined produced ink.

There were also variations to the formula, modifications which were designed to achieve desired results. For instance he could substitute water with tears to produce sorrow, or semen for love, or blood for, well, blood.

Of all these Wick had learned.

To complete this enchantment and thus set the snare Wick need only breathe the words of his desire across the drying ink, then deliver his impregnated letter.

He composed his confession of love, and as he did, he whispered of release. And of sweet death.

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.