Posts Tagged ‘flash 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

PHOTO PROMPT © Ted Strutz

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, there’s a thrill around every turn.

Here’s my contribution:

Anywhere Carnival

Nickle got himself two corndogs and a Pepsi, then settled in for the show.

Yesterday had been a bust. All that work, slinking in during the wee hours, shimmying up the chains and fiddling with a narrow rasp file just enough so the links would be weakened but not noticeably. The links hadn’t been detected on the morning check but they had unfortunately held firm.

That meant Nickle had to go in again the following night, last night. Do a little more slinking and shimmying, and rasping.

But today was surely the day.

Nickle was certain.

“Higher. Higher,” they shouted.

jKb

PHOTO PROMPT - © Marie Gail Stratford

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/2015/09/30/2-october-2015-2/

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

Come, see what I see.

Here’s my contribution:

Fly On the Wall

Simon was a sneaky bastard, and quite savvy. He was also fed up with the bullshit at school. So, he wrote this little program which allow him to remotely access the camera and microphone on any computer. The innovative part was he had encoded the Trojan into the digital images on his social media. Simon could now look back at whomever was stalking him.

Oh, what he found!

Hell, it was only fair, right? These douchebags were trolling him, and now he was inside, watching, listening, and recording all their dirty little secrets.

He could already count the extortion proceeds.

jKb

FFF Prompt bay-windows

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/2015/09/02/4-september-2015/

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

Come, share some exhilaration.

Here’s my contribution:

Leap Of Faith

She taunted, “You’re too afraid. You can’t possibly love me.”

“Why don’t you believe me?” Philip called down from the third floor window. “Please don’t leave me.”

“You lack faith. And, sadly, it’s disturbing.”

She turned to walk away, but slowly. She was waiting.

“I can prove it.”

“You’ve had your opportunities, Philip, and you’ve squandered them.”

“Name it. I’ll do anything.” Bingo.

“Anything? Like wrestle an alligator?”

Philip was nodding emphatically, leaning way out, his face twisted in agony. “Yes.”

“Like eat dog shit?”

“Anything.”

He couldn’t resist. Her control overwhelmed him.

“Show me.

“Here boy.

“Go on.

“NOW!”

jKb

FFF Prompt moths

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/2015/08/12/14-august-2015/

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

Come, enjoy another oldie. These bring back fond memories.

Here’s my contribution:

Dust

The facility far beneath the vacant cinder-block structure had been closed two years, a defunct burger front above. This reticent spicule of urban sprawl on the edge of Harrisonburg forever unsuspecting. Experiments, cries for mercy, now ghostly whispers wafting up twelve stories of cement throat, echoing into deserted prep zones once deploying manipulated strains of polyunsaturated fat. Something new flitted from the depths; like burnt smolders of paper, seething, came the vectors. Such lovely moths. Beautiful metamorphosis married biochemistry. Paralytic liquid secreted as wings unfurled, dried to dust, dispersed during gyroscopic flight.

Nearby, recess bells marked the beginning.

jKb

FFF Prompt david-stewart

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/2015/03/25/27-march-2015/

For those who are new, Rochelle shares a photo prompt to which several #FridayFictioneers compose a 100-word flash of fiction. This fellow rolled in to town when the Carnival of Screams appeared. Come, witness The Smith and all that he can be.

Here’s my contribution:

The Smith Comes

Allen rests his bones upon the Post Office stoop, metal tool box upon his thighs, scraggy grays tied back into something that resembles a wet rat. He wriggles his nose and samples the crowd. He awaits Mrs. Right, or Mr.–Allen’s an open-minded opportunist. With feminine, surgically nimble, and overly ring-adorned phalanges he twirls errant whiskers. His beady eyes and highly attuned nose identifies her from within the docile masses. Mrs. Right is distracted on her phone, she’s arguing, her left fist is clenched yet it sparkles, dazzles. Allen slides open a metal draw retrieving his most precious instrument.

jKb