Posts Tagged ‘insane’

FFF Prompt THE WORK BENCH still-life-with-doug

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/2014/10/15/17-october-2014/

For those who are new, Rochelle shares a photo prompt to which several #FridayFictioneers compose a 100-word flash of fiction. Come, it’s gonna be a blast.

Here’s my contribution:

Deep Seeded

Everything has its place, thought Mitch Winkle, precisely arranging the items on his work bench, careful to rotate and align and to not knock into anything. There was no room for clumsiness.

Wouldn’t want a mess, now. Shouldn’t spill. He heard his mother’s voice, chastising.

He was particularly careful of the Semtex filled glass bottle with the sensitive mercury switch.

Nothing is random. Just another random thought which seeped in? “No,” he answered himself. Then, “Yes,” the internal struggle.

Mitch retrieved his map, spread it upon the table, and blindly poked a finger down. “Huh, Bristleburg Farmer’s Market it is.”

jKb

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FRIDAYFICTPROMPTthehallway

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

http://rochellewisofffields.wordpress.com/2012/12/05/7-december-2012/

For those who are new, Rochelle shares a photo prompt to which several #FridayFictioneers compose a 100-word flash of fiction. Come, take my hand and walk with me. I have something to share with you.

Here’s my contribution:

Holiday Inn

Laughter.

Not the type you hear at a Christmas party or where teens roughhouse or even the kind that makes your ass pucker. It’s not anything like those. It’s more like a wispy echo and in the distance children are playing. Or maybe once were.

ashes…ashes…they all fall down.

My feet are cold, bare upon this sterile floor. I step toward the lighted end, my reddened night shirt gapes.

More laughter, I step again.

The familiar voices ahead, are they my own?

Another step.

My sticky hands tremble.

Laughter.

It does not wipe off.

My God, what have I done?

jKb