Posts Tagged ‘light’

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

Advertisements

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

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

 

FFF Prompt SpringHouse

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/2014/01/22/24-january-2014/

 

For those who are new, Rochelle shares a photo prompt to which several #FridayFictioneers compose a 100-word flash of fiction. Come, and you’ll need a shovel.

 

Here’s my contribution:

 

The Spring House

 

Trace toiled by hand and with the assistance of his mule, Gerald. While excavating the water source and preparing the ground for a stone foundation the mountainside wall dissolved revealing a deeper hollow.

 

Having retrieved his flashlight, Trace leaned inward exploring the darkness. Not ten feet away from his outstretched arm and previously concealed within the depths of the mountain was something huge, seemingly metallic based on how the light danced upon the surface, with a subtle curve, which his single light source could not fully expose.

 

Trace pushed through the opening and approached the strange thing.

 

What the hell?

jKb

Rising Water copyright-erin-leary

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/2014/01/15/17-january-2014/

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

Here’s my contribution:

Hold Your Breath

The throbbing behind his eyes seemed to grow as the morning sun angled higher, partially concealed behind the haze of an early morning shower. The earth was soggy behind his matted hair and cold beneath his bound body. He struggled against the cord – something electrical, a wire of some sort he recollected through a haze of his own.

Pieces came together: a land deal and contaminated water. His vision focused on the muddy edge of the hole he was in. And then the water, it spilled over the edge.

It rose slowly.

It wet his body.

It filled his ears.

jKb

 

FFF Prompt alley

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/2013/11/13/15-november-2013/

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

Here’s my contribution:

Alluring Pumps

The girls spilled through the alley exit seeming to be whisked along by the club music which flowed along this canyon of buildings. The steel door snicked behind them severing the cacophony. The girls looked at each other and, after a moment of hesitation, erupted with laughter. They scurried away among the shadows and yellow lights and with the lingering bass still dulling their ears; they did not notice their heel clicks being paced by others.

A pipe hissed, a can tipped, their adrenaline primed hearts pounded.

The girls took flight, and discovered, six-inch heels were not designed for escape.

jKb

FLASHPROMPT Said The Moon  copyright-managua-gunn

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/2013/06/19/1328/

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

Here’s my contribution:

Asked The Moon

Twice they had come.

The first was a seven year voyage through high seas of youthful inexperience. Positioned perfectly, they were, yet were merely passing vessels. How the fates laughed.

The second was some years thereafter, within a common port, a reprieve from the wear of traveler’s lives. Their hands and hearts touched, minds met, holiness recognized, and they held tightly, shuddering, but their grip did necessarily slip as circumstances dictated.

Again, that fated laughter.

Will there be a third?” asked the moon. “Will armor be worn or will vulnerability and the tender heart prevail?”

The stars remained ever silent.

jKb



FlashFictionPrompt aqueduct-sarah-ann-hall

I lay in bed, reading a long lost friend. No. Nothing like that, not really. That sounds too fantastic, too contrived. I missed some modern greats in my youth for I was doing other than reading. What I was doing was living (something we forget all too often). I was by the sword which was a guitar and all that came with. Never the less, there I was not minutes ago, book in hand, two sheets to the wind, the courthouse tower ringing out the hour only steps away, and this thought would not settle, damn it, for all I wanted was to learn what the Gunslinger would do next and enjoy my sweet buzz. Someone (thing) was speaking. Get up you fool, the voice said. Not the first time in my life, I might add. And I know this voice, we’ve become enemies of a sort because I’m stubborn and don’t play by the conventions. But tonight I was moved, so I ventured down through narrow passage lighted by street torches beyond, fumbled the cork and poured, and then powered up the old faithful. So here I now sit, upon a bar stool, with a freshly poured Cab, pecking at the keys. By the time one reads this the cab will be dry and my neighbors might know my level of apnea induced by reds and pollen. Fair well and fear appropriately, my friends.

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/2013/05/15/17-may-2013/

For those who are new, Rochelle shares a photo prompt to which several #FridayFictioneers compose a 100-word flash of fiction. Come, sneak a peek inside, what wonders you shall behold.

Here’s my contribution:

What Truth Awaits?

She fled through the window which once framed everything wonderful. Down the blossom covered trellis, her escape made.

Could hate be love deceived?

Twelve.

Mustn’t there be other?

Beyond white pickets and onward, nigh three crush petals and scattered memories, she ran, guided by the only lover she would ever know.

A prying light.

Another fence.

This iron, a barrier inward or out she cared not. She climbed, leaped. She crouched seeking shadow’s shelter.

In silvering moonlight she could just see the grid upon which she now stood, then, something moved. Nearby, a hungry grinding began to chew the earth.

jKb



FLASHFRIDAY prompt Skull Hotel kent-bonham

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/2013/05/01/3-may-2013/

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

Here’s my contribution:

Do Unto Others

The paper was stowed within a corked, blue bottle, opaquing in the surf, well on its way to becoming sea-glass. Hand scribed letters, themselves masterpieces, were woven into a simple phrase.

Do unto others.

Jolie, admiring her find as she approached the resort entrance, read aloud and became suddenly woozy, the sun pierced, as if she’d been wandering a desert.

The hotel facade appeared to bubble, sections sloughed revealing human skulls with hollow eye sockets. The paper slid from her grasp and settled upon the walkway.

Impregnated within the script, given life by utterance, the swallowing darkness bade Jolie welcome.

jKb

ShannonOldroyd Orange Skies Of New Jersey

What is the purpose of your art?

Time to share.

A friend from years past made a social media posting that essentially stated ‘The first five people who respond to this post will receive a free piece of my art.’ I was instantly struck by her generosity. The gist was that the recipients should then bare the responsibility to pay it forward, and so on.

The great ripple effect had begin.

My problem was I wasn’t one of the five. Story of my life. I responded anyway. I mean, why not? I risked nothing in doing so. In fact, by even giving my response I was letting her know her reach and influence was broader than she anticipated. She soon responded back that I too could participate.

That was a few weeks ago, the pact was nearly forgotten, until I heard the sound of dogs barking, which is the sound that accompanies the approaching mailman each day. Wise as he is, he walks the neighborhood with a pocket full of dog treats.

Who knew this day would not be like each other? It sounded very much the same.

Hanging from the mouth of the mailbox just outside my front door was a special delivery. Enclosed inside the cushioned mailer pouch was a 3 inch square painted canvas mounted on a wooden frame and, something from a lost era, a handwritten note. These blessings arrived yesterday.

I am completely moved by the thought, the effort, the freely shared energy, the connection.

Being who I am and having the limited gifts that I do, I was motivated to write a flash of fiction based on her art, and then share with all of you and invite you to perhaps continue her experiment in some fashion.

In a complete abuse of the #FridayFictioneers I’ve tagged and linked (and hope Rochelle appreciates and understands; the story does however fit with this weeks prompt) so that you all might take this gem and toss your own art-sharing-pebble.

After all, what are we striving for anyway?

The copyright on this art belongs to S.O.

So, here we go. My contribution:

Where The Crow Roosts

Soft footfalls upon layered molderings, careless boney whispers between leafless trees, these the witnesses to the broken man’s burden as he trudged, ever onward, driven by a need for simple answers, for self discovery and a truth of his own, or perhaps for something broader, more absolute.

And a key; not something crafted of iron, but an understanding.

A rusted throaty utterance halted his progression, interrupted his brooding. Refocused, he immediately recalled this place and what he had done. And as an iridescent form settled among the boughs above, he understood this place would hold importance for him yet again.

jKb