Posts Tagged ‘shadows’

FLASH PROMPT window-dressing-janet-webb

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/2013/05/29/31-may-2013-2/

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

Here’s my contribution:

Heat Wave

A canyon breeze ruffled the many pleats and folds. This frock, the fifth identical so far, was purchased from the super store on the city bypass. Playfully displayed from the escape, an advertisement really, titillating others with hue and cut and flow.

Inside lounged a young lovely upon linoleum flooring, windpipe crushed, her only fault having unwittingly purchased this flirty number while Tanis observed.

And to think, there were seven more lovelies still admiring this dress in their bedroom mirrors.

This was going to be a busy but oh-so-fun week. Finally, something to take her mind off this blasted heat.

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

FLASHFICTIONPROMPT Library by claire-fuller

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/2013/04/24/26-april-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:

Keep-safe

“A jewelry box?” Dor queried descending the library ladder.

“Of a kind. Go ahead, open it.” Dor obliged, then softly cooed. The interior was lined in deep red velvet, an inlaid mirror adorned the hinged lid. Nana relished the child’s awe. “Tell me, Dor. What do you see?”

“A home for my bracelets! But the mirror, it looks like a stormy sky.”

“It’s my Keep-safe box, Dor, which is now yours. Whatever you place inside stays locked away; safe forever. However, you mustn’t ever place something inside without which you cannot live.”

“I don’t understand?”

“It contains secrets, my dear.”



A bit more of a tease…. 

“When you have a secret that requires extra safe keeping, something that needs to disappear, you turn the key to the right two times, until it clicks, then open the lid and put your secret inside.” Dor’s expression made Nana think of what a Picasso meant to capture bewilderment must look like. “This is very important, child. Turn the key to the right, two times, until it clicks. You must always turn the key to the right.”

“Why ‘always to the right’?”

“Sugar, we wouldn’t want these kinds of secrets escaping.”

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



FlashFiction Prompt lamps

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/2013/03/27/29-march-2013/

For those who are new, Rochelle shares a photo prompt to which several #FridayFictioneers compose a 100-word flash of fiction. Come, the flame can only linger a short while.

Here’s my contribution:

According To Plan

The thing about magic,” Sophie shared while setting two oil lamps upon the table. She produced a lighter, brought life to one and repositioned the hurricane glass.

…not the slight-of-hand stuff, I mean the real thing…” She exhaled a kiss against the glass and the flame shimmered. “Pay attention.” Sophie began to blow and the flame quivered, then, simply snuffed out.

With a finger snap another flame licked to life in the second vessel, only this conjured tongue cast thick shadows.

…it doesn’t always go according to plan.”

The shadows melded.

And sometimes, it does.”

jKb



Quick words. I apologize for my inattention. I will return.

Please visit the #FridayFictioneer page here:

http://rochellewisofffields.wordpress.com/2012/11/07/9-november-2012/

Here’s my contribution, written in the time it takes a drip of coffee to spoil a fresh white table cloth:

Promises Kept

An aged wooden chair, entombed in blankets, he awaited. Without reserve to roll forward nor back, without momentum whatever, having forsaken and been. This life’s winter, upon grave reflection he only fathomed despair, anger, regret.

Where was family, love, life worth sharing, and with whom?

How he’d squandered his last grains awaiting a kiss that would not come. Promises so stale, bitterly missing the original intoxication, now dust.

Lacking all, not even a tear had visited.

Then one came. A black veil lifted, revealed Her. Lovely. Beautiful. Youthful. She leaned in, her lips moist. She harvested his last breath.

jKb

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

http://madison-woods.com/101212-2/

For those who are new, MadisonWoods shares a photo prompt to which several #FridayFictioneers will compose a 100-word flash of fiction. If you would like, come dancing.

Here is my contribution:

No Longer Carnival

Night became day. The echoes of Carnival receded, driven by the rising sun, like some ebbing tide chasing its mistress moon. No longer were the celebrators adorned in fanciful costumes. No longer did they roil in the streets and alleyways. The music had stopped. The dancing ended. Feasting ceased. The tangle of gyrating humanity which seemed to be copulating as one was now gone.

Peter strained against the light, his eyes wrinkled to slits.

Confusion settled in as his senses returned nothing. No sounds. No smells. Nothing remained but a blinding white wash.

He stood alone.

Something was terribly wrong.

jKb



I’ve been distracted. Here’s what happened. I walked up the hill to the library, checked out Charles Bukowski’s Hollywood, then back down the hill to my couch. In no time, maybe 5 pages turned, I felt the urge to have a drink. There’s something about Buk and this story. For me, I can’t read him during the daylight hours without risk of exposing myself as a laughing lush. That was a few days ago and I’m sobering up. Time to head back up the hill. This time I think I’ll try a nice Vonnegut. Some things warrant being opened again and again, don’t you agree?

I invite all of you to taste Bukowski’s words for the first time, or drink them up once more.

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

http://madison-woods.com/091412-2/

For those who are new, MadisonWoods shares a photo prompt to which several #FridayFictioneers will compose a 100-word flash of fiction. Come. Settle yourself and stay a while. Just make sure you bring a bottle with you. It’s the polite thing to do.

Today’s installment:

Dreaming

At the edge of darkness eyes glinted. Wetted pincers silently rubbed like a gold miser’s unsettled fingers. From this high vantage she observed the shallow rhythmic breathing, the softly cooing nature of the bedded cherub. Cheeks plump, lips slightly parted beneath upturned nose, curls of hair.

Her bulbous body, pointed appendages extended, approaching in fluid descent, entered a sliver of light. A gray pea was positioned beneath her abdomen. She stopped, hovered, as legs deftly worked. The sack was unlatched then meticulously tucked within the black hollow of the child’s ear, sealed with mucous.

The burbling host remained ever dreaming.

jKb



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

http://madison-woods.com/index-of-stories/082412-2/

For those who are new, MadisonWoods shares a photo prompt to which several #FridayFictioneers will compose a 100-word flash of fiction. Come. Would you like a piece of candy? How about a nice balloon?

Today’s installment:

To Decide

Nailed to the town center post was a stretched vellum bearing proper seal and ink. Rose came upon the misty square at first light while bringing eggs for the market. She paused at the notice, lips slowly shaping words, her palm mindfully caressing her protruding belly as she read a second time with narrower eyes. Her grasp weakened, mouth slackened. The woven basket slid then crashed to the ground. Another government decree, this time declaring only one child per marriage, effective immediately. The most chilling word printed in boldest red stated ‘Retroactive’.

Oopsy daisy, mommy. You had an askident.”

jKb