Flash! Friday, Vol 3 – 11: Ask for the Moon

Flash! Friday Challenge, February 20, 2015

Every Friday we're challenged to craft a short story. These days the story is limited to 200 words (with a 10-word leeway) and is crafted around a photo prompt. A special element is required, and it varies weekly. This week's requirement is a "moon" setting. 

Liverpool — Hope Street. CC photo by Harshil Shah.
Sculpture “A Case History” by John King.

Here's this week's picture--and my story. I'm calling it "fun with idioms."

____________

Ask for the Moon

(200 words)

“Stop mooning over that…that…man, for want of a better word.” Mama frowns and brushes the hair from my tear-soaked eyes.

“He’ll be back.” I grab his photo and trace his smiling face with my fingertips.

“You act like he hung the moon and stars.” Mama pulls the picture from my grasp and drops it facedown on the table. “He’s trouble.”

“He makes life exciting. He’s seen so much.” I reach for the picture again. She swats my hand away.

“He only visits once in a blue moon.” Mama’s voice is tinged with bitterness as she gets up to pace the room. “Stop wasting your life on false hope.”

“Any time with him is worth the wait. He promised to return as soon as he’s resolved some issues back home.” I watch Mama pause by the stack of suitcases perched expectantly by my bedroom door. Her fingers dance across the surface, leaving tracks in the thick dust.

“He promised you the moon. He didn’t deliver.”

“Not yet. Soon.” I sigh and turn my gaze to the window, straining to see the star system he calls home. Tonight it’s out of sight, hidden behind the Earth’s never-failing dance partner in the sky.

  

** Thanks for stopping by. Try your hand at flash fiction--it can be addicting! **

Flash! Friday, Vol 3 – 9: Timeless Truth

Flash! Friday Challenge, February 6, 2015

Every Friday we're challenged to craft a short story. These days the story is limited to 200 words (with a 10-word leeway) and is crafted around a photo prompt. A special element is required, and it varies weekly. This week's requirement is the theme of a FLEETING MOMENT. 

Here's this week's picture--and my story:

Rain (Liberia, Guanacaste, Costa Rica). CC2.0 photo by NannyDaddy.

____________

Timeless Truths

 (201 words)

“Frank! I’m in the garden. You must see this. HURRY!”

A kaleidoscope of dancing butterflies. Dandelion fluffs floating on the breeze.

Ephemeral.

“Frank, grab the kids and get out here! It’s AMAZING!”

The warm whispering of a rosy dawn. The jubilant cheering of a carroty sunset.

Fleeting.

“Frank! Quick, out on the porch! Come see!”

Eagles soaring below burnished billowy clouds. Mountaintops peeking through mist.

Momentary.

“Frank! Look out the back door. Rainbow!”

A ribbon of color touching heaven and earth. Fog creeping across the valley.

Cursory.

“Frank! Ooooooh! Help me move my wheelchair closer to the window.”

A languid full moon hovering over the horizon, the spinning Earth sending it into shadow.

Brief.

“Frank! I love a good thunderstorm. Describe it to me.”

Blazes of brilliant energy illuminating the darkness. A whirling wind shaking the steadfast oak.

Beautiful.

“……….”

Cold silence ringing across a wet and lonely landscape. Memories surviving under the umbrella of a shared life.

Gone too soon.

“Mary, I miss you.”

Her joyful eyes reflecting in azure skies. Her laughter echoing in morning birdsong.

Enduring.

“Mary, I see you.”

Her spirit swirling with leaf fall of ruby and sunshine. Her love lingering on.

Alone, but together.

Forever.

  

** Thanks for stopping by. Try your hand at flash fiction--it can be addicting! **

Flash! Friday, Vol 3 – 8: The Legacy

Flash! Friday Challenge, January 30, 2015

Every Friday we're challenged to craft a short story. These days the story is limited to 200 words (with a 10-word leeway) based on the photo prompt. A special element is required, and it varies weekly. This week's requirement is a CONFLICT BETWEEN TWO MEN. 

Here's this week's picture--and my story:

____________

Kinderspiel. CC2.0 photo by Hartwig HKD.

The Legacy
(210 words)

“Dry as a bone.” I scrutinize the cracked, warped mud stretching out before us.

”Why did you ask me to meet you here, Dad? It’s bloody hot.”

“I thought that would be obvious.”

“Our tree.” My son’s voice drops and he nudges a clay shard with his toe, sending it skipping.

“Yes.”

He gazes at the leaves rustling above us. “How does it still have leaves? It should be dried and dead.”

I reach out and trail my fingers across the tree’s trunk, a lifetime of memories captured in the deep cracks and burly knots of the graying bark. “Because I water it every day.”

He raises his eyebrows. “It’s a half-mile walk from the house. Why?”

“It’s where we laughed and talked and skipped rocks. Where I watched you grow into a man. I couldn’t lose that.”

“An escape from the world of business, you’d say.” A smile flickers across my son’s face.

“A short-lived escape.”

He bristles and then sighs a pained huff of a thousand been-theres. “How often must I apologize about my company diverting the water? It was a business decision. Is that why I’m here?”

“Nope. Wanted to tell you that I have only one month to live. And I’m leaving the tree to you.”

** Thanks for stopping by. Try your hand at flash fiction--it can be addicting! **

Flash! Friday, Vol 3 – 7: New Tires

Flash! Friday Challenge, January 23, 2015

Every Friday we're challenged to craft a short story. These days the story is limited to 200 words (with a 10-word leeway) based on the photo prompt. A special element is required, and it varies weekly. This week's requirement is a BEACH setting. Here's this week's picture--and my story:

Old Woman. CC2.0 photo by Giorgio Grande.

New Tires
(202 words)

I was born by the ocean, or at least I believe I was. My earliest memories echo with the shouts of children cheering my efforts to outrun a sea breeze’s sweet embrace. Delighted, I’d race the swirling, pounding surf and laugh when it flung foam in my path.

Years passed. I connected with companions, over and over again, but I couldn’t commit. Whispered caresses, bursts of exhilaration, ephemeral flames on the ever-shifting sands of time. Nothing more. Never the same person twice. A shallow, pay-by-the-hour lifestyle.

I thought I was happy. I was ignorant.

Eventually, cracks formed in my gleaming façade, revealing my age. Wind-blown wisdom lines, I liked to call them. Visits from friends dwindled, and I was left to dawdle my days away in shadow. Alone. My time in the sun had passed. I was dying.

Then, miraculously, my angel arrived. She led me into the light, her touch soft and forgiving as she covered the worst of my cracks, applying a balm of soothing color. She granted me new life, new energy, new purpose, and new tires.

Now we ride, my forever friend and I, along curving country lanes. Together.

I am free. I am happy. I am loved.

** This story was selected as 2nd runner-up in this week's Flash! Fiction contest.The competition was amazing, so I feel very honored that my story found its way to the top of the list. Thank you! **


Thanks for stopping by. Try your hand at flash fiction--it can be addicting! 

Flash! Friday, Vol 3 – 4: The Better Choice

Flash Friday Challenge, January 2, 2015

Happy New Year!

Every Friday our challenge is to craft a 150-word story (10-word leeway) based on the photo prompt. Here's this week's picture--and my story:

Spying, 1972. CC3 photo by Daniel Teoli Jr.

The Better Choice
(157 words)

“Listen for the firecrackers, Alby. When ol’ man Johnson walks away to check it out, you run in and grab the cigs.”

My heart plummets as I stare into the steel gaze of my older cousin, Sam. I shake my head until my brain rattles. “Uh-uh.”

Sam’s eyes narrow. “Don’t be a baby.”

His words pierce my pride. Before I waver, Gramma’s words echo in my head. Be a good boy, Alby. I love you. The pain lessens. I stick out my chin. “No.”

Sam leans closer and his sour breath turns my stomach. “Fine. Baby had his chance to be big. Joey’ll do it.”

Joey nods, sneering at me.

I turn and tear away, my feet pounding concrete and my breath ripping my chest.

Firecrackers clatter behind me. Winded and afraid, I collapse against a sturdy traffic box.

Moments later, two sharp popping sounds punctuate the air. Someone screams.

Those didn’t sound like firecrackers to me.

Thanks for stopping by. Try your hand at flash fiction--it can be addicting! 

Flash! Friday, Vol 3 – 3: Hidden in Plain Sight

Flash Friday Challenge, December 27, 2014

Every Friday our challenge is to craft a 150-word story (10-word leeway) based on the photo prompt. Here's this week's picture--and my story:

Edmonton Chinese New Year. CC photo by IQRemix.

Hidden in Plain Sight

My fingers linger over the last loop of my festival creation, relishing what’s to come, reluctantly reliving the past.

Freedom. I remember freedom, fitting in, living large, and taking life for granted.

Falling. I remember falling, my hands outstretched, the wind whooshing in my ears as I sought to stop the inevitable.

Heat. I remember heat, blinding yellows and reds enveloping me, burning me.

Pain. I remember pain, the soul-searing pain that screamed for weeks.

Horror. I remember horror, the revolted expressions etched in the sideways stares of people on the street.

Pity. I remember pity, poorly hidden in friends’ words of forced cheerfulness.

I lift the mask and slip it over my head, hiding the scars, the visible angry memories. Edging into the crowd, I lose myself in the masquerade. My heart rejoices as I am welcomed into the sea of revelers.

Dancing. I remember dancing. How could I forget?

Tonight, I am free, once again.

(157 words)

Thanks for stopping by. Try your hand at flash fiction--it can be addicting! 

Flash! Friday, Vol. 3 – 2: Double Life

Flash Friday, December 19, 2014

Christmas Edition

Every Friday our challenge is to craft a 150-word story (10-word leeway) based on the photo prompt. Here's this week's picture--and my Christmas story:

Wanted: Santa Claus. CC artwork by Kevin Dooley.

Double Life

(156 words)

Every year when Christmas rolls around, She of Soft Hands places me on my mantel perch. I survey my festive domain: the tree, the lights, the bows, the tinsel. I’m happy.

Until he comes.

When She of Soft Hands leaves the house, Wicked One sneaks over and snatches me.

Rather than Man of the Month, I become:

     Saint Nicked-the-presents, booked at the LEGO police station

     Claus-trophobic, dropped in a LEGO castle dungeon

     Krispy Kringle, caught in the crossfire between LEGO Jedi and the Dark Side

     Father Christmas-past (or was it future?), crammed in a LEGO DeLorean

And, to add insult to injury, he records my shame and parades it on the Internet for other 12-year-old boys to scorn. “LEGOmoviemaker0001,” indeed.

Where’s the love? Wouldn’t this be considered naughty? I’m questioning all that I represent.

Oh no… She of Little Sticky Hands has grabbed me. Nooooo! Please, not the LEGO Barbie Fashion Boutique.

Dammit. I’m Santa Claus-dresser.

Thanks for stopping by. Try your hand at flash fiction--it can be addicting!