And She Does

On Friday everything changed. I was no longer the little girl my father adored. I was a bargaining chip, a promise for a deal.

My view of this world had finally been unveiled, reveling many shades of greed.

I looked at the man smiling in front of me. I could see his plans written in the corners of his mouth, reflected in the dark chocolate windows to his rotting soul.

As I said my vows in the room of silent witnesses, I made a secret one of my own.

One day I would kill this man, setting free the world.

 

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This is the second (read first one here) story I submitted for the Flashverary contest over at Flash! Friday.

Our story requirements:

Must be exactly 100 words

Must start with “On Friday everything changed

A Tribute to Flash! Friday Fiction Competition

Flash!Friday had their Flashversary Competition this past Friday but it was also the very last FF contest…ever. I stumbled upon this site through another Flash Fiction Site  about ten months ago. Once I started competing I was hooked! These weekly competitions have helped me gain confidence in my writing and find my voice. I will be forever grateful.

Our story requirements:

Must be exactly 100 words

Must start with “On Friday everything changed

 

This is one of two ( read the second one here) stories I submitted.

On Friday everything changed. The last notes of a song rang out, beautiful words from stories past floated by in memories so strong that hearts swelled and eyes blurred.

This is not an ending but a transition. One that can be embraced with gusto. Courage was born here. Those who hid behind their words emerged and flourished, finding their true voices.

This is a place that will be forever in our hearts, a stepping stone that got us where we are today. And as we continue to move forward, we know that the friends we’ve gained will come with us.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

You can’t Ignore Me

Don’t go to sleep yet, sweet one.

Silly naive girl. You can’t ignore that nagging feeling you have.

Get out of bed and check the front door.

Again.

Again.

Again.

What about the stove? Go back down and make sure it’s off. You don’t want the house to burn down, do you?

That’s a good girl.

Lift those heavy lids, my darling. You didn’t say your prayers. You know that if you don’t say them just right your family’s deaths will be your fault.

Come on, start over. You drifted off a bit.

Start again.

No! No! No!

You said the names in the wrong order.

Start again.

That’s better.

Check the clock.

3:00am

You have to be up at six.

I’ll see you then.

 

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This story nabbed an Honorable Mention over at Flash! Friday. This excites me not only because there are so many talented writers (who, I can admit, are intimidating to compete with) every week that I consider it a privilege to be among the few chosen ones, but also because of the deeply personal subject I chose to write about. Last week was OCD Awareness Week and I submitted a few pieces to different competitions that had OCD themes, showing what it’s really like to have this disorder. I am elated that our wonderful judges Foy S. Iver and Holly Geely were able to see the true meaning behind this story. They seemed to be able to relate to it , whether it be from personal experience or second hand from a dear loved one (I don’t know for sure).

This disorder is so watered down in many cultures that it has become a joke. I am so glad that I can use my writing as a tool to spread awareness as I continue to fight the stigma attached to OCD.

Here are the judges wonderful comments on my story.

FI: I love a left-fielder! The ‘cost of obsession’ was a popular element but “You Can’t Ignore Me” sucks you in, almost convincing you that the voice is inside your skull. The syntax drives that impulse to heart-root, compelling you to get up and check the stove (did I turn it off?), or the lock (maybe I only thought I turned it). For me, it resurrected dead memories of compulsive prayers whispered in the dark, never good enough for the ears of God. Absolutely gripping, friend.

HG: You…wow…Whether or not it was the writer’s intent, this story captures the essence of Obsessive Compulsive disorder. I had to take a moment after I read this one, it strikes so close to home. Beautifully done.

 

 

 

Soon, She Will Leave Him

Joan Crawford & John Gilbert; publicity photo for the film “Four Walls,” 1928. Public domain image in the U.S.

Joan Crawford & John Gilbert; publicity photo for the film “Four Walls,” 1928. Public domain image in the U.S.

 

“There. Beautiful. Now everyone will know you are mine.”

“That’s a silly thing to say, of course I’m yours.”

Sarah ran her finger over the locket, her pale hand shaking as she lifted it to the light. The many stones cast its golden rays, setting her face aglow. Her radiance, in that moment, almost made Brenton believe that. But when she dropped the necklace down to her concave chest the harsh reality practically slapped him.

Her eyes had lost their spark long ago. Nothing he gave her made it come back. He showered her with flowers and fancy date nights, jewelry and even a house to call their own. But every day he saw the signs. Her strength waned, her weight seemed to melt off her.

He was fooling himself. She had not been his for a long time.

She belonged to another.

She belonged to Death.

 

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This flash fiction story was written for Flash! Friday 3-36

Word Count: 147

 

 

 

 

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Lively Imagination

This story earned a special mention “For use of dialogue to tell an amusing story”  in Flash! Friday 3-29.  I am pretty excited that my story got any mention at all, as Flash! Friday is a very popular contest with SO many amazing entries. A BIG THANKS goes out to the wonderful judges over at Luminous Creatures Press!

The prompt for this challenge was to use the photo prompt as inspiration as well as include a main character that is a writer.

Buster Crabbe as Flash Gordon. Studio promotional still photo 1936, public domain.

Buster Crabbe as Flash Gordon. Studio promotional still photo 1936, public domain.

Lively Imagination

 

“Keep running!”

“What is that thing?”

“I’m not sure,” Robbie panted, his plump stomach in knots. He glanced back, they had a small lead on the hideous beast.

“I didn’t think three headed monsters existed!”

“They don’t,” Robbie huffed, chubby fingers pushing up his glasses, “at least not in real life.”

“This is real life. Explain that.” Mike was a few feet ahead, holding back as to not lose Robbie.

“Well,” Robbie gasped for breath, lungs burning, ” I think… I created it.”

“What?”

“You know that story I wrote last night?”

“Yeah.”

“It was about a beast with three heads, eyes like molten lava, big cavernous nostrils. Sound familiar?” Robbie stopped short, hands on his knees, gasping for air. Mike stopped and doubled back.

“You’re telling me that you somehow made it come alive?”

“Well… yeah. It’s sorta happened before, just never with something so obvious.” Their heads jerked back as a shrill screech filled the halls.

“It sees us!” Mike pulled Robbie up forcing him to run once more. “If we can get around that corner we might lose it again. What happens in your story?”

“Well,” Robbie hesitated as they turned the corner. A wall. “he chased his prey to a dead end…”

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Click here to read the second installment in Robbie and Mike’s adventure.

 

 

 

Discovered

I was being watched. I felt it in my marrow. My insides crawled with unease, as if my very cells knew something was going to happen. I should have listened to those instinctive warnings. I was slightly distracted, though, by the Greek god of a man nibbling at my neck. His lips sent chills down my spine, dulling my other senses.

“Stop it,” I giggled flirtatiously, “we’re missing the movie.”

“I didn’t come for the movie.” He breathed in my ear.

I was thankful for the darkness of the theater so he couldn’t see my red-hot cheeks. He pulled away and I immediately felt a shift in the air. I could feel every molecule; time was slowing. I tried to focus my energy. Not here. Not now, in front of this glorious normal creature. I stole a glance over at my date and that’s when I noticed them. Two men in grey suits, looking stiff among all the lax postures of hormone charged teenagers, sitting in the row right behind him.

“Joran, I have to go to the bathroom.”

“Hurry back,” he whispered, lightly touching my lips with his thumb, hand cradling my chin. My skin burned with his electric touch.

I’d probably never see him again.

 

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This was my entry in Last week’s Flash! Friday. (Check out the winning story here. It is amazing!) This story didn’t place or get a special mention but I did get a lot of positive feedback from readers, and almost all those who commented wanted me to continue the story. I did notice that all the people who wanted more were women …. my unnamed “Greek god of a man” character may have something to do with that. 😉

Anyway, I will be working on the backgrounds of these characters and possibly create a longer story. I’m not sure If I will just continue where I left off, making it a short story, or just use it as inspiration and write a longer work (I’m not great at writing longer stories).

Any thoughts on this story are welcome, comment below. 🙂

 

A New World – Flash Fiction

Warmup Wednesday! 100 word story.

CC2.0 photo by Jose Maria Cuellar.

Oh Venezia! CC2.0 photo by Jose Maria Cuellar.

 

Max was stunned.

It was the most beautiful thing he had ever laid eyes on. All the stories he’d heard as a young boy had been true. There did exist a world where fire lit the sky each morning, bathing the land in golden light.

He stood, motionless, staring at the expanse of this new world. This wonderful, breathtaking place was the only hope for his starving people.

“What are you, a statue? Let’s keep moving!” The commander shouted.

Max tore his gaze away, the world dimming around him as his eyes adjusted. This was his new home, his future.

 

Revenge- Flash Fiction

Here is my entry in last week’s Flash Friday! Prompt.  We were to write a story inspired by the photo and with the theme of Aspiration.

Whetting Interrupted, 1894. Public domain painting by Jose Ferraz de Almeida Junior.

Whetting Interrupted, 1894. Public domain painting by Jose Ferraz de Almeida Junior.

Revenge

 

The last time I saw my father I was ten years old.

I was terrified, my dress wet from running through the stream to our hut.

“Stay inside with your brother. Don’t come out until I come back for you.” His eyes betrayed that he was worried. I remember nodding in obedience, holding my baby brother, shivering.

He shut the door and ran down the path, clutching his axe. The only weapon he had would never be a match for the beast. Shrill screams filled the smoky air. I tried to calm my brother who was now crying and wriggling out of my arms. I tightened my grip, brought him to our bed, and crawled underneath.

“SHHH. It will be OK.” I knew it wouldn’t. The smell of charred flesh and burning wood filled the hut. I all but choked on the stench. We eventually fell asleep after the screams stopped. My father never came back.

As I stare at myself in the water, I can see the weight on my shoulders, slightly slumped with years of hard labor. It’s been 8 long years of tyranny under the reign of these beasts.

Tightening my belt, sword at my side, I head to the mountains. Today I seek my revenge.

 

Word Count- 209