I Love You – Flash Fiction

“I love you.”

“You’re only saying that because I gave you candy,” Tina said, blushing and twirling her pigtails.

“Maybe. You got anymore?”

“You’ve gotta kiss me first, Max,” she teased and jumped off the swings.

“Gross! Girl cooties!”

“Better run, or I’m gonna get you!” Tina giggled as she chased Max around the play ground.

*****

“I love you.”

“You’re only saying that because I got you the comic book,” Tina said, throwing away the wrapping paper.

“Maybe. It really is the grEAtest present.”

“Voice crack much?” Tina laughed so hard milk came out her nose.

“Shut up!” His voice cracked again. Tina hit the floor in a hysterical fit of laughter.

*****

“I love you.”

“You’re only saying that because I helped you with your homework,” Tina stretched out on his bed, soaking in the moments he wanted to be around her.

“Maybe. I’d flunk if it weren’t for you.”

“Yeah you would.”

“Shut up!” Max jumped on her to give her a pinch.

*****

“I love you.”

“You’re only saying that because I helped you get the job,” Tina looked at the man in the tie standing in front of her.

“Maybe. I could have landed it myself I think.”

“HA!”

“Shut up…it could have happened!” Max grabbed her wrist when she turned away.

*****

“I love you.”

“You’re only saying that because I said it first,” Max said as he looked at the beautiful woman before him.

“Maybe. Or maybe I was just waiting for you to mean it,” Tina said, glancing down at the ring on her finger.

“I love you, Tina.”

“I love you too, Max.”

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Written for Cracked Flash week 8

Word Count: 268

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Say What?

photo courtesy Ashwin Rao

photo courtesy Ashwin Rao

 

“Do you remember that time, Mac?”

“What’s that now?”

“That time…”

“The Time? It’s almost six o’clock.”

“No, Mac, that time back in ’61?”

“61? No I’m 79, same age as you. You gettin’ forgetful, man?”

“No. No. 1961. Being here just reminded me of your 25th birthday. We were on the beach and we saw that shark…”

“Shark? Where? We better go tell that lifeguard over there. Beaches aren’t like they used to be? Ain’t nobody can swim without fear of sharks invadin’…”

“Mac, what are you ranting about? I’m trying to reminisce about that good ol’ days.”

“Old age? Who you callin’ old? Speak for yourself. I still fell like I’m 50!”

“I think you’re going senile.”

“Who you callin’ senile, ya old fart!”

“How did you hear that muttering when you can’t even here when I’m shouting?”

“What? Speak up, I can’t hear ya, Bernie.”

“Oh, never mind. Go on home, Mac.”

“Same time tomorrow?”

“Same time tomorrow, ya crazy loon.”

“Yup, see ya soon.”

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Word Count: 163

This flash fiction story was written for Flash Frenzy Round 74.

Judges Comments: “Great  characters and dialogue in this story.  Love the back-and forth miscommunication and humor. Well done!”

 

 

 

 

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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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Night Time Conversations and Stolen Hearts

The Great Train Robbery; public domain screen shot from 1903 film.

The Great Train Robbery; public domain screen shot from 1903 film.

 

 

“Tell me ’bout my Papa again.”

“Again, Tourmaline?”

“Pleeeeease!”

“OK. One more time.” Opal held her daughter tight in front of the fire.

“Your papa stole my heart the day he walked into the market, drenched from head to toe.  He looked right into my eyes and said I’d like to buy a towel. When he took the towel he winked at me.”

“And?”

“And we were married that summer. He was the love of my life, your father. I was a train wreck when he died.”

“Do you think you’ll marry again?”

“Only the Lord can know that, child.”

 

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Written for WarmUp Wednesday!

 “This week’s Warmup Wednesday challenge: Include a reference to your birthstone.”  (I included both birthstones for October.)

 

 

 

Twitter!

So I now have a Twitter Account for the blog. Gasp! I know. It’s been a long time coming. I didn’t really want to jump on that band wagon, but here I am ridding away. So if you want to keep updated please follow me @RealMommaRamble. Also, don’t forget I have a Facebook page as well. You can LIKE and FOLLOW me over on the right hand side of the page.

I would like to thank all my readers and followers. You have made having this blog enjoyable. I have developed some great relationships in this wonderful online community.

 

Have a Great Day!

–RMR

Brother Knows Best

Photo Credit: Ian Muttoo via CC.

Photo Credit: Ian Muttoo via CC.

“Big foot!”

“Stop it!”

“Trip much?”

Kaitie tried to keep her burning fury in check.

Inhale. Exhale. Inhale…

“I think that’s what I’ll call you. Hey everybody, look at Bigfoot!”

Katie raised her shaky hands, anger bursting from her eyes. She couldn’t let them see. It would raise too many questions.

Exhale. Inhale. Exhale…

James once told her when she got angry to think of water. She never took it to heart though.

“Biiiiiigfooooot!”

Ah forget it. Kaitie lifted up her hands and let the flames fly over Brad’s head. He screamed and ran. Then she noticed the phone pointed in her direction.

Crap. Should’ve listed to my brother.

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This story was Submitted to Micro Bookends 1.37. The bookends were Big and Brother.

Constructive Criticism

So I have discovered that I share my work on my blog for a reason. I can share my writing online because I can’t see the people who read my work. If they don’t like it, I usually don’t know about it. I can’t read their expressions or see their body language. Trying to share in a group of people right in front of you is so intimidating. I start out confident and by the time they get to me I am a scared little girl, cowering in a deep corner of my mind.

I know I need this writing group because, as wonderful as all my readers and fellow flash writers are, they are usually only pointing out the good things in my stories. It’s a great confidence booster, but I know that some of the stories I submit are lacking something or could use some help with structure or delivery. Constructive criticism would be beneficial in my growth as a writer.

The people in this writing group are great at pointing out things that need improvement. It’s all constructive and not at all judgy or bashing. But with my obsessive nature I know that once they pick apart a story of mine, especially if it’s one I’m proud of, I will dwell on it for days weeks. It will consume me and I don’t know If I will be able to continue it. I fear my original feeling about the story will change thus making it impossible for me to finish. (This is why I can’t write a novel. I’m a mood writer. When my mood changes so does my writing.)

I have been to three meetings now and still have not shared anything. They may be wondering if I can really write at all. I always leave thinking that my work is so “immature” compared to theirs. I know it will do me good to share, I just don’t want to see my worked torn apart, ya know?

Writer’s Pet Peeve

Want to know something that drives me crazy? I can’t stand when people don’t follow the traditional 5-7-5 of Haiku. When I read one that doesn’t have the correct amount of syllables I have to hold my tongue typing hand and refrain from commenting. I realize that the modern haiku doesn’t have to follow the 17 syllables rule, but I do. I just have to repeat to myself, “Creative license, creative license. It will be ok. Just close the post and walk away.” (and no, I don’t always rhyme to myself…ok… that might be a lie.)

It’s just hard for me to let things go ya know?

 

 

Not-So-Impenetrable Walls – Flash Fiction

Fear is what keeps me here. I am safe in my box. The invisible, self erected walls keep the unwanted filth out. I will not die at the hand of fate. I have out smarted death. Healthy is my name, cleanliness is my game. I rule at keeping out dirt. I don’t slip up. I never stop planning. Every step I take is meticulously thought out, my life depends on it. If something goes wrong, the system is ruined.

I can’t breath.

This can’t be.

I thought this through.

This wasn’t supposed to happen.

I lift my head and scream at the heavens.

My system, out the window, is flying.

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This was my entry in Micro Bookends weekly contest. This story got me an honorable mention. Here is what Dave had to say:

“Great use of the opening bookend: “Fear is what keeps me here.” The character’s OCD (“Healthy is my name, cleanliness is my game”) has led him or her to this desperate situation. I really like the sense of panic from the short sharp closing sentences, right down to the Yodaesque finish.”