‘Fiction In A Flash Challenge’ Week #13 Entry Part 7) by Michele Jones @chelepie #IARTG #ASMSG #WritingCommunity

Hello everyone and a warm welcome to PART 7)  of the entries for my weekly: “Fiction in A Flash Challenge” Week #13. Today I’m featuring a contribution from Michele Jones.
Last week I set the following Challenge:
Hello everyone and welcome to my new “Fiction in A Flash Challenge!” Each week I’ll be featuring an image and inviting you to write a Flash Fiction or Non-Fiction piece inspired by that image in any format and genre of your choosing.  Maximum word count: 750 words.

Here is the image prompt.

Photo by Michael Dziedzic

This Contribution from Michele Jones

Phyllis stared at her grand-parent’s old house. So many memories. Jacks on the porch (Grandma cheated), Hi-Ho! Cherry-O, cards. Grandpap listening to the radio. Her family sitting on the porch talking and laughing. She missed stopping with her friends and Grandma giving them snacks and drinks. Anyone who stopped would be treated with something homemade and a cup of coffee.

Everything had changed after the riots in ‘67. Homes were burnt to the ground. Building were vandalized and needed to be torn down. Farms were scourged. Rioters attacked anyone outside, pets, even people trying to get away in cars. It wasn’t safe to leave your house, yet it wasn’t safe to stay.

Local police had their hands full. It took months, but order had been restored. However, nothing was the same. Sadly, her small town suffered a huge loss.

She longed for the happy days she experienced on her Grandma’s porch, sitting around the dining room table at the holidays, laughing in the living room with family. Phyllis needed to go back inside Grandma’s house.

If only—

The hidden key had long since disappeared. The porch that was once so inviting looked as if it would fall apart if a leaf landed on it. Yet the house called to her. Maybe she’s get lucky. Maybe the key fell was around here somewhere. She crunched over the dead leaves, making her way to where Grandma always kept the spare key.

A tear rolled down her cheeks as she crossed the yard to look around for the key. How she missed her grandparents. Looking up she said a quick prayer for success and continued to scour the ground for any signs of that key.

Each step made her anxious, getting her hopes up. Phyllis remembered the smell of fresh bread that wafted from the windows, the turkey, sauce, and cookies. Now the only smell was dead leaves and burnt wood. Nothing she wanted to remember.

Finally, she reached the planter. The dead plant reminded her of the riots. Yet she couldn’t explain her feeling of hope. Using a stick, she pushed the dirt around, her hope fading with each push. It wasn’t there. The key was gone. Just as she knew it would be.

Phyllis squatted down, then sat on the ground cross-legged with her head in her hands. She could feel the damp through her jeans. As she pushed the hair from her face, she caught a glimpse of something a few feet to her left. A reflection inside a leaf pile. Her heart beat faster. She stood, brushed the dead leaves off, walked over, and bent down to check it out.

She couldn’t believe it. The missing key. The key to her past. She stood holding it, staring at it. Something didn’t feel right. She’d looked for that key so many times, only to find nothing. Now, when she wanted it so desperately, it appeared?


Michele can be reached here …


URL: http://www.michelejones.com
Email: icoachgirls@gmail.com
Whois: http://whois.arin.net/rest/ip/ (IP:

I can be reached here …

My author page on AMAZON.

On Twitter.

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On Goodreads.

By Email.

Thanks so much for stopping by! I’d love to hear your thoughts.


25 thoughts on “‘Fiction In A Flash Challenge’ Week #13 Entry Part 7) by Michele Jones @chelepie #IARTG #ASMSG #WritingCommunity

  1. Lovely, Michele. There’s really nothing quite like the smell of freshly baked bread. Your story brought back all the reasons why that is the case. ♥♥

    Liked by 2 people

    1. You are so right, Gwen. There is nothing like the smell of fresh bread. Grandma’s house held so many memories. Nothing is the same as it once was. Too many people in a hurry. I miss the simpler times.


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