‘Fiction In A Flash Challenge Week#15 Entry Part 4) by Mark Bierman @mbiermanauthor #IARTG #ASMSG #WritingCommunity

Hello everyone and a warm welcome to PART 4)  of the entries for my weekly: “Fiction in A Flash Challenge” Week #15.

Today I’m featuring a contribution by Mark Bierman.

 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.

lost-places-3035877_1920

This Contribution by Mark Bierman.

“Grandma, are you sure you want to go up there? They’re in bad shape, and your hip.”

“Oh, pish posh,” Rosemary waved dismissively. “Should have done this years ago and those were built when quality counted.”

“That was seventy-seven years ago. This place has been abandoned for—”

“Twenty years, other than some vandalism, the bones are solid.”

“Maybe, but yours aren’t. Please, just let me have a look. The third floorboard from the back wall of the closet, right?”

Rosemary patted Emily’s hand. “I need to do this myself, with a bit of help from you.”

Emily wiped a tear and hugged her grandmother. “I understand. You were eight and you’ve waited this long. It was your only hope. All these years . . . ” Her grief soaked the purple shawl.

“Shh . . . I’ve made my peace. This must be done before I see him again. I pray God will allow it in Heaven. Father has the other half, that’s why they never found it on him.”

Rosemary’s eyes stung but she must show restraint, be the brave girl that her father had said she was just before he left for the Great War. “Let’s continue, shall we?”

“Yes, I’m sorry.” Emily broke her embrace and took the tissue from Rosemary.

“But you must let me check each tread before you step on it and let me guide you. Those are my rules, I’m sorry. I love you too much to lose you.”

Rosemary nodded. “Agreed.”

They moved ahead, arm in arm, with Emily sweeping away the debris with her foot to clear a path. At the base of the stairs, she tested the railing and was satisfied.

“You see, built to last. The stairs will be the same, though the third step might creak. I learned to avoid that one when I’d sneak downstairs after bedtime to grab an extra cookie.” She pointed to the room they’d just left. “My parents would be sitting in their chairs, Mother with her nose in a book, while Father would be asleep. I never got caught, but sometimes I think Mother knew.” Rosemary smiled.

The stairs proved to be every bit as resilient as promised, but every tread protested the disturbance.

The hideous orange and white floral-patterned linoleum flooring installed by the last tenants had chunks missing and revealed the hardwood underneath. Decay wasn’t always bad.

Emily gingerly walked her grandmother across the tripping hazard to the first room on the left. Time had left only a thick layer of dust, cobwebs, and a musty smell in the barren room.

“Hmmm . . . used to be a lot bigger,” Rosemary said. She blamed her watering eyes on the dust and mold. “I loved this room, but after Father was gone, well, we had to move.”

She sighed deeply and shuffled towards the tiny closet. Emily’s hand went to grab her arm, but she brushed it off. “I’m good for now, but I’ll need you to help me kneel.”

The old woman reached the closet and Emily helped her to her knees.

Rosemary struggled to remove the floorboard and Emily offered to help.

“No! I must do this!” Her face softened and her tears splattered into the floor dust. “I’m sorry, dear, I didn’t mean to snap. This arthritis is making it hard. Did they nail it down?”

After what seemed an eternity, the board yielded, and was hoisted with a collectively  held breath. Would it still be there?

Emily handed over the flashlight. The small beam illuminated only cobwebs and dirt. Rosemary dug frantically to clear them, and the light reflected off a silver object lying in between the floor joists.

Rosemary picked up the necklace with shaky hands. Emily gasped, for there it was, the legendary object that she’d heard about since early childhood.

A heart, with one half missing, the other half perhaps lay on a faraway battlefield.

Rosemary clutched the jewelry to her heart, and then wept loudly. Emily rushed to her side and tried to console her grandmother through her own tears.

It took several moments to recover, and Rosemary showed her the inscription in the heart. Because of the shape and the missing piece, it read, ALW TOGE . . . Always Together.

“Oh Grandma, is that true? Do you really believe that?”

“Yes, Emily, all of my life I knew he was there, and soon I will get to see him again and this heart will be whole.”

~~~

Mark can be reached here …

Twitter

Blog Mark Bierman Adventures in Writing

Amazon.com

***

I can be reached here …

My author page on AMAZON.

On Twitter.

On Facebook

On Goodreads.

By Email.

Thanks so much for stopping by! I’d love to hear your thoughts. I’ll be posting further entries as they are received.

‘Fiction In A Flash Challenge’ Week #13 Entries Part 5) By D.L.Finn @dlfinnauthor #IARTG #ASMSG #WritingCommunity

Hello everyone and a warm welcome to PART 5)  of the entries for my weekly: “Fiction in A Flash Challenge” Week #13.

Today I’m featuring a contribution from D. L. Finn.

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.

michael-dziedzic-1bjsASjhfkE-unsplash

This Contribution by D.L Finn

 

I had a heck of a time choosing the poem to post here. I ended up with several poems but narrowed it down to two. One was full of images and a connection to the soul, but the other one reminded me of a favorite poem, “A Road Less Traveled” by Robert Frost. Here’s the one that narrowly won out.

image 13 challegne

 TREASURE

I searched day and night

For this promised treasure.

Given no map or guidance

Only a family quest to fulfill.

Each morning started the same…

Through the pines, cedars, and dogwoods

I followed my path.

My eyes scanned the hushed forest.

And when the filtered sunbeams departed…

So did I.

I repeated this ritual daily, never changing my course

Until that one day…

A shimmer sparkled between two large sugar pines.

Encouraged, I veered off into the unknown.

I soon found this careless choice difficult…

Leaving me conflicted…

And scraped and bruised from this uncharted territory.

But the small light beckoned me forward…

Until the sunbeams dissipated…

I turned to go home.

That’s when I saw it… shiny, bright, and golden.

I knew it was the promised family treasure

Quickly I swooped up the old key, studying it.

It was exactly as described down to the three holes,

But it offered no answers, only more questions.

I carefully tucked it away in my pocket.

All I had to do was… find the lock.

Here’s where my next journey began.

I’ll continue until I find what I seek…

The lock that my treasured key opens…

And what exists beyond.

D.L.Finn can be reached here …

Blog site:

AMAZON AUTHOR PAGE:

On TWITTER:

On FACEBOOK:

Thanks so much for stopping by! I look forward to reading your comments.

I can be reached here …

My author page on AMAZON.

On Twitter.

On Facebook

On Goodreads.

By Email.

 

Book Review: “Brazos Wind” A Western Short Read by Jan Sikes @JanSikes3 #RRBC #RWISA #IARTG #WritingCommunity

Hello and welcome to my Book Review of “Brazos Wind” a Western Short Story by Jan Sikes.

COVER BRAZOS WIND BY JAN SIKES

Meet the Author:

JAN SIKES BIO

Jan Sikes is an award-winning Texas author who has been called a wordsmith by her peers. She openly admits that she never set out in life to be an author. But she had a story to tell. Not just any story, but a true story that rivals any fiction creation. You simply can’t make this stuff up. It all happened. She chose to create fictitious characters to tell the story through, and they bring the intricately woven tale to life in an entertaining way. She released a series of music CDs to accompany the four biographical fiction books and then published a book of poetry and art to complete the story circle.

And now that the story is told, this author can’t find a way to put down the pen. She continues to write fiction and has published many short stories with a series of novels waiting in the wings. She is a member of Authors Marketing Guild, The Writer’s League of Texas, the RAVE REVIEWS BOOK CLUB (RRBC), the RAVE WRITER’S INT’L SOCIETY OF AUTHOR (RWISA), sits on the RWISA Executive Council and hosts a monthly RAVE WAVES blog talk radio show, ASPIRE TO INSPIRE.

COVER BRAZOS WIND BY JAN SIKES

Blurb:

War-torn drifter, Jack McClean is left with nothing but bad memories, scars, and a restless soul. When he stumbles upon a burning homestead, and an unconscious woman, beside the Clear Fork of the Brazos River, he stops to render aid. Grieving widow, Savannah Logan, sees no reason to live, and only wants to join her husband and children in their graves. But, Jack refuses to let her die. In saving her, he might somehow find redemption for himself and hope for a new tomorrow. Is it possible that both Jack and Savannah can find a new destiny in the changeable flow of the Brazos wind?

***

MY REVIEW. ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐ A powerful and emotive story.

It’s been a very long time since I’ve read a Western, and such a delight to find one of this quality to reintroduce me to the genre.

Author Jan Sikes has a marvelous way of inviting the reader into the hearts and minds of her characters. She lays the soul of the characters bare and takes us into their pain and what could well be their salvation.

This author’s knowledge of and love for Texas shines through in this beautifully exposed short read.

Jack McClean’s and Savannah Logan’s characters evolve over the course of this short. The trauma of their backgrounds allows us a glimpse into the pain and suffering both have witnessed. We are given insight into the reasons for the choices they make, and it garners our understanding.

Kudos to this talented author for using every word to further enhance a great story.

********

BRAZOS WIND on AMAZON.COM

CONTACT JAN SIKES:

All books are available at http://www.jansikes.com

Amazon

On Twitter

On Facebook

Thanks so much for stopping by, I look forward to hearing your thoughts.

‘Fiction In A Flash Challenge’ Week #11 Entry Part 5) @MaeClair1 #IARTG #ASMSG #WritingCommunity

Hello everyone and a warm welcome to PART 5)  of the entries for my weekly: “Fiction in A Flash Challenge” Week #11.

Today I’m featuring a contribution by Mae Clair.

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.

adrian-mato-6kaPKnqwaYw-unsplash

Mrs. Conway

By

Mae Clair


Jarrod Hamilton was not a rich man but considered himself a talented one. For the last eight years he’d made a living teaching the upper crust ladies of Victorian London the finer arts of painting with oils. During that time, he’d often had to bite his tongue rather than offer advice­. On other occasions, he fawned over inferior work all the while cringing at the substandard quality his students produced. But catering to delicate egos paid the bills and helped him maintain his lifestyle, mediocre as it was.

Perhaps that was why Mrs. Conway so surprised him. Unlike the other ladies who breezed in each Wednesday, chattering like magpies, Millicent Conway arrived early and alone. A quiet woman widowed for over a year—if gossip was to be believed—she rarely engaged with others. Of the near dozen students in his class, she was the only one with a dram of talent. He’d observed the growth of her painting for weeks, maintaining his silence on her progress. Now, with the final brushstrokes applied, he could no longer contain his thoughts.

“Very striking, Mrs. Conway.” Jason stood with his hands behind his back as he looked over her shoulder. “The assignment was to paint a representation of self. I’m curious why you chose a waterfall.”

Millicent set her brush aside with a graceful movement, as dainty and refined as a delicate bird. “Your praise is most kind, sir.” She seemed reluctant to say more.

Undaunted, he peered closer. “A more cynical man than I might guess the waterfall is not the subject of your painting.”

She blinked, wide-eyed and curious. “Pardon?”

“I suspect the true focus is the tree in the foreground. Desolate and barren while the waterfall feeds a valley rich with life.” He eyed her sharply, prying beneath the buttoned-up layers of her personality. “The tree is Isolated and alone.”

Her spine stiffened. She fingered her collar. “How observant of you. Sometimes people are much the same.”

“Only by choice.”

She looked away.

“Do you know what I see, Mrs. Conway? Despite the fact the tree doesn’t embrace the vibrance of the valley, its roots are deep. Steadfast. A strong force in the face of adversity.”

She relaxed, her smile wan. “Ah, but you don’t see beneath the surface, Mr. Hamilton. Sometimes there is a reason for that distance. The exterior is gilt and flash, while the inside has been poisoned with disease.”

His gut clenched. The chatter of his other students created a buzz like the constant drone of honeybees in the background. He wanted to swat them away. “Disease?”

She wiped her hands on a rag. “It destroys from the inside out. You can’t see the damage until it is too late, and there is nothing to be done.”

“Like a cancer?”

“Precisely.”

Bile burned the back of his throat. “Then there is no hope?”

She squeezed his hand, her fingers cold. “There is always hope. Especially when those who suffer have made peace and no longer feel the need to be part of the valley. They have their own verdant dell waiting, guarded by loved ones who have passed.” Warmth touched her eyes. “The tree must bend. Break at last.”

His throat grew tight. He nodded toward the painting. “What will become of this?”

“It matters not to me.”

“May I have it?”

She appeared surprised. “Of course, but I fail to understand why you would want it.”

How could he tell her? Finally, after years of teaching petticoats, dowagers, and debutantes, someone in his class had spoken clearly through canvas and oil. It may not have mattered to her, but even as disease shortened her life, she’d found a way to instill meaning in his work.

It made him believe he could find his own waterfall and valley.

At the very least, she’d taught him how to be a tree.

~~~~~~

Mae Clair can be reached here …

Twitter:

Amazon Author Page:

Mystery, Suspense & Urban Legends | BookBub | Newsletter Sign-Up

Website & Blog | Goodreads

~~~~~~~

Thank you so much for stopping by. Tomorrow I’ll feature the final post for WEEK #11 by Miriam Hurdle. The image prompt for #Week #12 is now live.

I may be contacted here …

My author page on AMAZON.

On Twitter.

On Facebook

On Goodreads.

By Email.

‘Fiction In A Flash Challenge’ Week #11 Entries Part 4) @Chelepie & @gmplano #IARTG #ASMSG #WritingCommunity

Hello everyone and a warm welcome to PART 4)  of the entries for my weekly: “Fiction in A Flash Challenge” Week #11.

Today I’m featuring contributions from Michele Jones and Gwen Plano

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.

This Contribution by Michele Jones.

adrian-mato-6kaPKnqwaYw-unsplash

Mike ran ahead of Carl toward the sound of rushing water. He’d always been faster and would be there first. As he darted through the trees, he saw it. The waterfall.

Mike stared at it as it fell from the rock above. Rumors about its existence had been around for centuries, but he didn’t believe them—brushed them off as a myth. But ahead of him, the water flowed, no gushed, from the rocks above. How could this be? What was happening? Who did this? The valley had always been dry. Hell, the entire region barely saw any rain.

He moved closer. The sound of the water roaring in his ears. He didn’t know much, but he knew a water source was needed for a waterfall, but no rivers or oceans were within miles of here. Something wasn’t right. Mike spun around looking for any possible reason for the falls. There wasn’t one and he didn’t believe in magic.

Mike pulled out his phone took several pictures. No one would believe him. This would be his proof. He moved even closer. The mist at the bottom splashed up from the basin and reflected the sunlight in its droplets. Lily would love this. He tried calling but had no signal. Strange. He’d had signal here before. Must be the waterfall messing with it.

He wanted to leave, but the water looked so inviting. Even though the falls splashed up, the pool remained still. No ripples, No splashes. He needed to be the one to change that. He pulled off his shirt, tugged off his jeans, dropped his phone, and dove into the pool.

After he surfaced, he heard it. A voice. He shook his head. His imagination must be playing tricks on him. He heard it again. A woman’s voice. Humming the most beautiful melody he’d ever heard. She must be behind the cascade. Mike swam closer. The humming got louder, but he couldn’t see her.

Something told him he shouldn’t go any closer. But he had to see her. That voice. It was so beautiful. He knew she wanted him. Confused, he treaded water trying to decide. Before going on, he heard his brother screaming and saw him flailing his arms.

Mike shook his head and swam to the edge of the basin, climbing out.

“What the hell are ya doin’? Do you have a death wish?” Carl ran up and yanked him from the basin.

“Aw, I was just cooling off. There’s no reason to be so—”

“Don’t you remember anything about the waterfall? It’s cursed. Now you’re cursed. And so am I. I can’t believe you did this to me.”

“I didn’t do anything. And we’re not cursed.”

“So, you didn’t hear the lady singing? You weren’t swimming to the sound of her voice?”

“Yeah, I heard her. So what. Nothing’s gonna happen.”

“Fool. The lady kills. I can’t believe you don’t remember that.”

“I remember. I just don’t believe it. Watch me.”

Before Carl could grab him, Mike dove in and swam to the cascade. He’d prove everyone wrong. There was absolutely nothing to worry about. He could hear that woman’s voice again. It grew stronger, more inviting. He could also hear Carl screaming at him to come back.

Mike swam behind the cascade. Just as he thought. There was nothing there. He climbed out of the basin and looked for her. He saw no one. Just an old timer myth. As he turned to go back to his brother, she was there. But the waterfall was gone. The ravine—gone.

“You should have listened to your brother. Now you’re mine. For eternity.”

######

Michele can be reached here …

 Twitter

URL: http://www.michelejones.com
Email: icoachgirls@gmail.com
Whois: http://whois.arin.net/rest/ip/70.90.235.33 (IP: 70.90.235.33)

***

This Contribution by Gwen Plano

When I saw the photo, I imagined flying above the falls and mountains high. I felt the moist breeze and soared in the silence of the trees. My haiku…

I can be reached here …

My author page on AMAZON.

On Twitter.

On Facebook

On Goodreads.

By Email.

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

‘Fiction In A Flash Challenge” Week #9 … Entries Part 1) @HowellWave & @pursoot #IARTG #ASMSG #WritingCommunity

Hello everyone and a warm welcome to PART 1)  of the entries for my weekly: “Fiction in A Flash Challenge” Week #9.

Today I’m featuring contributions from entry 1) John Howell  2) My own Contribution.

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.

Flash Fiction week 9 another good treehouse

  1. This one-line contribution by John Howell.

 

“We prefer to describe it to clients as cozy rather than Lilliputian, Smithe.”

John can be reached here:

Visit at Amazon.https://www.amazon.com/author/johnwhowell

 Twitter:

Author Blog Fiction Favorites:

#

My Own Contribution:

Flash Fiction week 9 another good treehouse

“Safe”

By

Suzanne Burke

Tina pulled the RV into the secure parking bay, checked her paperwork, and presented it to the guard. He took his time looking at her and matching her I.D, then he handed it back with a smile. “I don’t envy you. Your latest client is on every major hit list in the country.”

“That just makes the work more interesting.” She rolled her brown eyes and laughed.

“I’ll have him escorted through.”

“Thanks.”

Frank Donelli could be heard complaining before he even entered the area. “What’s with the handcuffs?”

The woman replied, “They’ll be removed when we reach the safe house.”

“And just where is this safe house?”

“You have no need to know the exact location. The Witsec program doesn’t allow for you to have a choice in the matter. We’ll select whichever source gives us maximum cover.”

“But?”

“No buts. You’ve just turned States Evidence on Vitorrio Trimboli. You’re a very popular target right now, Frank.”  She opened the passenger door. “Climb in. There’s no time for arguments.”

Three hours later the RV pulled to a stop. The woman used the two-way radio and spoke clearly, “On approach. Do you have visual?”

“We have you on Drone image. The perimeter is clear, the location is secure. Proceed.”

“Copy that.”

Frank Bonello had been asleep in the passenger seat for a few hours, He woke up with a start as the woman poked his arm. “Wake up. We’ve arrived.”

The man looked out and then turned back to the FBI agent. “A Treehouse? A Fucking treehouse! You’re shitting me, right?”

“No, Frank, I’m not. Pull up the hoodie and put on these sunglasses.” She handed them across. “Stay behind me. Keep your mouth shut till we’re inside. Nod if you understand!”

The man turned red in the face and seemed about to explode, but he took a closer look at his companion’s eyes and nodded.

They crossed the heavily treed ground and climbed the stairs to access the swaying bridge that led them to the open front door of the treehouse. She entered alone and swept the room, satisfied herself that they were clear, and shoved her guest ahead of her. “Sit there on that bunk.” She swung her duffle bag onto the small kitchen bench and took a long slow look around. She extracted a bottle and a paper-cup from the bag.

“You need to settle those nerves, Frank.” The woman held up the bottle. “My research says this is your favorite.”

“Yeah, a twelve-year-old malt whiskey would be good right now.”

The woman filled his cup.

“What, you’re not joining me in a drink?”

“I never indulge when I’m working. Besides my nerves are just fine. But, you need to chill out. I aim to get you to trial in one piece.”

“You can take care of me right?”

“Oh, yes. I’ll take good care of you, Frank.”

The man nodded his head vigorously and raised his cup. “So, what do I call you?”

“For now you can call me Tina.” She said as she poured him another good measure of whiskey. “This close proximity doesn’t make for too much formality. But don’t cross the line. Understood?”

“Yeah, yeah. I’ll behave myself.” He finished his drink in one gulp and reached for the bottle.

“Can you hold your liquor, Frank?”

The man laughed, “I’ve got an iron-clad gut, or so I’ve been told.”

Tina smiled at him. “Glad to hear it. I’ll fix us something to eat shortly, bring your drink with you and I’ll show you around.”

It had only taken a minute to cover the inside and Tina led them out onto the small deck. She looked around at the surroundings and gave a sigh of satisfaction. “It’s almost perfect here.”

“Depends on your definition of perfect. For me, I like my mansion and my infinity pool.”

He held out his cup.

“I’ll fix you another drink back inside. It’s a little chilly out here.”

One hour later Frank attempted to rise from his bunk and fell to his knees moaning and clutching at his stomach. “Jesus. What is this? I can’t feel my legs? I can’t stand up!” He threw up as he spoke. “Tina, help me, somethings wrong! My eyesight … my eyesight has gone, Fuck! What’s happening? Help me!”

Tina leaned down and grabbed him by the throat. “Poison is so appropriate for a rat. My name is Christina Trimboli. My Godfather sends you his wishes for a long, slow, and excruciatingly painful death.”

Christina watched the man die in agony.When satisfied that no sign of life remained, she signaled the others, “Message delivered. Let’s move out.” She kicked the corpse and removed a dead rodent from the duffle bag. She fashioned a twine noose around its neck and hung it in the doorway. No one could mistake the motive for Frank’s murder… or the message.

Tina exited the property with her team. Somedays coming to work was pure pleasure. She whistled happily as they left the vicinity.

***

Find me at …

My author page on AMAZON.

On Twitter.

On Facebook

On Goodreads.

By Email.

Thanks so much for stopping by!

Tomorrow I’ll be featuring entry 3) by Gerry McCullough.

 

“Fiction In A Flash Challenge” Image Prompt Week #9. Join in, have fun and let the creative muse loose. @pursoot #IARTG #ASMSG #WritingCommunity

Flash Fiction best header

Hello everyone and welcome to my weekly “Fiction in A Flash Challenge!”  Week #9 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.

Please put it (or a link to it) in a comment or email it to me at My email address. by DEADLINE: 4pm EDT on Thursday, July 23rd. Subject: Fiction in a Flash Challenge. If you post it on your own blog or site, a link to this page would be much appreciated.

I’ll begin sharing all entries received, and, my own contribution here beginning on Friday, July 24th.

Here is the week #9 Image Prompt.

Flash Fiction week 9 another good treehouse

 

I hope the image inspires you! Come and join in the fun.

Find me at …

My author page on AMAZON.

On Twitter.

On Facebook

On Goodreads.

By Email.

 

‘Fiction In A Flash Challenge’ Entries Part 2. @MarshaIngrao @gmplano @dlfinnauthor #IARTG #ASMSG #WRITINGCOMMUNITY

Hello everyone and a warm welcome to PART 2)  of the entries for my weekly: “Fiction in A Flash Challenge” Week #8.

Today I’m featuring contributions from entry 4) By Marsha Ingrao 5) By Gwen Plano and 6) by D.L.Finn.

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.

Flash Free child with lion toy

Entry 4) by Marsha Ingrao.

Carla and Limpy the lion

From Limpy the Lion’s perspective.

By Marsha Ingrao.

Oh, no, here we go again. Mind you, I don’t like green eggs and ham for breakfast either. If my mom raised emus, well I’d eat the emus, not the stupid eggs. They’re so gooey. Give me a nice firm bird any day.

Like I said, my mom would have never let me run away. Her claws were pretty sharp back in the day, and she would whack us in the face if we tried anything. Not Carla’s mom, I know it’s not good to gossip, but I’d bet she doesn’t even know that Carla and I are gone.

I’m quiet, but Carla normally jumps around and screeches at the top of her voice. It’s kind of cute the way she giggles. She wasn’t laughing when she dragged me out here in the middle of breakfast.

I know she loves me, but I’m getting too old for this. Comfortable in my big window with the warm sun on my tummy, I dreamed about chasing emus and biting their heads off. I could feel my feet twitching. I am so fast and so stealthy. Stupid emus.

But you don’t want to know about me. You’re probably wondering why her mom didn’t notice that we left – again.

It’s those mean moody emus. They take up all her mom’s time. One time one of them bit off my eyes. I think it ate them, but I couldn’t see, so I don’t know for sure. Carla’s mom never offered to put them back on no matter how much Carla cried about it. My crying days were over.

So this morning, Carla comes down for breakfast really excited because her mom had promised to bring some doughnuts home when she came back from her big date last night. She stopped at the bottom of the stairs. Pans and dishes clattered and banged in the kitchen. I know doughnuts don’t make a peep, so I hoped they were sitting in a box somewhere close by. Carla’s mom dropped the plate really hard on the table.

“Get in here Carla.”

Carla dragged me by my back leg and tossed me onto the bay window ledge.

She plopped into the chair. It barely made a thud when she kicked the table leg.

“Mom, do I have to eat emu eggs again? You promised.”

“Charles and I didn’t make it to the doughnut store, Carla. Eggs are better anyway. Don’t forget to rinse your plate when you’re finished.”

I heard Carla huff.

Then the door slammed, and I heard those damn birds snorting and grunting. If I didn’t know better, I’d think the pigs had gotten out of their pen down by the barn.

Boom! Boom!

That the female. She’s the one who ate my eyes. I hate that bird. If I ever get the chance I’m going to scratch her eyes out.

Before I could finish, Carla grabbed me by the shoulder, dragged me across the floor and flung open the door. The screen banged shut against the frame as I got a whiff of freshly mowed grass.

As she shuffled down the lane, I sniffed and the curl of stale fish stink covers my face. It’s the lake again. She dropped me into a puddle of green algae when we ran away a month ago. When we got back her mom threw me in the trash. Carla dragged me out and put me in the washer. I must have laid in there for three or four days. You lose track of time in a washer.

“Carla, sweetie don’t cry. What’s wrong,” I said in my head.

“Grandma come get us. I want to stay at your house.”

“I’m not grandma, for heaven’s sake, Carla. I’m not a genie.”

She squeezes me and kisses my face and gets me a little wet, but I don’t say anything.

We have to get in the big truck for hours to get to her grandma’s. Usually when Carla runs away we stay in the hideout that Zack, her big brother built when he was about twelve and her dad was still alive.

Suddenly Carla’s hold on me loosens. A quad rumbles along the dirt path.

“Zackie!”

He picks us both up and we ride for a long time. The wind almost takes the stuffing out of me. Once, it blew me out of the quad, and Zack had to go back and pick me up. He listens to Carla. Thank God.

I smell doughnuts on her breath.

#

Contact Marsha here:

Always Write blog

TWITTER

***

5) This moving Contribution by Gwen Plano.
​Must it take a baby to help us realize we are one family? 

Picture

Gwen may be contacted … here

Reflections on Life … Blog.

Author Page: Gwen Plano on Amazon

On Twitter.

Gwen Plano on Facebook.

~~~

6)A Haiku By D.L.Finn

Flash Free child with lion toy

Mom’s sick they say

Leo & I will make her better

So she can come home.

~~~

D. L. Finn can be reached here …

Blog site:

AMAZON AUTHOR PAGE:

On TWITTER:

On FACEBOOK:

 

Thanks so much for stopping by! The image PROMPT for WEEK #9 will be posted later today.

 

Find me at …

My author page on AMAZON.

On Twitter.

On Facebook

On Goodreads.

By Email.

 

“Fiction In A Flash Challenge” Image Prompt Week #8. Join in, have fun and let the creative muse loose. @pursoot #IARTG #ASMSG #WritingCommunity

Flash Fiction best header

Hello everyone and welcome to my weekly “Fiction in A Flash Challenge!”  Week #8 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 a format and genre of your choosing.  Maximum word count: 750 words.

Please put it (or a link to it) in a comment or email it to me at My email address. by DEADLINE: 4pm EDT on Thursday, July 23rd. Subject: Fiction in a Flash Challenge. If you post it on your own blog or site, a link to this page would be much appreciated.

I’ll begin sharing all entries received, and, my own contribution here beginning on Friday, July 17th.

Here is the week #8 Image Prompt.

 

Flash Free child with lion toy

 

I hope the image inspires you! Come and join in the fun.

Find me at …

My author page on AMAZON.

On Twitter.

On Facebook

On Goodreads.

By Email.

‘Fiction In A Flash Challenge” #Week 7 Entries Part 3.@pokercubster @gmplano @MadameGsTeaRoom John Maberry #IARTG #ASMSG #WritingCommunity

Flash Fiction best header

Hello everyone and a warm welcome to PART 3)  of the entries for my weekly: “Fiction in A Flash Challenge” Week #7.

Today I’m featuring contributions from entry 5) By D.G.Kaye  6)a Haiku By Gwen Plano and our final entry for this week 7) By John Maberry.

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.

Entry #5  Contributed by D.G.Kaye

flash Free lighthouse beautiful

Casualties of a Silent War

 Suspended in wait while idling in neutral, nothing is certain, nor will ever be the same. The Mother Goddess reveals the consequences of our decisions. A cruel awakening descends upon us, throwing us a glimpse, an acrid taste of what we’ve missed along the way – or perhaps, what we’ve forgotten.

In the bliss of ignorance, choosing not to hear the call, happy to remain invisible contributing to the noise, happy not attracting attention from the powers that be, a desperate attempt to dodge the path of ominous events to come.

I choose to stay in the now and the know, rather than gripping on to the unknown, writhing with fear, camouflaged under nature’s cover where I observe from.

She watches us, hidden and inconspicuous to the naked eye and the passerby. But the all-knowing sees all and straddles in wait for the world to respond.

Cruel Awakening

Mother Nature awaits us

To make the right move

 

©DGKaye2020

D.G.Kaye may be found here:

FACEBOOK

TWITTER

AMAZON

GOODREADS

#

#6 This Contribution from Gwen Plano

As I studied the prompt, I thought of storms at sea and sailors helped to safety. Then I thought of you and me, finding our way through a squall of threats and conspiracies. Not so surprisingly, I found hope in the one Light that is never dimmed completely.

​I hope you enjoy my Haiku contribution:

Gwen may be contacted … here

Reflections on Life … Blog.

Author Page: Gwen Plano on Amazon

On Twitter.

Gwen Plano on Facebook.


#7 … This contribution by Wendy D. Smith (Pen name Wendy D. Gillespie.


flash Free lighthouse beautiful

UNDER THE SEA

Wendy D. Gillespie

Sunlight sparkled brightly off the whitecaps, the waves crashing almost casually onto the shore. A lone gull hovered overhead, waiting for just the right moment to plunge beneath the waves and claim his catch. The rumble of the breakers was the only sound above the rustle of the dune grass in the breeze. The beach stretched out for half a mile along the waterfront, before disappearing into the rocky cliffs downwind. A family of sandpipers made its way along the surf, darting in and out of the surf line, always just evading the advancing water by a talon’s width.

The waves darkened suddenly with the shadow of a large mass, and a spotted blue tail slapped the surface as a tremendous hulk breached the waves and sank back down into the depths. A cool mist lingered a moment in the morning air before dissipating in the sunlight and all was quiet once more.

A thousand or so years ago, this very shoreline was teeming with college students on spring break, its own sea of blue beach umbrellas on the sand. Perhaps in another ten million years, something resembling Homo sapiens would again populate this stretch of sand with its drunken youth. Perhaps not. The gull screeched four times and circled higher into the sky, as if mourning mankind’s passing. But the sun paid no heed, shining on as it had been doing for five billion years already, and would continue doing for another five. Time enough. Time enough for anything to crawl up from the sea bottom, and claim its foothold on the planet. Anything at all.

Wendy can be reached …

TWITTER:

MadameGsTeaRoom

GOODREADS

###

And our final entry for this week’s prompt is number 7) By John Maberry.

 

flash Free lighthouse beautiful

Surfing a Lighthouse

 

Of all the times they’d gone to the Outer Banks, they had never strayed far from shore. They snorkeled. They beachcombed. They took the sailboard lessons but never hang gliding or parasailing. She wanted to try surfing.

“Not for me,” he said, “the channels and the sandbars constantly changing—too risky.”

“Don’t be a wuss, Eddy,” she laughed, “I’m doing it.”

“All right, you go. Just stay away from the fishing piers and the inlets.”

Lighthouses. They loved the lighthouses. Especially the one that had to be moved inland as the shore eroded. It’s the image he saw that reminded him. How she got careless. Careless at that rocky, dangerous shore. The sun between clouds and a high barrier dune, blinded her. She looked away—the wrong way, avoiding the sun’s glare only to catch the flash of the automated lighthouse. She veered too late. Out of the channel onto the rocks emerging at low tide.

Digiprove sealCopyright secured by Digiprove © 2020 John Maberry

John Can Be Found here …

~~~~~~

Thanks so much for stopping by! The image PROMPT for WEEK #8 will be posted later today.

Find me at …

My author page on AMAZON.

On Twitter.

On Facebook

On Goodreads.

By Email.