Categotry Archives: Flash Fiction 55
Western Roads
“Oh. You’re really going somewhere with this.” She looked from the map to the highway stretching endlessly before them. “Of course I am. I may take a few detours, but I’ve always had a place in mind. Only, it’s very far away.” “How far?” “The other side of the Grand Canyon. Speaking of which…” The challenge, should you choose to accept it, is to write a story in exactly 55 words. This is actually an allegory for the way I […]
Hum Bug
Once a year the Hum Bug, a coal-black creature no bigger than a fingernail, makes his home at the bottom of a Christmas stocking. When the milk and cookies are gone, the bug emerges to fly into the nearest ear and hum. Woe betide the unlucky child who must hear Jinglebells the rest of the year. . . .
Bah!
Fluffy sheep jumping white pickets in Facebook aps never end. The same white fence, the same white sheep. Copy, paste, friend and tweet Sending round and round messages of almost-connection. Warmth from a name made familiar by kind repetition lulling the sheep with illusions of solidity, making them think it is safe to jump.
Recipe for Disaster
I blame this one on Clean and Crazy, who didn’t know she was giving me ideas. Take one reindeer with frayed electrical cord to the roof. Add Christmas Music played at 20 decibels to one irate neighbor. Mix in a dozen screaming kids in the yard, a broken shingle, an open bottle of burgundy empty stomach and fresh snow. Finish with a spouse holding a light bulb. “You forgot his nose!”
Exquisite Moments
Snap Another capture Little girl, hands flapping on the ends of upraised arms pleading, “Daddy, pick me up.” Worthy of the picture and maybe a poem to be added to a collection of exquisite moments. Click Kids, cats, cormorants, anything that moves in the direction of joy becomes the building blocks. All of life, grist for the mill.
Thanksgiving Dinner
The turkey was burnt The rice was the wrong kind There wasn’t enough dressing The gravy was lumpy The mash potatoes had the consistency of library paste. Dirty dishes were piled high in the background. But when the family stopped talking long enough to eat They cleaned their plates and asked for more. “That was the best meal ever.”
Me in 55
Who am I? I’m ginger in the curry, a sly wink, the unabashed burp. I’m the last person to extend a hand, but the only one who stayed to see if it was needed. I’m a carnivorous hippie. I’m a prickle of surprise. In the face of God, I’m no one special, but I don’t mind a bit.
Automaton
Every day at the assembly line, placing the head of the doll on the body. She likes it here, where you don’t have to remember anything. Not talking, so she can keep her thoughts to herself. She likes it. She does. She’s grateful for the money. Until she hears the manager talk about replacing unit 3B. 3B? That’s her.
Our Destiny
So sad seems the little boat tied to shore as if it didn’t belong there. But our destiny is not the open sea. It’s not the arduous transit through rough waters, or dull clear skies. It’s not the moment when the waters open up and cry “drown in me.” Our destiny is the dock on the other shore. Click on picture to go to hub.
Oops
A dark suspicion haunts me. I can not shake it, as if fate could corner me with treachery and embarrassment. This Deja Vous creeps along my awareness with cold feet. Must. I must. I must check and re-check. with a click in a fellow blogger’s comment stream my worst fears are realized. I AM repeating myself. Click on picture to go to hub.
Ashes
When Beth entered the room, the urn full of ashes sitting on the mantle piece chattered. Mother. Never could stop telling her how to live her life. Beth set the urn more firmly on the mantle, muttering, “Stupid trains.” She left the room. The urn shook and moved, edging toward a fall. There were no trains. Click on picture to go to hub.
Lurking
Click on picture to go to hub. . . . Yeah, I see you lurking there, Standing on the threshold as if a broom might descend, sweeping you out with the spam. Relax. I know how to tell friend from foe. And I know you are only a tourist here. So what? Come on in and sit a spell. Here, at least, you are welcome..
The Meaning of Life
Small gestures of love keep me alive. A hug, a kiss, a smile offered when the avalanche of rejection crescendos to the point where I can hardly breathe, let alone write another drop of soul. When I’m looking at the switchblade and the wrist and thinking they belong together small gestures; a hug, a smile, a kiss…. Click on image to go to hub. [ A reminder: this is FICTION. My suicidal days are long behind me. After all, I […]
The Talk
Click on picture to go to hub. “My mother says I’m an enabler. I think she’s right. The thing is, I want to be an enabler. I do. I want to enable you to do incredible things; photography, or writing, or something. I’ve been waiting all this time for a chance. I don’t think I should wait any more. Do you?”
Trepidation
Click on picture to go to hub. Could be anything inside – a murder victim, some old lady who died in her sleep, a kid too young to open the door. Whatever it was stank enough to have the neighbors complaining. He pounded on the door. “Open up!” She did. Python in one hand, rotten mice in the other. That’s how Officer Johansen met Marley Dunbarough. Edited 9/25 7:49am: I should have said sooner. Officer Johansen and Marley Dunbarough are […]
