He’s Gone

 

“What’s this?”

“That’s mind your own business is what it is,” my grandfather snatched the adoption papers from my hand. “Hazel!”

“Yes, dear, what is…” her eyes widened. “Okay,” she inched toward me like she was approaching a wounded dog. “It’s okay.”

I started crying. “Poppy?”

He held me, told me he loved me. “Those papers don’t change anything.”

“Gran?” I pleaded. “Daddy didn’t leave me?”

She hugged us both. “He’s gone.”

“Where…where is he?” I squeaked, not sure I wanted the answer.

Gran’s eyes flicked to the garden. “You must understand, baby. He was not a good man.”

 

 

May 20 Prompt: Old Mystery (In 99 words, write about an old mystery in the current time. Is it a discovery? Is it solved? Does it no longer matter, or does it impact innocent generations in between?)

Flash Fiction Challenge over at Carrot Ranch

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Empty

 

“It’s cool that you don’t say stupid shit like ‘How do you feel about that’ or whatever.” She picked up a grey rock from its shelf and examined it.

“Well,” he swiveled in his chair, “glad to hear that. But I do need you to talk to me.”

She turned the rock over in her hand, “Okay. I’ll talk. You have this like professional office with expensive leather couches and shit then there’s this ugly, little rock. Seems out of place.”

“It’s special.”

“Why?”

“My father gave it to me when I was a child.”

“Look at you. All sentimental and shit. Who knew? You one of those losers who still lives with his daddy?”

“He died last year. You think it’s ugly?”

She looked up. “Not anymore.”

“Why?”

“You know why. If it’s really your father’s.”

“True story. Still. Why does that make a difference? It’s the same rock.”

“Ha. You got me. Fine. I’m the same person.”

“Are you?”

“What the hell. Isn’t that what you’re saying?”

“Actually,” he leaned back, “it’s not.”

She gripped the rock, “Whatever. Not playing.”

“It’s not a game. That rock is the same rock but it has changed in your eyes because of its background just as you have changed in your eyes because of what happened.”

“Tick-tock. Look at the clock. Only like 20 minutes until I get to walk out of here.”

“The question now becomes whether you are going to return that rock to the shelf because it means something to me, drop it wherever in here because it’s just a stupid, ugly little rock anyway, or pocket it because it has become precious.”

“Screw. You.”

“What would happen if I said you could take it?”

“Fifteen minutes,” she pointed at the door. “Me. Walking.”

“Okay. You can have the rock.”

“Already in my pocket.”

“On one condition,” he added. “You return it to me when you finish the program. When you learn your worth and treat yourself accordingly.”

“Deal,” she smiled. “I like this rock and now it’s mine because that’s not happening and, oh, look, time to walk. Later.”

“Not by my watch it’s not.”

She stood up. “You didn’t even look at your stupid watch.”

“Marcia. I want that rock back. Understand?”

She looked over her shoulder before shuffling into the waiting room.

 

~~~

 

He rubbed his eyes. “Anything in particular you’d like to talk about today, Jon?”

“Yeah. What’s with this empty shelf? Run out of money to buy stuff?” The boy laughed.

“Something like that.”

 

Haiku: Cheating

 

His voice rose in pitch

Like the time he stole my trust

Crushing me with tone

 

~~~

 

We’re trapped in the lift

This is the time! Pitch your book!

Make an appointment

 

 

This is part of a weekly haiku writing challenge which must be written in the English form of 5-7-5.

Hosted by RonovanWrites

#45 Prompt: Write a haiku using the words “pitch” and “time”

The Rock

 

“It’s cool that you don’t say stupid shit like ‘How do you feel about that’ or whatever.” She grabbed a grey rock from its shelf and examined it.

“Well,” he swiveled in his chair, “glad to hear that. But I do need you to talk to me.”

She turned the rock over in her hand, “Okay. I’ll talk. You have this like professional office with expensive leather couches and shit then there’s this ugly, little rock. Seems out of place.”

“It’s special.”

“Why?”

“My father gave it to me. He died last year. You think it’s ugly?”

“Not anymore.”

 

 

May 13 Prompt: Connection (Write a story that shows a hard place and a connection)

Flash Fiction Challenge over at Carrot Ranch

(This flash seeks a connection for this month’s 1000Speak theme. Read other posts on connecting here.)

The Album

 

She stared at the empty album, wondering again what kind of flower decorated the cover before her mind tried to find the word for the color then thought about the emptiness again.

Round and round like the seasons. In and out and back again. Peach. It was peach, that hue. Pink. And the flower, a rose. Or carnation. Daisy. The emptiness. Pink. Flowers. Like spring. With things that are alive trying to sprout from things that look dead.

The album was closed but she knew they took the fading photos—black and white memories she was starting to lose.

 

 

May 6 Prompt: Spring (Write a story that is a snapshot of spring.)

Flash Fiction Challenge over at Carrot Ranch

Haiku: Postpartum

 

She didn’t give thought

To the infant becoming

The source of her pain

 

~~~

 

She jumped in the lake

Without so much as a thought

Her life found its source

 

 

 

This is part of a weekly haiku writing challenge which must be written in the English form of 5-7-5.

Hosted by RonovanWrites

#43 Prompt: Write a haiku using the words “thought” and “source”

Dance Like Everyone’s Watching

 

“Why do you hide this?” He brushed his thumb across her cheek, lifting thick curls off her face.

“Don’t,” she slapped his hand away, pulling her hair forward.

He leaned against the lockers, watching her.

She stuffed a chemistry book into her bag. “What?”

“I’m taking you to prom,” he smirked.

“Oh, get over yourself.”

He winked at the girls strutting by. They blew kisses. “See? They love me. And I’m taking you,” he repeated. “I want them to see us together.”

She glanced over her shoulder, catching glares. “Obviously, that’s not a good idea for you.”

“Screw them.”

 

 

 

April 29 Prompt: Racism (Write a story that tackles racism. What breaks the barrier of other-ness?)

Flash Fiction Challenge over at Carrot Ranch