The Coat

 

He stepped through the front door, taking care to bang his sneakers on the tiles to be heard above the TV. He knew the police had phoned his dad about the mugging.

It’s not like he expected special treatment or anything, he knew better than that, but he hoped anyway.

Maybe one of those quick, awkward hugs people give like they’re touching a snake. One of those would be nice.

He tensed as his father’s boots sounded in the hallway, cringed as they got closer. He waited.

His father stopped a few feet away, staring, eyes taking in the ripped clothing and black eye. His arms reached out, touching the torn, blood-stained coat. “No wonder they didn’t take this thing,” he laughed. “Hope you have enough money to pay for a new jacket,” he walked back to the couch.

 

 

This is part of a weekly writing prompt hosted by Sacha Black.

Writespiration #91 Prompt: The hug you’ve always wanted

 

 

Maybe

 

She never had a home.

Not as an infant, left in soiled diapers. Or as a child, drawing pictures on the dusty floor of her closet.

Not even when they took her to a real house with her own bedroom, a kitchen that had food in it, and two grownups who tucked her in at night.

She was broken.

Filled with so much shame she felt stuffed. Like a guilty scarecrow with clean clothes.

Maybe they rescued the wrong girl. Maybe if they had gotten her out when she was younger. Maybe then, she’d feel at home here.

Maybe.

 

 

Flash Fiction Challenge over at Carrot Ranch

June 22, 2016 prompt: Home – In 99 words (no more, no less) write a story about home. What is it? How does it impact a character? Explore the idea of home from any spark that creates a story.

 

Joint Pain

 

I don’t have a happy place.

I saw someone talking about it in a dumb Disney movie. Can’t remember which one. They’re always on in the background at Sam’s house. His little sister watches those things like her life depends on it. Shit, maybe it does. What do I know? Maybe that’s her happy place. Maybe that’s her lifeline or something. Hell of a lot better than mine. Or Sam’s.

He hands me the joint he lifted from his mum’s purse. I fish matches out of my pocket and we wait for the smoke to kill the stench of neglect and the pain of our bruises to fade.

 

 

This is part of a weekly writing prompt hosted by Sacha Black.

Writespiration #77 Prompt: Going to your ‘happy place’

 

 

Leap of Faith

 

She tiptoed around his moods like a drunken ballerina.

 

Her choreographed steps danced in and out of debris. Delicate footfalls amid the shattered remains of their relationship.

She knew when to pirouette so as not to get cut.

Practiced in the art, she executed jumps and leaps knowing exactly where her feet would land—between scattered bits of betrayal and contempt.

Home was a minefield. In those rare performances when her foot slipped, she set off explosions, creating more rubble, and learning new dance moves.

 

Faith worked hard, living each day with the beauty of her intricate steps unnoticed.

 

 

Flash Fiction Challenge over at Carrot Ranch

November 18, 2015 prompt: Dance – In 99 words (no more, no less) write dance into your story. Twirl your characters round and round or stomp your plot onto the page. Use dance in any way that comes to mind. Be specific or free, tango or disco.