Self Care

 

She looked in the mirror at the woman she swore she would never become.

A soft, almost-youthful face with fine lines.

A handful of grey hairs hiding beneath dark blonde strands.

A pudgy middle pushing the waistband of her favorite pair of jeans.

The image irritated her. Angered her.

How had she become this…thing? This wife of a man who created her with perfectly weaved words of manipulation and cruelty then cheated on her for becoming his creation.

Time for some self-care.

She grabbed the prescription bottle, smiling for the first time in months, and dumped her husbandโ€™s heart medication.

 

ย 

Flash Fiction Challenge over at Carrot Ranch

November 30, 2017 prompt: Self Care โ€“ In 99 words (no more, no less) write a story that includes self care.

 

 

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Direction #WritePhoto

 

 

“No, no. That’s east. I’m sure of it.” Angela looked back at the three strangers she’d managed to pick up along her travels.

The tall, ginger-haired boy tilted his head. “I think that’s west.”

“North,” the little girl toddled up next to him. “South!”

Ginger-hair sidestepped the girl, giving Angela a look. “Why did we bring her?”

Skinny girl punched his arm, “Shit, she’s a baby. We couldn’t leave her. What’s wrong with you?”

Ginger-hair rubbed his arm then shrugged, “Kids are sticky and loud.”

“Okay,” Angela took a breath, blowing it out loudly. “Enough. We go that way. With the little girl.”

“Which way?” Skinny girl asked. “You’re flailing your arms around and expecting us to know what you mean. Also, let’s not forget we don’t know where the hell we’re going and no one agrees on…anything, actually. And can we give the girl a name at least?”

“Toward the sunrise,” Angela said.

“Sunset,” Ginger-hair corrected.

“Dammit!” Skinny girl flung her hand at the nearby house, “I’ll say it again. It’s right there. A house. Signs of life. Possible help. No-brainer. And, fine, I’ll give her a name. She’s…Pam.”

Now-Pam yelled, “Pam!” Skinny girl smirked. Ginger-hair did not. Angela opened her mouth to argue and Now-Pam lowered her voice, “no house.”

“It’s right there, squirt,” Skinny girl pointed. “See?”

“See?” Now-Pam poked her stubby finger to the branches seemingly growing out of the roof.

“Huh,” Ginger-hair said. “I don’t remember that tree being there.”

Angela backed away, “It wasn’t.”

“No tree,” Now-Pam said. “Bad house. Run.”

 

 

 

My attempt at #writephoto, a weekly writing prompt for poetry/flash/short stories hosted by Sue Vincent

 

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Rubbing Salt in the Wound #WritePhoto

 

 

“There used to be water here,” he pointed to the cliff. “Up to the standing stones.”

She nudged some loose debris with her foot. “This is cool, isn’t it? And, no, there wasn’t. Water, I mean.”

“How do you know?” He asked.

“I don’t,” she shrugged. “I just figured if it was you saying it, it must not be true.”

“Well, there was water here,” he insisted. “And it had salt in it.”

She laughed, “Salt? Okay, yeah, whatever.”

“Stop kicking that stuff. It was part of the water. Still is.”

“What’s wrong with you that you’ve got to make stuff up all the time?” She glared at him. “Water that had salt inside of it? You’re crazy, you know that?”

“I don’t know why I bother. Let’s go.”

She crouched and studied the debris. “I want to stay here and check this out.”

He grabbed her arm. “Don’t. Touch. That.”

“Why? Will the little, dried-up, old dirt eat me for lunch?” She yanked her arm from his grip and reached out.

“With salt,” he mumbled. The seaweed shot up and snaked around her body, thin tentacles covering her mouth and dragging her under the ground.

 

 

Happy Halloween and Blessed Samhain, my friends. ๐ŸŽƒ๐Ÿ’€

 

My attempt at #writephoto, a weekly writing prompt for poetry/flash/short stories hosted by Sue Vincent

 

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Flash Fiction Contest: TwitterFlash 9×11

 

This contest asks writers to pen a flash in 99 words composed in tweets: 11 tweets, 9 words each. Hereโ€™s my attempt (not an entry, just challenging myself for fun). First are the actual tweets, then, same story in 11 sentences (each with 9 words).

Psst…the tweets are interactive. Like, RT, or reply right from this post. Give it a go…

 

 

~~~

They find me. Crouched behind a rusted filing cabinet.

Gloved hands grip my bare arms, lifting me easily.

Shoving me into bright sun outside the hospital ward.

I run back, stumble, fall hard on the asphalt.

I reach for the door. I reach for him.

Balancing on my left palm, I almost make it.

With their heavy boots, they step on my fingers.

They laugh. I shout. They threaten. I kick. Dammit!

They grab me, make me promise to stay away.

Tell me he is sick and dangerous. They lie.

Then, again, so do I. They will die tonight.

~~~

 

 

Tweet some fiction, fellow tweeps. You could win $25. ๐Ÿ™‚ Check it out here.

Flash Fiction Contest: When I Grow Up

 

This contest asked writers to pen a flash in 100 words from the perspective (and voice) of your 6-yr-old self about…you guessed it…”When I Grow Up”. Here’s my attempt (not an entry, just challenging myself for fun).

 

Potentially Right

I hear them.

Iโ€™m in the hallway at school, cuddling Oscar, my purple owl stuffie. Iโ€™m petting his fur. Owls donโ€™t have fur but I pretend itโ€™s feathers. And thatโ€™s okay.

Their voices creep from under the door with number 17 on it. Thatโ€™s my classroom. Words like โ€œsimpleโ€ and โ€œincapableโ€ hit me. I pull Oscar closer. They say I do not understand things.

I donโ€™t like coloring circles in red and squares in blue to prove I know the difference. I know.

I know trapezoids, octagons, parallelograms… I want to find a new shape, maybe, when I grow up.

 

Flash Fiction Contests

 

Check out the flash fiction contests this month at Carrot Ranch. They start today and a new one is up every Tuesday and Thursday.

 

 

Click here to see the information for each contest.

There’s something for everyone.

Pick one (or more) and join in.

Free to enter. $25 prizes.

 

Go write some flash! ๐Ÿ™‚ #FFRodeo

 

Selfless #Flash4Storms

 

Night is soft, quiet, speaking in layered moonlight.

Listen.

She whispers through trees, between branches.

Do not be afraid. You are not alone…

Beautiful darkness soothes us even though she knows it is her that we fear.

 

 

Written for the hurricane relief flash fiction challenge over at Lemon Shark. I’ve just raised the first $1. ๐Ÿ™‚ See? That was easy. Hope you join in.

#Flash4Storms

#LemonSharkCharity

 

Getting Busy on My First Date

 

His tie was blue. A nice enough color. The geometric design wasnโ€™t all that unpleasant. A bit modern for my taste, but not obnoxious.

I suppose it could have been his shirt, with its burgundy basketweave pattern. But, if Iโ€™m honest, the whole thing blew up because of his pink paisley jacket.

I couldnโ€™t tell if he was nice enough for me to look past his fashion faux pas.

When my sister asked how the date with her co-worker went, I shrugged, โ€œI have no idea. His clothes were so loud, I couldnโ€™t hear a word he said.โ€

 

 

Totally goofing this week with a ridiculous entry for:

Flash Fiction Challenge over at Carrot Ranch

September 7, 2017 prompt: Busyโ€“ In 99 words (no more, no less) write a story about a busy character.

 

 

Magic, Fey, a Year and a Day #WritePhoto

 

 

“No peeking!”

I sighed. “I know, Mirra, I wasn’t going to peek.” Although, that’s exactly what I had been trying to do.

She smirked, took a swig of her mead, and skipped away.

I watched them all, gathered to dance, drink, and watch me stick my hand through a hole in the standing stone. It made me absurdly happy and I wondered what the boy on the other side was feeling.

I would know soon enough, when the druids decided it was time for me to look through the Holed Stone.

They wouldn’t ask what I saw and I wasn’t sure if that was because they considered it private or because they already knew. I took a sip of my drink and relaxed at the sweet, honeyed flavor.

I didn’t notice Mirra was by my side until I felt her breath on my neck. She whispered, “It’s time.” The silence around me now was thick. I knew they were waiting, watching. My life was about to change.

Placing my forehead on the rough sandstone, I gazed through the hole.

“Well?” Mirra tucked a lock of hair behind my ear.

“Water,” I smiled. I had seen rain on this sunny, summer’s day. She nodded and kissed me on the cheek. “He did, as well.”

I slipped my hand through the hole and felt warm, calloused fingers find mine and grasp them.

 

 

My #writephoto, a weekly writing prompt for poetry/flash/short stories hosted by Sue Vincent

 

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Breakthrough #WritePhoto

 

 

“Check this out,” he crouched over some green stuff poking through the pavement.

“Okay,” I squinted. “I give up. What is it?”

“No clue.”

“Let’s go. I don’t like this. It’s not right.”

“Wait,” he reached out.

I grabbed his arm, “Don’t touch it! What the hell?”

“I’m just wondering…” He withdrew his hand but didn’t move.

“My mum says curiosity killed the cat.”

He looked up. “What’s a cat?”

“No idea,” I admitted. “Point is, you’re too curious. Could get you killed.”

“It won’t.”

“It could.”

“Hey! There’s something else with this green stuff. It’s like a…” He snapped his gloved fingers. “Damn. What are those things we learned about in The World Before class?”

I rolled my eyes. “Jerical…this stuff. It’s wrong. I’m serious. It’ll do something to you.”

He grinned. “You’re right. It will.” He lifted his mask.

 

 

 

 

My attempt at #writephoto, a weekly writing prompt for poetry/flash/short stories hosted by Sue Vincent

 

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