Gone Fishing

 

 

“This is boring,” Caleb whined.

“It’s father-son bonding. It’s fun.” He wiped sweat from his forehead. “It’s…hot.”

“Something we agree on,” Caleb mumbled. “Can we go now?”

“I’ve got the boat until two.” His father sighed. “Crap. This is boring.”

“Race?” Caleb stood, pulling off his t-shirt.

His father dove into the water. “Head start for the old man!”

She rose from the waves. Glorious and horrible. Eyes gleaming, hair spilling over her breasts.

“Dad!”

“Aw, c’mon…” He splashed Caleb.

“Get back here! Swim back…now!”

She smiled at Caleb, her mouth rows of shark teeth. “Fear. My comfort food.”

 

 

I’ve combined two prompts again this week: A 99-word flash about “comfort food” and a thriller/horror with the word “splash”. It was, um, difficult. But I do love a challenge and it was fun. 🙂

 

#BlogBattle is a weekly writing prompt for flash fiction/short stories (with a word AND genre theme) hosted by Rachael Ritchey 

Week 18 Prompt: Splash
Genre: Suspense/Thriller/Horror

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and Flash Fiction Challenge over at Carrot Ranch which asks writers to pen a piece in 99 words (this week’s prompt: Comfort Food).

May 4, 2017 prompt: Comfort Food In 99 words (no more, no less) write a story write about comfort food.

 

Sarah Brentyn Reef 99 Words - sig

*Artwork by Diane Özdamar

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On a Cliff Overlooking the Sea #WritePhoto

 

 

This is exactly how I pictured it.

Temple ruins set on a cliff overlooking the sea. In my imagination, this place has always existed.

It’s real. I’m here.

A breeze, heavy with salt and seaweed and mist and everything that only the ocean can offer, caresses my cheeks. Tousles my hair.

Waves wash up, lapping the rocky shore, gurgling like a newborn babe. They retreat, leaving frothy rings on boulders worn smooth. It reminds me of a root beer float, those cream-colored bubbles. Then they are gone. The waves roll up again, bringing their foam, then run away.

I tried to run away once. I was seven. I stuffed my pillowcase full with mismatched socks I didn’t need. Mother hated when my socks weren’t the same color. And I brought bubble gum I loved. It was watermelon-flavored. The kind Father hated because it smelled the whole room up. And I thought how wonderful it all was. How it wouldn’t matter because they wouldn’t be there. I could chew with my mouth open and blow enormous bubbles and pop them all over my face and no one could say anything because I would be alone.

Alone on a cliff overlooking the sea. Temple ruins set behind me.

It’s real. I’m here.

Just like I imagined.

The sun is setting, creating a golden carpet for my feet to step upon as I dance atop the sea before I sink.

I set my pillowcase down, strip my pants and top off, and skip to the cliff’s edge. I curl my toes over the place where earth meets air and jump.

I laugh so loud. The wind pulls the sound so all I hear is something that sounds like distant drumming. My legs scream, or maybe it’s me. I forgot how much it hurt. But I smile as I leave behind what I was never supposed to be.

By the time I hit the water, I cannot feel my legs. They are gone. They are one. They are me. They are the iridescent tail I remember from a time when I knew what cerulean blue scales looked like underwater while the sun was setting, creating golden carpets on the surface.

 

 

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

 

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Stranded

 

The strip of sand is thin. Stretching for miles, snaking around the island like a serpent waiting to awaken. The remaining land is rock, worn smooth by the sea.

I walk along the beach, wet sand soft and forgiving beneath my feet, squishing between my toes.

I am lost before I am done.

My footprints washed away, waves cresting, crashing, hushing my breath, erasing me.

Weeks crawl by, worries creep up. Will I see another human before I die here?

 

A set of footprints.

Someone else’s? Or the ocean playing tricks, saving one of my own to torture me?

 

 

Flash Fiction Challenge over at Carrot Ranch

October 12, 2016 prompt: Sand In 99 words (no more, no less) tell about a walk across the sand. It can be a literal day at a beach, in the sand box or a metaphor of your choosing. What is the sand like and what does it reveal to the reader?

 

Sarah Brentyn Reef 99 Words - sig