Flash Fiction

Friday Fictioneers 12/31/2021

Another fine photo prompt as FF Mistress Rochelle and Darling Dale team up yet again to prompt me into some foolish fiction for the final 2021 Friday fib.

Click on Dale’s photo to flash over to Rochelle’s blog in case you want to learn more about writing to a photographer’s photo. The prompt pic and my yarn follow.

Click on the PHOTO PROMPT © Dale Rogerson to be carried on over to Rochelle’s blog page.

Genre: Biographical Fiction
Title: Dale’s Candid Camera
Word Count: 100

Are you sure we got the right one, Maggie? We’ll never get away with this. We’re gunna get caught. Who cops trees at Christmas time?

It’ll be fine Ralphie boy. Once we get past this hotel, we’ll have a free tree, Eh?

Who’s that?

Who is what?

That lady over there is taking our fucking picture. Quick, hide your faces. Everybody has a freaking camera these days. It’s almost enough to make me stop stealing things.

Do you think we’ll be published? Maybe she wants to make us famous.

Just keep moving and hope… Oh shit Maggie. I think that’s Dale.

Look both ways, everyone is camera ready these days.
Mind the gaps and check the trees for varmints and critters.
Smile, you’re in the blogosphere.

Click on Jack and Sarah (Tony Danza & Lea Thompson) in “Stealing Christmas” to read more soon to-be-famous micro-fiction.

Friday Fictioneers 12/17/2021

The Mistress of Friday Fictioneers, Rochelle, has posted a photo prompt. I (we) must write a complete story in fewer than 101 words and post it here.

Click the prompt photo for teleportation to Rochelle’s blog where you can get all the rules and join the fun.

Here’s today’s picture and my micro-fiction story (titles and backstories do not count against the 100-word limit).

Click on the PHOTO PROMPT © Rochelle Wisoff-Fields to to to her blog page.

Genre: Historical Fiction
Title: Dead Mollys
Word count: 100

They hung them Molly Maguires, Jimmy. That Pinkerton spy said they was murderers.

Jesus, Paddy. They was coal miners and union men, just like us, not Mollys. Pinkertons lie. It’s the coal barons, Paddy. They want us dead. One man was Ukrainian, not Irish, not even Catholic.

Augh, Jimmy. Then the whole feckin’ government’s paid off. What can we do?

All the power’s higher up. If we fight, we die. We got the numbers. We need to make unions work. Let’s talk to that John L. Lewis kid. He’s on our side.

Okay. But let’s fill these growlers. I’m thirsty.

Look both ways, even in the worst of times.
Mind the gaps and find your tribe.

***

Click on Sean Connery to see other stories or to link yours.

Backstories:

The Molly Maguires was an Irish (Catholic) secret society active in northeastern Pennsylvania (circa late 1800s), where I grew up. After a series of often violent conflicts, twenty suspected members of the Molly Maguires were convicted of murder and other crimes and were hanged.

John L. Lewis was president of the Mine Workers Union from 1920 to 1960.

The Molly Maguires is a 1970 historical drama movie (Richard Harris and Sean Connery) based on the 1964 book, Lament for the Molly Maguires by Arthur H. Lewis.

dVerse—Prosery Monday—Lost/Found/Lost Children (12/06/2021)

From the bar at dVerse, Lisa pitched me the Prosery Monday poem, “When We Sing Of Might,” by Kimberly Blaeser (see it here).

From the poem, Lisa lifted a line for me to fold into a piece of prose of fewer than 145 words of my own making but including the line, “I dress in their stories patterned and purple as night.”

I had to use every word of the entire line. I was allowed to change punctuation and to capitalize words, but I was not permitted to insert words in between parts of the sentence.

But for the Grace of What?

I walked the muddy road through the depressingly disgusting homeless camp. There was nothing but mud everywhere; muddy tents and muddy mad people totally demoralized and pissed off at the world that had put them here. They were angry about being in this place and they refused to come to terms with what they themselves had created, not just a camp, but a metaphor for their lost lives, an intractable bog of stink and decay. The city provided piss pits and shit pots smelled to hell and back. These lost souls were in the grips of unshakable petulance. It was in their eyes, posture, and the way they walked. To report on this homeless debacle, I knew what I had to do. I would be in Rome and do as they did. Briefly, I dress in their stories—patterned and purple as night.

Look both ways to see all that’s there.
Mind the gaps, but spare judgement.
There, but for the good grace of random fortune, go I.

Access other prosery pieces here.

Friday Fictioneers 12 – 01 – 2021

Friday Fictioneers challenges us to write micro-fiction (<101 words) prompted by a photograph supplied by one of our colleagues. It’s all teed up by our friend, extraordinary artist, and fabulous leader, Rochelle. Click the prompt photo to see her blog page with all the skinny. It’s fun.

Today’s picture has a two-level outhouse indicating politicians up top and voters below. I recall seeing this arrangement in a military cartoon with officers on top and enlisted below.

In the Viet Nam War, officers and radiomen were preferred targets of the North Vietnam Army and the Viet Cong, which is why soldiers did not salute officers in the field.

Click on the PHOTO PROMPT by © Lisa Fox for Rochelle’s blog to get all the FF info.

Genre: Military Fiction (War Story)
Word Count: 100
Title: FNG* Down

The new Lieutenant ordered me to be his radio man. Our platoon leader was callow, yet confident and eager. A stickler for rules, he risked soldiers’ lives needlessly. A poor listener with a gung-ho, know-it-all attitude.

He chewed me out in front of my squad and gave me extra guard duty. Bad enough I had to hump the motherfucker’s goddamn radio.

In the jungle one day the lieutenant ordered me to step back, I yelled, “Yes, Sir,” stepped back and saluted him. The crack sound of the AK-47 made me dive for cover.

Our next lieutenant was a big improvement.

Be aware of enemy presence and men with guns.
Mind the gaps, make more friends than enemies, and keep your powder dry.
Just because you are paranoid doesn’t mean you’re not being watched.

Click on the soldier to link to the squares, where other stories are being told.

*FNG is military initialism and jargon for fucking new guy.

Friday Fictioneers 11-26-2021

Today we contrive stories from a cityscape photo with a narrow street from Roger Bultot. Rochelle has set it all up on her blog and we post as directed by her wonderfulness.

For Friday Fictioneers we write micro-stories of 100 words or fewer given ideas germinated by a new photo on Wednesday of each week, provided by various participants. You can read the rules over on Rochelle’s blog and join in the fun. Here is the photo and my story for this week.

Click on the PHOTO PROMPT by © Roger Bultot for Rochelle’s blog to get all the FF info.

Genre: Ethnic Fiction
Word Count: 100
Title: Crucible Mossad

***

They stopped jogging.

Chava whispered, “It’s the white truck. Remove the gas cap. You won’t see the nano drone. Wait two seconds, replace the cap, and run. I’ll meet you at Freeda’s.”

Tzitta moaned, “You distract the guards. I’ll be gone before they notice. Sexeh outfit, Sista.”

Five minutes later they ducked into Freeda’s Deli. An old man yelled, “Check the ice!”

The crowd went silent as they sat at the bar.

Freeda looked, “Nu?”

Chava nodded.

Then an explosion rocked the building.

Tzitta said, “Oy gevalt!”

Everyone stood, shouting, “Mazel tov.”

Freeda pushed sandwiches toward them, “Ess gezunt, ladies.”

***

Look both ways but take a side.
Mind the gaps, cameras, and guards.
Run like the wind.

Click on Ziva David, former Mossad on NCIS portrayed by Cote de Pablo, to read all the wonderful micro stories written by participants.

Gloss: Nu is a Yiddish expression to ask a simple question instead of using words such as “well” or “so.” Oy gevalt! means oh, violence! It is used to express shock or amazement. Ess gezunt is deli slang for eat in good health. Everybody knows mazel tov, right?

dVerse Prosery: Bombarded

Say What?

The doctor’s face was serious as she cut each stitch.

I joked with her. She was quiet.

Then she said, “There! That part’s done.” I caught on—that part?

She frowned, “I wondered why the pathology report took so long.”

I asked, “What are you talking about?”

She said, “The report said the cyst was undifferentiated pleomorphic sarcoma.”

“What’s that?”

“It’s cancer, Bill. We made an appointment with oncology. There’s nothing more we can do. Good luck. I’m so sorry.”

I thought she would cry. I asked, “Can you please say what it is again.”

She repeated the diagnosis.

I said, “I am bombarded yet I stand.”

She looked at me, puzzled.

I said, “It’s from a poem. I often wondered how you folks handled this.”

“They will give you all that information on the way out. Good luck.”

 

Look both ways because life if full of surprises.
Mind the gaps.
Thank medical science and live every day with gratitude.

Click on the image to link with dVerse.

Friday Fictioneers 11-05-2021

Many thanks to the wonderful Rochelle for herding us cats on Friday Fictioneers. We write micro-stories inspired by a new photo each week, provided by very creative and imaginative compatriots. Here is the photo and my story for this week.

Click on this week’s PHOTO PROMPT © Jennifer Pendergast to link to Rochelle’s Blog.

 

Genre: Fiction
Word count: 100
Title: Krumpas Coop

Excruciating pain shot from my foot to my brain. I yelled, “Those damn Legos are diabolical. That hurt!”

Mary yelled back, “Are Steven and Julie there?”

I said, “I think the Krampas got them. The window is open and no sign of them.”

Mary walked in, “Well Krampas knows how to write.” She handed me the note.

I read aloud, “The ransom is a bag of M&M’s, a gallon of Rocky Road ice cream, and two new ponies.”

As I handed the note back, we heard giggling coming from the attic.

I asked, “Do we negotiate with terrorists or Krampas?”

Look both ways and mind the gaps.
Especially when Legos are involved.

Click on Krumpas to read other stories.

Friday Fictioneers 7 – 16 – 21

PHOTO PROMPT © J Hardy Carroll

Untitled flash fiction for Friday Fictioneers. 100 Words.

We were fifteen and looking for a place to shoot. I carried the pistol.

We walked railroad ties near idle coal mines.

Jimmy saw abandoned warehouses and ran ahead.

I heard him scream. I clicked off the safety and saw two men kicking Jimmy.

I yelled, “Stop!” One guy charged. I shot. I’d dropped the gun when it recoiled.

The other guy charged. I picked it up and shot two more times. He tried to run away. I shot again.

We pushed the bodies down an old coalmine shaft.

Jimmy is gone. I alone know where those assholes are buried.

Look both ways and keep your powder dry.
Mind the gaps between the ties.

Friday Fictioneers for 9/4/2020 (Some Friends)

Thanks to Rochelle @ Rochelle Wisoff-Fields-Addicted to Purple for another Friday Fictioneers inspiring Wednesday photo. Her weekly challenge is to write a story of 100 words or less based on a photo prompt. This week’s inspiration is provided by C.E. Ayr.

Image by CEAyr

Genre: (Autobiographical) Fiction
Title: Some Friends
Word Count: 100

***

I was to meet Clair, Jack’s wife, on the movie set. We met for coffee during her break. Clair introduced me to Astrid, who left us alone to talk. She got to the point.

“Bill, I’m leaving Jack.”

I said I was not surprised.

She said, “You’re his best friend. How can you say that?”

“Yes, I am. But I have no idea why anyone would want to be married to him.”

“Bill, you don’t understand. I am leaving him for another woman. You just met her.”

“Oh shit, Clair. I wish I could be there when you tell him.”

***

Look both ways in life and love.
Mind the gaps in close friendships.

Click for link.

Friday Fictioneers for 8/28/2020 (Big Bend Kill Me, Save Me)

Thanks to Rochelle @ Rochelle Wisoff-Fields-Addicted to Purple for another Friday Fictioneers inspirational photo, promulgated on Wednesday. Her weekly challenge is to write a story of 100 words or less based on the photo prompt, provided this week by J Hardy Carroll.

Photo prompt provided by J Hardy Carroll (photo credit)

 

Title: Big Bend Kill Me, Save Me
Genre: Fiction (Texas Outdoors)
Word Count: 100

I was lost at night in the Chihuahuan Desert of southwest Texas. Thunderstorms flooded arroyos with torrents leading to the Rio Grande. Without overnight gear, rain soaked me. I couldn’t see as storms raged and lightning flashed.

A bolt struck near me. I felt an electrical burn run through my body. I was going to die. A nearby cactus caught fire and burned despite the rain. I crawled under a rock outcropping.

Park Rangers rescued me in the morning. Someone had seen my signal. I asked, What signal? They said, a tall pillar of yellow light pointed the way. Strange.

Rising 8,085 feet out of the Chihuahuan Desert, El Capitan is the most well known Texas peak.

Look both ways and carry the ten essentials of survival.
Mind the  gaps for flash floods.

Click for link to other stories.