Writer. Feminist. Historian. Person.
Seeking continuity during this crisis, Sue was determined to continue to “dress for success.” This madness lasted only until she discovered the true joy of not wearing a bra. Now, success has a new meaning.
Thanks to Sammi’s Scribbles for the challenge to write about “continuity” in 35 words.
“That’s effing awesome!”
“Language.”
“But ma. The diner car is up in the air.”
Resisting the temptation to go easy, she suppressed a smile. “Don’t ‘but ma’ me young man. I’m tired and you know your dad doesn’t have any patience for your stories. Get your book. It’s math time.”
“But ma!”
“No buts! Get your math book.” My Lord, it was only day three. How were they ever going to do this for months! And where was Don.? He went out for T.P. hours ago.
“I’m home! And you’re never gonna believe what someone did to the diner car!”
PHOTO PROMPT © J Hardy Carroll
This 100 word story was inspired by the fun photo provided by Rochelle’s Friday Fictioners challenge. Visit her site for details!
Today, I offer a “tongue in cheek” look behind the scenes of my budding career as a sculptor.*
“Is that your first sculpture?” He asked.
That’s a bit of a cheeky question, I thought before replying: “Yes. Hard to believe, isn’t it? It’s so life-like. And look at those cheek bones!”
“Erm … yes. They are definitely … erm… cheeks.”
“I know! Next up: nudes!”
“Great. More cheeks. I can’t wait.”
Real life collided with the weekend challenges to produce these 71 cheeky words, so thanks for the great prompts to Sammi Scribbles (sculpture) and Linda’s SoCS (cheek).
*I am actually taking my first-ever a sculpting class and this is my first sculpture (of my husband’s head) but that is where the resemblance to real life ends. If you knew what he actually looks like then you’d understand why I have zero illusions regarding my future as an “artist.” It is fun though!
Apparently this was it: the prison’s law library. One row of ancient books on a rickety cart. Was that smell despair or just mildew? Probably mildew. The stink of despair was coming from—as they say—inside the house.
Did they still call it the Big House? Or was that passé? She much preferred that to slammer or joint. Big House sounded almost genteel. She pictured herself dismounting a sleek black stallion. Handing the reigns to the stable boy. Shaking her hair out and coyly declaring, “I’m headed up to the Big House for a drink. Join me. Won’t you.”
Her daydream was abruptly shut down by the guard’s rough shove. “If ya want somethin’ take it. I aint got all day.”
“Give me one moment please.” She knew her tone irritated the hillbilly guard, but she had spent years smoothing out the rough edges of her accent. If, no—not if—WHEN she got out, she had to fit in with the “right” people. One failed attempt wasn’t going to stop her. She had big plans.
She shook the image of his body from her mind. No time for that. She smiled as she selected a book. Comeback time.
Photo Credit Morguefile
Thanks to Sunday Photo Fiction for the photo inspiration for this 200 word piece of flash fiction. Visit the site for some great writing and the rules of the game.
Sometimes the simplest choices have profound meaning.
Inspiration thanks to Linda’s SoCs word prompt “choices” and to Soul Searcher’s challenge to tell a story in six words using the prompt “sugar.”
Visit their sites for other great contributions and to get the skinny on the rules.
Tina Stewart Brakebill 