Tag: creative writing

Flash Fiction, tutto e niente

Time

Tina Stewart Brakebill

Time has lost all meaning. Had it been one year? Twenty years? One hundred? More? She had stopped trying to count the days long ago. But she had believed–really believed–she’d be able to note the seasons. Hoping to mark the years. Imagining she’d be able to picture their faces as time passed.

She had wanted to be prepared. Be ready for the day when this ended. To not flinch when she saw her mother’s weary eyes and her father’s body wracked by time. To smile when her baby brother gazed down on her instead of reaching up for a hug. To love what is instead of mourning what was lost.

But the light was funny and she got confused. Never knowing whether she had slept for moment or a day or more. So she lost track of the seasons. Couldn’t count the years. She still felt as if she was waiting. Hoping. But she was no longer sure why. Or what she was hoping for.

For him to save her?

For an axe to end the lingering hope?

For a fire to burn them both to ash and scatter their doomed love into the wind?

For time to end?

The light was growing dim again. Perhaps she’d sleep for a moment. She could think about this another time. That was one thing she knew.

There was always more time.

img_2825

The image is provided by Janek-Sedlar at DeviantArt and shared thanks to Fandango’s Flash Fiction Challenge.

Thanks!! I needed a kick in the butt to write some FF.

Flash Fiction, tutto e niente

Welcome to the Neighborhood

Tina Stewart Brakebill

garlique

Jessie tried (unsuccessfully) to keep her expression neutral, but the cottage was perfect! Exactly as advertised. Exposed brick. Plank floors. Fireplaces. A patio for morning coffee and afternoon wine.

“So what do you think?”

“It seems nice but …” She scrambled for some price-reducing flaws. “… but what’s with all the garlic?”

“Seller quirk. Easy fix. Let’s talk price.”

—————————————————————

As Jessie watched the sun set from her newly garlic-free patio, she heard knocking. Finding a gorgeous—albeit very pale—man on her doorstep, she said “Yes” before he even finished asking.  

“Welcome neighbor. Invite me in for a drink?”

20103649

Thanks to Rochelle’s Friday Fictioners Challenge for the inspiration for this 100-word piece of Flash Fiction. Plus I got to use a photo of one of my fave vampires-Eric.

Flash Fiction, tutto e niente

Nothing

Tina Stewart Brakebill

Nothing could have prepared Sue for the surge. She had always known she was different but this …. This was more than different. This was some freak level stuff.

She could feel the agitated hum of the crowd as they realized something wasn’t right.

And then a shift. Subtle at first. Agitation turning into fear. Swelling.

Could they smell it? Or did panic spread like a wave?

No one looked her way. No one knew it was her.

She felt the power surging again. But this time instead of fearing it, she embraced it.

Nothing could stop her now.

jhardy-image

Photo prompt courtesy of J Hardy Carroll

Well … my positive writing outlook lasted two days! Maybe later I’ll try to reclaim it. Meanwhile, thanks to  Rochelle’s Friday Fictioners Challenge and Fandango’s WOTD Challenge (nothing) for giving me inspiration to channel my-always-present dark side.

Haiku & Other Poetry, Random Rants, tutto e niente

saving ourselves

Tina Stewart Brakebill

I’m bought and worn, but

I ain’t no dupe to trick, so

mask on, show up, vote

ethnic woman in protective mask and gloves on lawn
Photo by Retha Ferguson on Pexels.com

No one’s coming to save us so we must save ourselves. MASK ON. SHOW UP. VOTE.

Thanks to MindLoveMiserysMenagerie for giving me a forum to vent.

Flash Fiction, Random Rants, tutto e niente

Who’s Counting

Tina Stewart Brakebill

Three days. It had been three days since they delivered the box. Technically, three days, four hours, and 37 minutes. But who’s counting.

She knew he was there. The gate squeaked. It had been over two weeks since he’d left. Technically 15 days, three hours, and 22 minutes. But who’s counting.

Or 14 days, 21 hours, and 13 minutes since he’d returned. Drunk, sunburned, screaming multiple profanities at her window. But who’s counting.

Maybe he’s dead. Like Benjamin. And Lila. One more makes 213,323. But who’s counting.

Alone. Still. 197 days, three hours, and 23 minutes. But who’s counting.

(99 words. But who’s counting.)

the-gate

PHOTO PROMPT © Jean L. Hays

Thanks to Rochelle and her Friday Fictioners Challenge.

Channeling my negative energy into words. At least I’m writing. UGH!