Flash Fiction, History, tutto e niente

buon viaggio*

It happened every time. It was like a gift that kept on giving. It had been more than fifty years but every time Peter saw the damn thing it felt like yesterday. He could still feel the shame of that moment.

Susan knew this. But she still insisted they all go to the Ringling Museum every time any of the extended family visited Florida. (Susan would claim that she’s not insisting. Only encouraging. Always using the same argument: “It’s their heritage. It’s YOUR heritage. Enjoy it. Embrace it.”)

He wanted to refuse, but he never could say no to her. But still he hated the sight of that damn thing. Seeing the family name emblazoned on the front just made it worse. It reminded him that his failure was bigger than just himself. He had let down a whole damn legacy.

He tried to stop the memory but it refused to be ignored. It all came back. He had been so excited. Watching the driver as he parked the truck in its designated spot. Replaying each practice shot in his mind. His anticipation building until finally the time came. He climbed aboard. His grandfather Hugo whispered a quiet “buon viaggio” and then he was off.

Flying out of the cannon like a volcanic eruption of hot white ash. And for a brief moment, he had felt glorious. He remembers that too. (Which makes it harder to forget.) And then nothing. Not even pain. Just a blinding white flash in his mind. The pain came later. Followed by years of unanswered questions.

Was the dummy the wrong weight? Had it gotten wet? Did the driver park in the wrong spot? Was the net too small? Was it in the wrong location? He never found out. All he knows is that every time he comes here, he relives the shame. Because Susan is wrong. It’s not his heritage he can’t accept. It’s his failure to live up to his heritage that he can never let go.

grayscale photo of wheelchair
Photo by Patrick De Boeck on Pexels.com

Several of today’s word prompts reminded me of a photo that’s been sitting on my desktop for months. I’ve been waiting for the muse to strike and today it did. So thank you to the following:

Fandango’s Word of the Day (driver) and Word of the Day Challenge (eruption) and One Daily Word Prompt (gift)

The cover photo is from the Ringling Museum in Sarasota, Florida. Taken during a visit by the author (me) or her loving spouse. But definitely color-changed by me. (It would look better if he did it!)

*The story is a work of FICTION.

But it is inspired by some real people. First off, the Zacchini family. Hugo Zacchini was the first person to use a compressed-air cannon, which had been invented by his father Ildebrando Zacchini in 1922. Soon after, Hugo and his brothers went to work for the Ringling Bros. and Barnum & Bailey Circus. Hugo was a fascinating guy—circus performer and artist with an engineering degree and a Master’s degree in Art. Look him up! Most of Zacchini kids and grandkid’s followed Hugo and his brothers into the circus biz. To my knowledge NONE of them ended up paralyzed. My fictionalized Peter is loosely based on another Ringling performer named Elvin Bale. In 1987 he overshot his landing because his test dummy had been wet (thus heavier) and ended up paralyzed. It’s a dangerous gig. An estimated 30 people have died over the years.

Flash Fiction, History, tutto e niente

Harpers Ferry: Destiny Calls

Daddy used to make me listen to the speech. I’d pretend to be bored but I always got goosebumps when he’d exclaim “to mingle my blood further with the blood of my children, and with the blood of millions in this slave country.”

It reminded me I’m not just any Brown. His blood runs in me too.

Daddy always told me: “You’ve got a destiny.”

Daddy also used to say he heard the cries of the dead in the whistle. I never believed him. But I swear as his ashes caught in the breeze, I heard them. Crying. Destiny calling.

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Harpers Ferry Photo is the property of Dawn M. Miller. Provided courtesy of Rochelle at Friday Fictioners.

I love to be able to mix two of my favorite things: history and a bit of flash fiction (100 words exactly). So special thanks Rochelle and Dawn!

Flash Fiction, tutto e niente

The Breakwater

She sat on the breakwater and hoped the sound of the waves would soothe her. His words hadn’t. “In between the clover and the dampened earth.” That’s how the minister described it. Sounded poetic. Nicer than “here’s where we buried her body.” But that was reality. Ma was dead. And no pretty words were going to change that.  

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PHOTO CREDITS TO MY FAVORITE HUSBAND

I’ve been a bit morbid lately. Perhaps I’m feeling my own mortality. Or maybe it’s the side effect of living in Trump’s world. But thankfully my own mum is alive and well, so this really is fiction. Therefore much thanks for the inspiration to the following:

Sammi Scribbles Weekend Prompt which was to use the word “breakwater” in exactly 58 words (accomplished!)

And to Putting My Feet in the Dirt for the beautiful phrase “in between the clover and the dampened earth.”

And to Linda’s SoCS challenge using the word or partial word of “ma.”

Visit their sites if you haven’t. They are FAB!

 

 

 

 

 

Flash Fiction, History, tutto e niente

The Final Scavenger Hunt

This was it. The trail ended here. Back at grand-dad’s old place. Not sure how he managed it from his sick-bed but it was just like him. A final hunt. Pit us against each other. Bastard. He’s probably watching. From hell. Laughing.

Enough with the reminiscing. I needed to find that key. What was that last clue?

I won’t be foiled again. Mighty he may be but today the laughs on me.

I tried to calmly scan the basement. Foiled? Aluminum, maybe. No.

Then it hit me. A rare happy memory. Oil Can Harry!

“Coises!” I’m gonna be rich.

abundance bank banking banknotes

This fun flash fiction (100 words exactly) was inspired by the PHOTO PROMPT © Nick Allen provided by Rochelle’s Friday Fictioners.

With a little extra boost from FOWC (trail)

And a special assist from Mighty Mouse’s chief bad guy Oil Can Harry.

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Flash Fiction, tutto e niente

Cassie & Nessie

Cassie’s brain was spinning as she gazed at the Loch. Liam! An asshole and a coward. Starts this and then takes a powder. That headline also pissed her off. “Woman”! We’re NOT interchangeable. But it was those damn marks around ‘proves’ that really did it. She was not some kind of random wacko going on and about Big Foot or some other nonsense! She was bona fide PhD and an expert on deep water life forms. Her thoughts circled back to Liam. He was such an idiot. The paper was still in its draft stages. Not ready for publication. What possessed him to sell the story to that rag! Twitter was having a field day. She’d never be taken seriously now. Years of work. The data. All for nothing. She’d be another footnote in the line of nutcases obsessed with “Nessie.” All anyone would remember was that stupid photo. She knew it wasn’t real but it had inspired her life’s work. Now it was all over. Fitting she was at the place it all started. The Loch. As she stared, its surface stirred. And her brain spun.

Liam stared at Cassie and wondered. Was being in a coma like dreaming?

underwater photography of woman
Photo by Engin Akyurt on Pexels.com

Visit the greats sites that inspired this piece of Flash Fiction:

Fandango’s FOWC (coma) and Scotts Daily Prompt (powder) and Sunday’s Photo Fictioner’s 200 word photo challenge

Cover Photo Credit: C.E. Ayr