Sunday Photo Fiction – Tina Stewart Brakebill

The Big House

February 11, 2020February 11, 2020 Tina Stewart Brakebill

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.

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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.

Flash Fiction, tutto e niente

The View

December 16, 2018January 29, 2020 Tina Stewart Brakebill

Watching the girl clean was bringing back memories. And looking out over the water didn’t help. It sent her mind back as well. So instead of fighting it, she let the past flood her senses. Tasting the anger and resentment just as she had all those years ago.

Angry that she had been forced to cycle up the hill every day and park her ancient bike next to two barely driven Mercedes. Resentful that the big house had breezes and sea views and fully stocked kitchen when her home had none of that.

But that anger and resentment had fueled her desire. And that desire had worked like magic on the old man. And he was finally gone. Probate had been a bit hairy. But the daughter had finally been convinced that the will was air-tight. The house and the cars and the breeze and the view belonged to her now. Well, to her and her boy.

And now she could smell desire wafting off that girl. She had worked too hard to get here. She was not about to share what was hers with some whore from down the hill. The girl would have to go. One way or another.

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Inspiration for this 200 word piece of Flash Fiction provided by the following:

Photo Credit: Anurag Bakhshi courtesy of Sunday Photo Fiction

With a little help from SoCS Prompt (hairy) and Fandango’s Word of the Day (cycle)