Category Archives: Flash Friday Fiction

Superior Plumbing – 153 words

Penis envy, my ass, Charlotte thought as she bent over the metal tube. Freud was an idiot.

Sparks flew from the welding iron as she applied precise, steady pressure. She ignored Sal’s voice coaching her from over her shoulder. As if he could do better. Here one week and he’s already thinking he knows more than we women.

She exchanged a quick glance with Patsy. Well, as best one could through the bug-eyed goggles they were wearing.

Sal continued to drone in her ear. “Careful, girly. Steady hands.”

Charlotte ignored him as the molten metal responded to her commands. She didn’t need his ‘help’. The only thing that mattered was her and the heat.

Patsy snickered as Sal once again corrected mistakes Charlotte wasn’t making.

Careful, boy-o. One slip of the welding iron and you’ll be needing replacement pipes yourself.

She smiled ever so slightly. At least she could recommend a competent welder.

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Sometimes I crack myself up with my own writing. This week was one of them. But what do YOU think? The challenge was to craft a story in 150 words (+/- 10) that also included something about a vendetta.

Want to share your take on this fabulous photo? Hop on over to Flash Friday Fiction and add your own story before midnight tonight!

Body of Truth –158 words

These bones aren’t what they used to be.

I used to long for them to melt, to lighten, to give me the physique of a dancer, rather than the water buffalo to which my classmates likened me.

I used to wish they would disintegrate, disappear, rendering me invisible, hiding me from the anxiety of adulthood and making it on my own.

I used to pray, when the kids were young and the needs were high, that I could jettison this body somewhere else, anywhere else, so that I could just be me again.

Yet these bones have traveled continents. This body has loved and been loved, water buffalo or not. This flesh has covered me in times of sorrow and times of joy.

I am my own parachute now. I am my own safety net. I know myself, bone-deep.

These bones aren’t what they used to be. They are stronger. Wiser. Better.

And for that I give thanks.

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This week we had to include something about aging in addition to the photo prompt. Let me know what you think of my take! And of course I hope you’ll head over to Flash Friday to read and comment on the entries, and perhaps write your own story about this parachutist!

Unforgotten
(158 Words)

“Don’t move,” he’d said, planting a quick kiss on her mouth. “I’ll be right back.”

She’d waited. Waited as days passed into months, months into years. She’d watched the wind whip grains of sand into the room, covering the remnants of her life, but she’d refused to close the door. He’d said he’d be back.

Occasionally there were noises outside and she’d turn her head, hoping to hear his voice. It never came. Still, she didn’t move. He’d promised.

“Here it is!” A woman peered through the window, her eyes bright with tears. “Grandpa said he could never bear to return, not once he’d come home and found her gone, only bloodstains left behind. Nobody knows what happened to her.”

“Maybe he’s with her now that he’s passed on,” a man consoled.

Sunlight stole in through the door, shining on her face. “Told you I’d be back,” it whispered, enfolding her in its warmth. She smiled. At last.

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Wow, this 150 (+/-10) word limit is getting harder every week! My first draft of this story clocked in at over 200, and that’s before I’ve even figured out the ending. Whew. So I cut and cut and cut some more…. let me know what you think of my end result.

Love this pic? Want to draft your own story? Just hop on over and join us at Flash Friday Fiction!

Endurance (160 words)

My eyes return again and again to the photograph prominently displayed across the front page of my father’s newspaper.

He folds down the corner and frowns at me, his whole posture exuding irritation. “Don’t you have something to do?”

“Pa,” I dare whisper. I point to the stadium in the photo. “Pa, can I compete there some day?”

He looks at the picture, then snickers. “Women can’t be in the Olympic games, silly. You all don’t have the endurance for it.” He continues chuckling as he settles back in and resumes reading.

I turn to watch my mother in the kitchen, on her knees, scrubbing the floor. The wash hangs in the background, visible through the rear door. I can smell the iron heating over the scent of potatoes on the stove. I look back at my father, who’s been in that chair for more than an hour.

My mother raises her head and gives me a small, knowing smile.

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For this week’s Flash Friday Fiction challenge we had to include envy in our story in some manner. At first glance at the photo, I assumed I’d write about a spectator envying those competing, which then led to thoughts of, “What if the spectator were a woman?” Had women competed in the 1896 games?  I had no idea, so I looked it up. The answer is no; women did not compete until 1900, and even then they participated in only a handful of events. It took many years after that to reach a fuller level of inclusion, a battle which still continues today.

When I sat down to write, a completely different story came out than I had planned, one focusing on issues much closer to home, rather than on someone actually at the Games. I’m good with that; the unexpected turn of the story gave it a depth I liked. But what do you think of my story?

I’d love to hear from you!

The Picture of Guilt (160 words)

I never shoulda done it.

How was I to know the po-lice would send a guy with a camera? Or that the captain would later look at that photo and wonder about Samuel’s sly grin?

It was our brother sittin’ dead in that car. That’s why I’d run to the hotel with a telephone.

“No way that colored boy’d be smilin’ unless he had something to do with it,” the officer who’d arrested him had insisted.

I didn’t know what to think. I’d only done what mama’d taught me – get help when help is needed. My brother had needed help. I’d had to make the call.

Now Samuel’s in prison and mama says she ain’t never gonna forgive me.

I lost two brothers that day.

I see it now, looking at that picture from years ago. I see me peeking out from behind, worry all over my face.

Deep down I’d known.

Mama always said nothing happens by accident.

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For this week’s story, I had to use 150 words, +/- 10 (thank goodness for that, since I always seem to need those extra 10), and had to incorporate a phone call somehow.

What story would you tell, looking at this picture? Come join us at Flash Friday Fiction and share your version. I’d love to hear your opinion of mine!