Category Archives: Flash Friday Fiction

Flash Friday Fiction: It’s Not Easy Being One of the Beautiful People

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Scene from the Hungarian film “Márciusi mese,” released in 1934. Public domain image.
Scene from the Hungarian film “Márciusi mese,” released in 1934. Public domain image.

It’s Not Easy Being One of the Beautiful People – 210 words

He acts like I do it on purpose.

It’s not my fault the ladies find me irresistible. With hair this fabulous and eyebrows that strike sardonic poses at the flick of a muscle, the miracle is I’ve only got one broad attached to me at the moment.

Can’t he see? I’m not even embracing her. Not really. She’s clinging to me, but I’ve got my hands elsewhere, to prove to him my loyalty. My fidelity.

The flowers he gave me are right there in the vase next to her, proudly displayed. I’m wearing the tie he gave me for our six month anniversary. I’ve even used that special aftershave that he’s so fond of.

Yet I see the suspicion in his eyes.

I get it. I’m a handsome man.

He always wonders why I’m attracted to him. “I’m fat,” he says, more often than not. “I’m balding. I have a face only a mother could love.”

Little does he know how those things appeal to me. No one chases him. No one treats him as a slab of meat for consumption, all eyes and hands and suggestive smirks and ass pats when they think no one’s looking.

He’s who I’d rather be. No artifice. No secrets.

Just himself. Honest.

Free.

Well, there you have it: my response to the photo prompt and the instructions to include some sort of “man on man” struggle in a story of 250 (+/-10) words. What do you think?

Want to see what the other awesome Flash Fic writers came up with for this week’s challenge? Head on over to Flash Friday Fiction.

 

Flash Friday Fiction: Home Fires

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Prison Guard, 1910. Public domain photo.
Prison Guard, 1910. Public domain photo.

Home Fires – 207 words

He looked forward to coming home to that kitchen every night and tossing his cap on the table before plopping down to dig in to whatever she placed before him.

Meatloaf. Pork chops. Chicken. He didn’t care what it was; only that it was hot, ready, and waiting for him.

His wife would smile and nod as he told about his day, the uprising in the south cells, the inmate who’d committed suicide, the guard who tormented prisoners with lit cigarette butts.

She’d pass the potatoes. Offer rolls.

Occasionally she’d make an apple pie, or, when he was really lucky, a peach cobbler, the cinnamon infusing the whole room, instant aromatic relief from the stress of pretending the suffering didn’t bother him, that he was cold and hard, like those he guarded. Like those he served with.

He wasn’t. He was the bread she made – crusty on the outside, soft on the inside, always there, always dependable.

Like this kitchen, which he loved coming home to every night.

Until one night there was no dinner.

He found her slumped over on that kitchen floor, those loving eyes closed forever. And it was then he finally knew.

It wasn’t the kitchen he’d looked forward to after all.

And there it is, my short (short!) story of 200 (+/-10) words, combining something from the photo prompt with the setting of a kitchen. What do you think? Want to read other stories or write your own? March on over to Flash Friday Fiction!

 

Flash Friday Fiction: Spies Like Us

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The Beggar. CC2.0 photo by Foto_Michel.
The Beggar. CC2.0 photo by Foto_Michel.

Spies Like Us – 210 words

Know the best power to have if you’re gonna be a Super Spy? Invisibility.

Sure, flying would be cool. You could get places faster. Some would say X-ray vision is essential. For, you know, secret documents and stuff.

But for me, it’s my ability to be invisible that lets me do this job perfectly.

I know I’m invisible, because nobody in my family pays attention to me.

Mom’s always playing on her laptop. Dad’s watching a game. My sister’s constantly on her phone, mooning over Jacob’s hair or Justin’s eyes. Whatever.

My brother’s the only one who ever notices me. Mostly he tells me I’m annoying. But sometimes he gives me pointers. You know, how to deal with bullies, how to sneak dollar bills out of mom’s purse, how to disappear whenever Dad’s in one of his moods.

It was my brother who disappeared last night. Said he was done, he was outta there, he wasn’t puttin’ up with their crap anymore.

“Good riddance,” Dad said.

He doesn’t see me now, my brother. I’m the garbage can in disguise, spying on him from across the way.

He looks sad. Angry. Maybe even a little lonely.

He doesn’t need to worry, though. I’ve got his back.

We Invisibles gotta stick together.

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This week’s challenge? Incorporate a spy character in conjunction with the photo prompt into a story of 200 (+/-10) words. How’d I do?

Make your way (stealthily or not) over to Flash Friday Fiction to read and comment on the other entries, and perhaps draft one of your own!

Flash Friday Fiction: So Far Away

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Sand Dunes
Great Sand Dunes National Park, Colorado, USA. GNU Free Documentation License photo by Daniel Schwen.

So Far Away – 210 words

It had been a mistake.

No, not the decision to race through the dunes on one of the hottest days of the year.
Not the forgetting of water in his eagerness to escape. He deserved the torment.
Not the forgetting of sunscreen, though undoubtedly he’d be in agony tomorrow.

He was in agony today. It was agony that’d sparked this flight, this attempt to outrace the truth, the searing knowledge that life would never be the same again.

He was an idiot.

Why?

Why had he kissed Molly McGruder? Why had he let other things follow kisses?

The drive for physical pleasure had overridden common sense, as it had so many times in the past.

Only this time he’d lost the thing most precious to him. He’d never forget her face, the shock, the hurt, the sheer betrayal written there in each tear that stabbed its way down her cheeks.

It’d been a mistake.

Now he ran for physical pain. He needed it. He deserved it.

It wasn’t enough. It would never be enough. Some sins were simply unforgivable.

Around him, ahead of him, behind him: all was desert. As was his life, now that he’d lost her.

He knew she’d never forgive him. He knew she shouldn’t.

He ran.

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Today’s Flash Friday Fiction challenge? Include the theme “blunder” in conjunction with the photo prompt above. You’ve got 200 (+/-) words to work with. Go!

How did I do? I’d love to hear from you in the comments – or race/jog/gallivant your way over to Flash Friday to read and respond to others’ offerings, or offer up one of your own!

And yes, the title is an homage to Flock of Seagulls. It seemed fitting.

 

Flash Friday Fiction: First Person Jury

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First Woman Jury, Los Angeles, Nov 1911. PD photo by Library of Congress.
First Woman Jury, Los Angeles, Nov 1911. PD photo by Library of Congress.

First Person Jury – 208 words

I rub my fingers over the photo, again and again. At first it drew me for the fashions. The cinched waists. The long dresses. The woman with the hat that resembled a cake. I was grateful I live in an era of greater freedom.

But now I can’t stop looking at the woman in the back. The one who avoided the camera. Lips in a line, eyebrows up. Was it intentional, her avoidance? What was she hiding?

Someone had scrawled First Woman Jury, Los Angeles across the top of the picture.

They were there to pass judgment on somebody else. Yet I feel certain she’d already judged herself, that woman in the back. Found herself wanting. Convicted and condemned.

Maybe I’m projecting.

I study the woman in the front row, the one with the baleful eyes and defiant expression. It’s as if she knows. She knows what I’ve done. They all know. Family. Friends. Neighbors.

I can make all the excuses I want, but I’m the one who made the decision. I’m the one who did it.

Clutching the photo, the one I’d found in that second-hand suitcase, I realize the woman in the back and I are the same.

Trapped in prisons of our own making.

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Flash refers to the length of the story (in FF’s case, 200 +/-10), not the amount of time it takes to write said story. Unless one is writing on a deadline (meaning I had ten minutes before I had to drive the carpool to school). So this is what I dashed out, based on the prompt and the idea of struggle/man vs self. What do you think?

Traipse on over to Flash Friday Fiction to read other entries, or perhaps contribute one of your own!