Archive for the ‘Flash Fiction’ Category

San Diego Cafe — Weekly Writing Challenge   2 comments

Daily Post Weekly Writing Challenge

Hunter S. Thompson was an American author and writer. (He was also a drug enthusiast, among other things, but that’s another story for another day.) His infamous, detail-dense, first-person narrative, The Kentucky Derby is Decadent and Depraved, spawned a genre of reporting called Gonzo journalism. Gonzo journalism differs from typical reporting in that Gonzo journalists renounce claims of objectivity, often place themselves in the story as a first-person narrator, and include verbatim dialogue to capture and convey their first-hand experiences. The work can often have a “stream-of-consciousness” feel to it. In summary, the basic hallmarks of Gonzo journalism are:

There were a range of options to take in order to participate in this weeks challenge. I picked this scenario:

You’re in a street-side café in San Diego, California. The couple seated at the next table is breaking up.

“Don’t turn around Sara. I think the couple behind you is breaking up. Apparently she has had enough of his carousing around. Oh look, no don’t look now, she’s stirring her glass with that swizzle stick so fast there is a little whirlpool going round and around. Boy is she mad. I mean really mad. She keeps pushing her hair back with that real agitated look. You know the one I mean Sara? The one that says I’m pissed.”

“What does he look like?” asked Sara.

Cindy without a pause says, “Beautiful face, beautiful body, horrible attitude. The Holy Trinity of Hot Boys.”

Sara, finally looking back, says “I would say that boy is in for one hot argument. I would not like to argue with her because I would no longer feel safe because of the possible actions she may take. Watch her start pacing back and forth real fast, breathing out her nose. I least that is what I would do to that no good cowboy. I don’t care what he has done. What do you think he has done?”

“I don’t know what he has done but it must be a really bad thing. You know what that girl will do? I’ve seen her kind. When she gets to her boiling point she will start talking in the third person. That’s scary as hell because that’s her way of telling him that from this point on, she is not responsible for none of her actions. You go Girl!, said Cindy. I tell you women are cursed and men are the proof.”

Friday Fictioneers — Time For Bed   27 comments

Our fearless Friday Fictioneers fantastic female big cheese Rochelle has furnished us this weeks challenge.

THE CHALLENGE:

Write a one hundred word story that has a beginning, middle and end using the picture below. (No one will be ostracized for going a few words over the count.)

Copyright - Erin Leary

Copyright – Erin Leary

I draw my power from this earth. Running water draws it away. Sunset up, sunrise down. I live in a land of dripping midnight waters and soft grey web. I am a pedestrian who walks this path looking for unsuspecting virgins in the night. Demons and Spirits are my precursors so they say. I believe I have no name, just this white hand, a set of yellow teeth and a cold heart. I’m a thing in a box and with daylight I must return to heal my wounds from last night. Little drops of red liquor upon my sleeping lips.

Posted January 15, 2014 by Danny James in Flash Fiction, Friday Fictioneers

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Wildebeest — Speakeasy #144   24 comments

The rules for Speakeasy #144 are found here.

He kept glancing at the pictures on her nightstand. There was their wedding day photo. It was a small wedding in a boat on a river. She was extremely pretty. There was the picture of both of them dressed in period costume taken on the Boardwalk. He as Clyde Barrow and she as Bonnie Parker. She used that picture on her desk at work and most of her co-workers never guessed that it was them. There was the one with both of them poking their heads out of an open aired jeep on a safari in Kenya with tangerine trees and marmalade skies.

The room was always quiet. No air sucking machines, no tubes invading her body, no pill bottles,  just the slight up and down movement of her chest. No noise. She was living by sipping nourishment through a straw. That was her life now.

That trip to Kenya was a special trip for them after she became very ill. It was on this trip they made a vow and a secret word that went with that vow. A word that they both understood to signify  it was time for the grand migration to the afterlife.

He left her room and went back to his den. His den was where he went to remember. His den, except for the time with his wife, was his whole life now.

Hospice had arranged for someone to visit three times a week. This time was the only time he left her side.

He chuckled as he told her stories about their marriage. The time she thought he was putting the moves on a waitress and all he was actually doing was making arrangements for a birthday cake to be brought to their table to celebrate their anniversary. The time he finally got enough nerve to tell her the dress she had picked out for a special occasion looked like the rug pattern from his grandmother’s house. She,  who on her first round of golf with friends had picked up the dime he used to mark his ball on the green and brought it to him and said, “see honey I found a dime.” Seeing the great Pyramids, the river cruise up the Nile, Whitewater rafting in Virginia, driving a NASCAR in North Carolina, a Hot Air Balloon ride in Wyoming were some of the many adventures they experienced together.

She usually was able to smile when he talked to her like this even though he knew she didn’t understand. She was just smiling because she recognized a voice she remembered and loved. Somethings can’t be forgotten.

Yesterday morning she made no reaction at all to his attempts at comedy. On his afternoon visit he sensed she was alert with her eyes open. She raised her chin in an effort to say something. There was no mistaking what she said. “Wildebeest.”

With no hesitation he make his way to the kitchen and made her the  special tea that she liked. He added the toxic ingredient he had bought illegally for this occasion and stirred. He returned to her bedroom and leaned over her frail body and inserted the straw into her mouth. She sucked in her last taste of life. And smiled! The same smile as he was blessed with on their wedding day.

The Hospice volunteer, arriving on time as usual, called out for him. She expected him to be in her room but he wasn’t there. The volunteer knew from experience that she had passed. Rushing to the den she found him slumped over his desk with a single sheet of paper. She picked it up. All it said was “Wildebeest.”

614 Words

Ten Words I Think Should Be Banned in 2014   5 comments

Johnson, watching the ticker symbols flash across the big board noticed that his particular stocks were all trending down. He had invested almost his entire savings against the wishes of his wife. Being the gambler he was, including the tables in Vegas, he knew what he had to do to save face and perhaps make a few thousand if he were lucky. He needed to double down on everything or risk facing his own fiscal cliff. After all YOLO. Spoiler alert: If Johnson’s financial situation improved and his stocks performed like they were all on steroids then he could financially afford to actually knock a few items off his bucket list. No sir, no more kicking the can down the road for old Johnson. Take a selfie and hastag it:goodluckwiththat.

Posted January 10, 2014 by Danny James in Flash Fiction, Musings

Friday Fictioneers: Trouble   26 comments

Once again it’s time for Friday Fictioneers thanks to our good friend Rochelle.

THE CHALLENGE:

Write a one hundred word story that has a beginning, middle and end. (No one will be ostracized for going a few words over the count.)

Tree Climbing Poppy

His name was Trouble and he lived up to his name. My father bought him from a neighbor for $25. Dad said I was 50% owner. I owned the back half. The half you have to clean up after. Trouble liked to run. He would run and then look back to see if you were following. Trouble would get so excited in the house when we played with him he would pee on the floor. Trouble even ran a squirrel up a tree one time. Trouble went blind at age fifteen. My dad took him to the field out back and shot him.

Speak Easy #142– “I Don’t Think That’s A Good Idea”   29 comments

Big Ben UK

He had arrived at Heathrow Airport at 6:45 am. The cab ride to the Park Plaza Westminster Hotel, near Big Ben, had cost him 40 British Pounds. The conference didn’t start until 9:00 am tomorrow so he had made the date will Helen for 8:00 p.m. that night. He had never actually met Helen. She worked in the London branch of his firm and they had similar positions within the company. He knew she was “unattached” to use her words.

He had arrived at the hotel lobby a full half hour early. He had asked her how he would recognize her and she had replied that she would be wearing a red suit with matching slacks. That really set off his imagination.  Maybe he would get “lucky” tonight.

He saw her coming in the swinging doors of the lobby. “Hi, I’m Gary,” he said to her, “You must be Helen!” “Afraid not Bloke, but nice try anyway,” she replied.

Two more tries with the same response. How many women are wearing red pant suits tonight?” he wondered. Perhaps the full moon had something to do with this continuing women wearing red outfits.

From behind him a voice said “Are you Gary?” “I’m Helen.”

He turned. Holy Shit! She was a knockout.

They were escorted to the table he had reserved. The dinner conversation was easy; as if they were old friends just catching up on what they had missed since they last met.

After dinner, and making arrangements to meet tomorrow just before their meeting started, he said “I’ll drop you off at your flat on my way to my hotel.”

Their conversation, as satisfying as before, continued on the cab ride to her apartment. As Gary stopped in front of her flat she stepped out, and after closing the door looked inside the passenger side window and said:

“You coming in?”

“Sure”, Gary said.

“On second thought I don’t think that’s a good idea”.

“Can I at least walk you to your front door?”

“Ok”.

At her door, she said thanks for the dinner, I’ll see you tomorrow.

Was her saying “I don’t think that’s a good idea” meaning just not a good idea tonight? Or not a good idea in general for the rest of the conference, aka, “it’s been fun, but this is where we part ways?”

He didn’t sleep well that night. What should he, or how should he act, when they meet tomorrow? Pretend nothing ever happened? He had to be careful in front of the other employees least suspicion of their relationship became a subject of conversation. Both their careers could be put in jeopardy if this wasn’t handled well.

He arrived a few minutes early for the conference looking for her now that he knew what she looked like.  She wasn’t there when the meeting started promptly at 9:00 am. Not at 10 a.m. either. He was becoming concerned.

At the morning break he asked one of the attendees if they had seen Helen. There was a horrifying look on the mans face as he replied, “I’m afraid she wouldn’t be here at the conference”.

“What, why not?”

“She was found murdered in her apartment early this morning.”

“I was with her last night. Should I seek out the police and talk to them?”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea, Sir.”

Word count = 554

Speakeasy #142.

This week’s prompts: “I don’t think that’s a good idea.” To be used anywhere in the story. There is also a photo prompt, which can be seen at the top of the post. The challenge: Use 750 words or less to tell a story incorporating those elements in some way.

Posted December 29, 2013 by Danny James in Flash Fiction, Speakeasy

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Chain Writing — Episode Sixteen   13 comments

Here is my next installment for Kerrie Salsac’s excellent chain writing game. Looks like Cindy might not have a say in things!

Episode Sixteen.

A glance out the window of his rented home confirmed his worse fears. She had made a fool out of Agrit. A dead fool at that! She would pay dearly for this act of defiance. George had played his part well and now Agrit had screwed up what was supposed to be the easy part of his master plan.

She was to be the latest addition to his little harem. She with the blue Nigab would join the other six wearing black Nigab’s.

He called to his true and trusted friends, “Jimmy, Mac, you need to finish what you have started!

Posted December 29, 2013 by Danny James in Flash Fiction

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