Great. The phone buzzed obnoxiously as she stepped out of the tub.
“Yeah?” she shouted over the sound of water spiraling down the drain.
“I’m outside; you coming or what?” Her boyfriend’s tin-can voice asked.
Patience, geez. “Almost. Just getting out of the bath.”
“Well, hurry up! We’re gonna be late,” he huffed.
Bet he’s bouncing his knee and drumming his fingers. “I gotta dry off first; give me ten minutes.”
“Just throw on some jeans and a tee and get out here,” he argued.
We won’t be late anyway. “It’s easier to get jeans on a dead body than wet legs,” she spouted.
“How would you know?” He laughed.
You’ll see. “I interned at a mortuary one summer.”
It’s a great day when I get to watch Graceful at work. The cowlick in his hair gets tossed around by the salty breeze. The sun glints across the words printed on the broad back of his wetsuit.
World Surf League.
The best triple whammy is headed our way.
I know if I can just grab onto the back of Graceful’s board, he can teach me to be like him.
I let out a groaning “Whoops!” as I pry shards of Graceful out of my teeth.
Today’s post is short story I wrote for another flash fiction contest (http://jetreidliterary.blogspot.com/2016/07/the-alot-of-books-writing-contest.html). It wound up significantly less than 100 words, but I got a mention for “great start for a novel.” I hadn’t thought of it that way. Honestly, I’m a little afraid if I was to try to write in that genre, my villains would be a bit one-dimensional (evil for the sake of evil).
Enough lolly-gagging; here’s the story:
Some people say that I’m obsessed. I prefer the word focused. Or fixated. Do it 100 times, then 100 more.
I flash a devilish grin as I kick off my slippers. A girly, ribboned pair that I special order in bulk. Sometimes pink; sometimes purple. But basically the same pair.
So far, none of the crime scene techs has noticed.
This week’s 100-word story was something I thought about and scribbled out last month. I tweaked it a little for another contest but also thought it might be relevant with Father’s day coming up. To me, it stands as a reminder that even good parents and people who don’t have kids (think aunts, uncles, tutors, babysitters, etc) can have unexpected impacts on children.
Golden-red flames lick ever closer but I have to find Jerry. The heavy smoke overwhelms the yard and the smell of burnt logs sweeps through the house like an ashy tidal wave. I stumble through the pitch colored yard until I’m nearly garroted by the laundry line.
Finally, I find him hunkered under the porch with Yowl, the pillow-pet. He swipes away tears as I scoop him up. When I load him into his booster-seat, he whispers.
“Sorry, Mama.” He hands me a pack of matches and some crumpled cigarettes. “I just wanted to be like Daddy.”
**This was my entry to Saturday’s Flash Fiction writing contest. (http://jetreidliterary.blogspot.com/2016/05/the-duchess-of-yowl-writing-contest-ii.html) This time I got a mention for a “delicious” twist.**
“Oh, what’s she so miffed about anyway? It’s not like he’s the first of her boys to get in a scuffle,” Tiffany wondered aloud.
“Young’uns, I tell ya. They’re always sulking about looking for trouble,” Doris replied as she shuffled into the porch rocker.
“Well, we can’t blame him, really. That other boy did steal his lady,” Tiffany mused.
Doris wanted to remind Tiffany that no boy is settled on a particular lady at that age but saw an interruption headed their way.
“Move over, Fluffy-Butt,” Food-Giving-Poop-Scooper said, “I want to sit with you.”
Today’s post is another 100 word story I wrote for Janet Reid’s flash fiction contest this past weekend. (http://jetreidliterary.blogspot.com/2016/05/may-we-have-writing-contest.html) I didn’t like this post as much as last week’s but I did get an honorable mention for best first line(s)!
My best friend shot me today. I guess maybe I can’t blame him. Thankfully, he was quick about it. None of that emotional nonsense he usually carts along with his wheelbarrow of tears and snotty tissues.
I replay our brief conversation:
“Go ahead, if you’re so tough then,” I taunted.
“I should,” he bellowed. “You ratted me out to the cops!”
“Oh, boo-hoo. Now, you have to do some community —“
He’s too ignorant to know I did it to keep him out of the cemetery. That gang he was flirting with don’t much care for cry-babies.
And then she saw the world. A cold place, full of despair. A place where children were desensitized to the splatter of their teacher’s blood across the chalkboard. A place dominated by hate.
“Maddy, where are you going?” the teacher’s aide asked.
“To close her eyes, Miss.”
It was more complicated kneeling in front of the classroom. She worried about the blood staining the new dress Daddy bought at the Disney store. But Maddy had to do what was right, what was respectful. She couldn’t let the world stay broken; she would do something about it. And that stunned her.
**I wrote this 100-word story as a part of a flash fiction contest on Janet Reid’s blog. (Highly recommended, in fact, here’s a link: http://jetreidliterary.blogspot.com/) I didn’t win the contest, so I’m assuming permission to post my entry on my own sites.