Flash Fiction for the Purposeful Practitioner is one of the quartet of weekly photo prompts I try to frequent each week. I noticed a post over on Joe’s Musings, my mother blog called My List of Regular Blog Challenges is getting a lot of interest and it was created long before I found this, so does not list it. I need to get that remedied.
But anyway Roger Shipp @ A Writer’s Community hosts this event on a weekly basis. He is very generous in allowing 200 words to spin a tale inspired by the picture provided. Give it a whirl!
Marty jammed his radio onto his belt so he could use both hands to loosen his belt a notch. He loved the Japanese quick service kiosk in the airport food court.
He noticed a young woman acting a little strangely and could feel his “spidey sense” kick in. That is what his sons called it when he knew they were up to something and thwarted their plans before they could execute.
The girl seemed especially nervous as she waited in line to get through security. Marty positioned himself so he could watch what she did.
As soon as she cleared security she began to move very fast toward the gate area. Marty followed, watching her tug at a backpack that looked heavier than it should be. When the girl saw him she began to quicken her pace.
He lost sight of her and feared the worst. He had his walkie to his mouth when he rounded the corner to see the girl down on one knee pr0posing to her fellow who was about to board a flight to Africa. Her backpack was open with a small karaoke machine blaring a popular love song. It was a good thing Marty was a romantic.
No one knew the real date the world ended because it was done with such stealth. The government wished it could do things this way, but in truth only one organization had this skill. The proof was that no one claimed it was true. Banks kept lending money, people kept getting married, having children and going to their jobs.
The world could have known. Would have if Jacob Smithson had finished his ninety-one mile trip from Scranton to Allentown, PA. He had installed the global warning system there, nineteen stories deep in the earth. It had sapped the entire fortune made from his grandfather’s San Francisco gold mine, but Jacob knew there had to be a way to let the world know.
Almost 75 years later his old car still rested off the two lane road where the Chapman Group agents forced him to stop. His skeleton was scattered for miles in every direction so no proof remained. Now the world was continuing on oblivious to their fate.
“Frank, I need more of the six inch slabs!” Jerry told his foreman. “They are for a big job at the Mills’ place.”
“Does she realize the weight?” Jerry asked.
“Don’t matter, she pays cash, the quarry runs on cash, she’ll figure it out.”
Frank nodded as he climbed aboard his dozer to fetch the load. Two hours later the flat bed trailer sagged under the weight.
“What’s she makin’?” Frank asked.
“A fish pond,” Jerry said.
“Must be a big one!”
“It is for the Marlin her husband caught in Malibu. Poor fella can’t let the fish go!”
This is not a true story obviously, but it is where my troubled writing muse led me. I hope you are all well and ready to give us some great stories like you usually do. Happy Friday! This is written for the weekly Carrot Ranch Flash Fiction Photo Challenge.
He would always remember that day in October when he saw her auburn hair for the first time. Even the beauty of the North Carolina section of the Blue Ridge Parkway, something he had anticipated enjoying for the first time in his life, could not outshine her. Her face was angelic, like something in a catalogue of porcelain dolls.
But it was her voice. That lovely Irish brogue that captivated him. She acted shy at first, but he realized it was more like coy as she found her footing with him through their conversation on the overlook. What he expected would be a ten minute pit stop easily morphed into an hour long date with his destiny.
Carey did not believe in fate. He was a Christian, feeling that any positive experience was sent by God. Allison was that and more, he was positive of that by the time they shared the gorgeous sunset. He drew in a quick breath when she leaned in to let her lips touch his. Was that fireworks bursting in his head? Or was it just the thrill of someone new. He was fine with any explanation.
This is my first try at Flash Fiction for the Purposeful Practitioner. It is a weekly writing challenge designed for both the flash fiction newbie and the more experienced writer. Using the provided photo you are budgeted 200 words to make your story. I live about 90 minutes from the Linville Aqueduct, which is the inspiration for this week’s prompt.
“Are you sure this will work?” Millie whined. For eight days every word from her lips was like this. Drew knew being stranded on a deserted island was not the idyllic honeymoon he promised, but who could predict a boat consuming fire?
“It is our best hope. In my nautics course at university I studied these exact currents. From here they flow back to the mainland.”
“But what if the glass bottle finds rocks?” Mille asked. “We’ll die here!”
“Darling there is only a 1% chance the current will direct this toward rocks,” Drew assured her.
Alistair Forbes hosts a once weekly photo fiction writing event called appropriately enough Sunday Photo Fiction. The idea is to create a story / poem or something using around about 200 words with the photo as a guide. I have not been a part of this for some time and missed it, so I am back!
Sheila had delusions of grandeur about her long time hobby of collecting dolls. It had been six months since she found the newspaper clipping about Old Mrs. Crenshaw and how her lifetime collection of dolls had been sold through Sotheby’s for three million dollars. Three million dollars would set her for life. The worn newspaper clipping she fingered every single day was beginning to fade, but she strained really hard to make out the photo of Mrs. Crenshaw’s collection. It looked like she had hundreds of dolls, but so did Sheila.
She could also make out a shiny gold and glass display case the dolls had been kept in and figured that is what made the difference. She remembered seeing something like it at the local trash dump on one of her walks to town over the weekend. A can or two of spray paint should shape it up. But what about the glass? Where could she find some glass to fill the holes? A smile crept on her lips as she looked at the window cleaner at the bakery who smiled as he put a shine on the large windows between her and shelves of steaming bread.
Monday is the first opportunity each week to get your fiction writing fix. Barbara Beacham gives us a photo and first line to a 200 word fiction masterpiece. I hope you enjoy mine.
I watched the vulture looking at me hungrily as I lay on the ground bleeding and injured. I could see him and he could see me. He can wait, he knows I cannot get away. The storm is over now, the sky clear. I think the power stayed on after I climbed the pole to fix the main line. I guess Harley was right, my boot spikes were too worn to wear in the hurricane. But I knew I could get the line fixed in time to save the town.
I still have hope. I am sure the rescue and clean up crews will arrive soon. If I can just hold out until they do. I never stop and just admire the blue sky. I need to do that more, if….