Tag Archives: Fiction writing

Hanging on the telephone

Posted on by February 25, 2020

Darren creaked down the stairs. The murmur of his wife’s voice on the phone to his mother soothed his steps. She said, “Yes, we’ll be there in under twelve hours Sherry.” He saw her at the bottom, pacing just outside the kitchen.

He thought, “Tie, suit, wingtips, dress shirt, black socks.”

She said, “I’m touched. Of course he’ll deliver the eulogy.”

“What? I’ll do what?”

When he spoke, she looked up and put her finger to her lips. She walked back into the kitchen, away from him.

“How can I give a eulogy for someone who should still be alive?”

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This week, Velvet Verbosity challenged us with ‘murmur’

… Read the rest

Flori Rides a Bike (Flash Fiction 2012 Challenge)

Posted on by February 25, 2020

“Flori, don’t.” Cal was so weak he could barely stand up. Being trapped too long in a cat’s body tended to have that effect.

“Shh. I’ll be back in ten minutes.” Flori wasn’t much better off, but at least her transformation from human to gryphon and back again had gone smoothly. She wasn’t shaking violently, and her body didn’t have a sheen of sweat.

She hooked a basket she’d found in one corner of the attic and stepped out onto the stairs. At the last second, she turned around and plucked a phial out of Cal’s jacket. “No lartë.”

His mewl of protest bespoke the depth of his addiction.… Read the rest

Elbow Grease

Posted on by February 25, 2020

 

Mom and Dad were physical people. They changed their own oil, fixed up all our furniture a thousand times, and plumbed like they were born to the sewers. Dad even learned some basic wiring to avoid calling in an electrician.

Which made it that much harder to see Dad in his hospital gown, prepped for surgery. Mom held his hand, the one that wasn’t poked full of IVs, and I sat a little behind him. The nurse said, “Now, I need you to confirm that you understand the procedure we’re going to perform.”

Dad interrupted her. “You’re going to pull out some of the old wiring, plunge the line, and patch me up with what passes for electrical tape if you’re a surgeon.”… Read the rest

Priorities

Posted on by February 25, 2020

At the eighth grade dance, Patty Ann Lawson kicked Tricia Smiley in the shin. Tricia caught Patty’s vest in her fist. “Anthony Gray’s bombed or he wouldn’t have tried kissing me.” She held Patty at arm’s length. “I try not to punch deserving assholes in public.”

“Is something the matter?” Mrs. Haverty descended.

“We’re dancing.” Tricia suddenly pulled the much smaller Patty in close.

Patty seized Tricia’s arms. “Dancing!” she echoed, and tried a couple of steps to Katy Perry’s “Wide Awake”.

“ I’d suggest you dance a little less roughly. I could year you ‘singing along’ over there.”

“Yes ma’am.”… Read the rest

Rent

Posted on by February 25, 2020

Lady Beatrice whispered, “Magda can’t find out.”

Lord Bertram pulled her thigh closer to his lips. “Never.”

Then the world rent open with a piercing scream and a jagged hole in the wall. Lord Bertram threw Lady Beatrice onto the bed. A crier shouted, “To arms! To his majesty’s chambers!”  Bertram scrambled into his breeches and a tunic and ran to answer that call.

And then he reappeared in the wall’s hole, but it wasn’t him at all. This man looked exactly like Bertram, but he wore a mud leather helmet and a strange mask. Instead of a tunic, he had a short coat and strange breeches. … Read the rest

Thrice Told

Posted on by February 25, 2020

This week, Trifecta celebrates its 33rd weekly challenge. It’s actually three challenges, and it ends at 8AM tomorrow. I’ve been travelling, so posting these has had to wait. That means you’ll be hearing from me three times today (and then I’ll be quiet on Thursday). The first challenge is to respond to the following quotation

“What I tell you three times is true.” — Lewis Carroll.

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Thrice Told

A young mother wore her baby through the airport and pulled two suitcases behind. She was alone.  “My husband died,” she said to the woman beside her in the boarding area.

Her husband quickly joined her then.… Read the rest

The Right Buyer

Posted on by February 25, 2020

When she saw the house from the road, Leslie Weiner groaned and stopped the car. She hadn’t driven up to this end of town for years. She was beginning to remember why.

The house was old. Parts of it were supposed to date back to the Civil War. But it was a strange structure, built in one era and added onto at two other times. The front part of the building was all brick, but the middle and rear sections were covered with white wood siding. At least, Leslie thought, it used to be white. Now it was more moldy green.… Read the rest

Scriptic 24 hour challenge: Potted Plants

Posted on by February 25, 2020

Potted Plants: A Play In One Scene

CHARACTERS

NATALIE SMITH (NATTY): 80 year old woman

GINA SCHULER: Natty’s 25 year old granddaughter.

MARLENE SCHULER: Gina’s 50 year old mother. Natty’s daughter.

FRANCINE DRAKE: Natty’s next door neighbor and attorney

LESLIE: Natty’s Neighbor

JEAN: Leslie’s teenage daughter

LESLIE and JEAN’S DOG

TIME

Late afternoon

SCENE

 

(A pair of rocking chairs flank the door on the back porch.

 There is a porch swing hanging at one end, and

a small table with four chairs are halfway between the

door and the other end of the porch. Three stairs lead

down, and the sidewalk runs the length of the stage.… Read the rest

Where It’s At

Posted on by February 25, 2020

 

Club Aqua burned on a Tuesday, and by Wednesday morning, the DJ and bartender were celebrities. Val, the DJ, wasn’t pleased. “I didn’t do anything,” she protested.

But Larry the bartender disagreed. “Listen, that whole fucking ceiling was coming in, and you was standing out on the floor directing traffic just like you was calling a square dance or something. If you hadn’t had your shit together, those people would have flipped out and stampeded. We’d all be dead.”

“OK, I wasn’t the one carrying people out on my goddamned shoulders,” Val snapped. “All I did was tell people where to find the doors.… Read the rest

Cow in the road

Posted on by February 25, 2020

I spent my childhood chasing other people’s cows. The farmers who rented our fields were supposed to keep up the fences, but they never did. And the cows never got out during the day. No, they escaped at midnight or two AM, so that we all had to scramble out of bed looking for feed when someone banged on the door. And I slept downstairs, so I always heard the knock.

I hated those cows. I wanted them to die. But, especially once we bought the house and land, a wreck would have been on our insurance. While Mom tried to raise the cow’s owner, I tramped up State Route 286 in my nightgown chanting, “Come on cow, stupid cow, gonna get us both killed cow.”  … Read the rest