Stage Fright

WonHundred Word Wednesday

Flash Fiction Fun

        Standing in the wings, I watched the actors on stage. I had a few short lines in the play, but it was a crucial part. Anyway, that’s what my drama teacher said. He insisted I say the lines slowly and clearly.

        Nervous now, I straightened the gold buttons on my red uniform. Queen Antoinette wrung her hands, pacing back and forth, reciting her monologue.

        I heard my clue and strode onto the stage. “I have a message, my lady.”

        “Thank heavens. What did he say?”

        Suddenly, my mind went blank. I fumbled the words. “Midnight, on the bridge. Come alone.”

Let’s see what the others wrote:

https://www.facebook.com/WonHundredWords/photos/a.1697701293793386.1073741827.1697271893836326/1739074859656029/?type=3&theater

On the Warpath

                               Grandpa sat close to the hearth, a quilt draped over his knees. His wire-rimmed spectacles reflected the firelight.

        “Tell us about the Injun war, Grandpa,” little Abe said. “When they burned the fort.”

        Despite the warmth, Grandpa shivered. He couldn’t remember what he’d eaten today, but memories of that night of terror were as clear as the ice on the water bucket.

        “It was a freezing night when the natives took up arms,” he said.

        “Like tonight?”

        Grandpa coughed and spat into the fire. “Deerfield woke to screams at dawn.”

        “What did you do?”

        “I was a boy. I cried.”

Let’s read more flash fiction:

               https://www.facebook.com/WonHundredWords/photos/a.1697701293793386.1073741827.1697271893836326/1736327439930771/?type=3&theater 

Who's Who?

WonHundredWord Wednesday

Flash Fiction Fun

        “Mr. Simms is absent today,” Jodi whispers. “You know the plan.”

        I line up with the rest of the students in eighth grade English. We all know what to do—change places and change names. Grinning like a goofy goose, I sit in the third row, not in my assigned seat.

        Mrs. Murphy, the gray-haired substitute, sneers at the class from behind the teacher’s desk. She holds the seating chart as she calls the roll. “Andrea.”

        “Here,” I say.

         She frowns at me. “You’re not Andrea. You’re Cynthia.”

         “I am?”

        Everyone laughs.

        Even I have forgotten my name. “Absent.”

Let’s see what the others wrote:

https://www.facebook.com/WonHundredWords/photos/a.1697701293793386.1073741827.1697271893836326/1733471496883032/?type=3&theater