Wednesday, June 7, 2017

Happy Birthday, Dennis!

What is flash fiction? A piece of fiction that is extremely brief, typically only a few hundred words or less.
The prompt: His car was crawling quietly along the street

        Dennis staggered of the pub, singing “When Irish Eyes are Smiling”. It was four in the morning. The street was dark. Dennis tripped and fell into the gutter. He vomited, wiped his filthy mouth with the back of his hand, and got up on his knees.
         The ground was spinning. The streetlights swayed. His car was crawling quietly along the street. “The Banshee’s have come for me,” he cried.
        Suddenly, someone yanked him up by the collar. “Been drinking tonight, hey Dennis?” the policeman asked.
        “Celebrating my birthday, I was.”
        The policeman laughed. “You’re going to celebrate in the cooler.”

Wednesday, May 31, 2017

Tell Us a Story, Alice!

“Let the party begin.” The Mad Hatter grinned as he poured tea in Alice’s cup. “Tell us a story.”
        She took a biscuit. “I’m afraid I don’t know one.”
        “Off with her head,” the March Hare said.
        “How dreadfully savage!” She glanced over at the Doormouse. “Your friend is asleep.”
        The Hatter poured tea on the Doormouse’s nose.
        It shook its head and said, “Tell us a story.”
        She began: “Once there was a White Rabbit.”
        ”White Rabbit?” The Hatter frowned. “It seems to me, we had something to do immediately, or just after dessert, I can’t quite remember now.”

Wednesday, May 24, 2017

Don't Touch!

        It was the trip of my dreams. One more off my bucket list. It’s gorgeous and green, the land of potatoes and castles. I’d already toured several, but this one was different. Tourists were able to touch the tapestries, sit on chairs, even lie on the beds.
        I stood in the kitchen fascinated with the assortment of pots and cauldrons. One large iron pot in particular. What had they cooked in it? As I put my hand on the handle, I was transported back hundreds of years. I smelled trouble and looked in the pot.
        The porridge had burned.

Wednesday, February 22, 2017

The Rules

        Wendy served drinks at Joe’s Place. It paid well. She could work nights while her husband stayed home with the kids. She’d learned to fend off the flirts, but the part of her job she most hated was cutting off the drunks.
        Jim Duncan had reached his limit tonight. He slurred his words as he asked for another beer.        
        “You’re 86’d,” Wendy said, placing his glass on the tray. “Go home.”
        He stood, wobbly on his feet. “Get outta my way!”
        She moved to stop him in his tracks. “You know the rules.”
        “Sure. ’I’ before ‘e’ except after ‘c’.”

Wednesday, February 15, 2017

What Stinks?

        Propane gas is odorless, but a chemical is always added to make it stink. Ashley learned why the day she climbed up the steps to the camp trailer. She could smell gas even before she opened the door.
        What is that awful smell? she wondered, cupping her hand over her nose. The trailer hadn’t been used since last fall when her husband had taken it hunting.
        Had he left meat in the refrigerator?
        No. The fridge was empty.
        “Tim,” she called. “There’s a skunk in the camper!”
        He came running from the house. “That’s no skunk. It’s a gas leak.”


Wednesday, February 8, 2017

Little Bo Peeped

          Little Bo Peep sat under a tree eating her curds and whey. She’d climbed to a high meadow with the sheep this morning. The grass was greener, but there was always the danger of the Big Bad Wolf. Practical Pig said he’d seen the wolf run this way after it jumped out of the chimney.
        She licked the spoon, dreaming of Little Boy Blue, when Georgie Porgie jumped out from behind the tree. “Rub-a-dub-dub!.”
        “Go away!” she screamed.
        “The cow jumped over the moon.”
        “I’ll find her and bring her home, I promise.”
        He laughed. “Kiss me first.”

Wednesday, February 1, 2017

Kissing Daredevil

        Fingering the shark tooth at his neck, Brady asked the ghost of Evel Knievel for a safe landing. In twenty minutes, he was scheduled to jump his jet-propelled motorcycle across the Grand Canyon.
        There was a knock on his trailer door. He opened it to discover his girlfriend on the step. “Charlotte!”  
        She rushed into his arms.  “I had to kiss you before you go.”
        Holding her close, he whispered. “Will you marry me?”
        She gasped. “When?”
        “Tonight, in Las Vegas.”
        She laughed. “What if you’re in a casket?”
        “Would you come to my funeral?”
        “Yeah, no!”


Wednesday, January 25, 2017

I'll Never Agree

        Three best-selling authors sat at the conference table. Hundreds of people had crowded into the room. Some stood by the door.
        Sarah Garcia, the only woman on the panel, sipped bottled water. What’s a nice introvert like me doing here?
        The moderator started the discussion. “What is your writing process?”
        The first two authors used outlines. One wrote summaries for each scene.
        Then it was Sarah’s turn. “My characters write the story.”
        The men smirked. “Characters are figments of your imagination,” one said.
        “They are real to me.”
        “Even if you prove me wrong, I’ll never agree with you.”

Let’s read what the other’s wrote.  

Wednesday, January 18, 2017

Cheeky Stowaway

        Who’s coming? Crouched in the cold, dark locker, Perce hoped he hadn’t been discovered. He kept absolutely still as the footsteps got louder.
        Suddenly the door swung open. “Jig’s up,” the sailor said.  
        Perce Blackborow fell forward. After hiding in the cramped locker for days, he couldn’t stand. He was dragged to a chair.
        Captain Shackleton scowled. “Do you know that on these expeditions we often get very hungry, and if there is a stowaway available, he is the first to be eaten?”
        “They’d get a lot more meat off you, sir.”
        Shackleton grinned. “Introduce him to the cook first.”

Wednesday, January 11, 2017

Love Conquers All

        Prime Minister Baldwin paced the floor, waiting to be admitted. He had no choice but to offer the king an ultimatum. At last, Edward invited him into his office, and the prime minister began with a plea. “Don’t do it, Edward.”
        “I’m sorry it upsets you, but I’m marrying her.”
        Baldwin sighed. “She’s a divorced woman—an  American.”
        “I love her. I can’t live without her.”
        “You’ll have to abdicate the throne.”
        “Then I must.”
         “Love’s blind. It fades.” Baldwin waved his arms in desperation. “What did Shakespeare say?”
        Edward smiled. “The course of true love never did run smooth.”

Wednesday, January 4, 2017

What Letter?

        “The prisoner will rise.”
        Chains at Sean’s wrists and ankles clanked as he stood to face the judge.
        “How do you plead?” Judge Witherspoon asked. He wore a curly wig that shed white powder on his black robe.
        “Not guilty, your honor.” Sean glanced about the courtroom, hoping to see a friend.
        His accuser glared back, a farmer named Paddy O’Toole.  “He stole my best milk cow.”
        “What proof do you have?” the judge asked.
        “The letter.”
        Judge Witherspoon shuffled through the papers on his desk. “What letter?”
        “Plain as day. The “C” on his forehead where Bessie kicked him.”

Now let’s see what the others wrote with this prompt: