She thoughtlessly made these beds, one after another. It was for her kids, that’s all that mattered. A second job at this hotel meant a better future for them. She would work through the arthritis in her knees hoping her family may someday be able to afford a room like this.
Written for this week’s Twitter Tales prompt from Kat Myrman. Photo credit: Jay Mantri
I challenged myself with Fandango’s FOWC for today, REVERSE. The piece I wrote is actually written in reverse. The first sentence is actually the last. But, it also works the other way around. Enjoy, readers
Everyone enjoyed eating the dessert, not knowing the truth behind its origin.
John secretly bought the delicious cake just in time for the party.
Luckily, the bakery was open early on Sunday.
John had everything-but bowls to mix the ingredients.
He had the eggs, flour, milk and the cake mix.
The recipe on the box looked easy to follow.
“How difficult could this be?” John first thought when assigned the task of baking a cake.
The task was hard for him, reversing his initial thoughts on the matter.
The spilled water from the knocked-over vase filled with fresh-cut roses edged its way across the kitchen table. Once again, the two teen sons of Danielle Lewis ignored previous warnings and ran through the house goofing around. An act that had previously been committed numerous times. The boys would then secretly clean up the mess, confident that they were getting away with shenanigans.
Unbeknownst to them, Danielle knew all along what was happening and was planning a trap.
The next day, Danielle placed a vase of glass roses on the table’s center and mischievously thought,
“Let them cover this up”.
Written for this week’s Friday Fictioneers, hosted by Rochell Wisoff-Fields.
Coroner Alan Blaine’s theory on what he had just found within the strangle marks of the deceased couple-terrorified him. Matthew Allen and Tammie Wilson were discovered last night lying next to a tree in Franklin Park. An open pocket knife was found in Matthew’s hand, yet there were no stab wounds or blood splatter on the victims. Upon inspection by police, they noticed flecks of wood and bark on its blade. Wood that looked similar to the pieces Blaine just pulled out of the victim’s necks.
“As if…” Blaine thought “the tree itself grabbed the couple.”
Written for Bikurgurl’s 100 Word Wednesday prompt and Fandago’s FOWC prompt-THEORY
To be honest with you, she’s really a pain in the ass. You probably think differently. You look at her as some hot looking babe who might be great in bed. Yeah, I know how all you uprights think. Most of you think with your crotches first. The problem that I have with her is that, its four in the morning and she’s playing that damn flute again. This has been going on daily now for three and half weeks. She had showed up a month ago, wearing some nasty looking shower curtain and no shoes. Who does this? Have you ever walked in a forest with bare feet? There’s all kinds of nasty stuff down here. Anyway, she stepped out into this clearing and takes out this flute. Alright, I’ll admit it-the music, at first was nice. BUT, NOW ITS DRIVING US GOATS CRAZY!
You don’t think its a big deal? Fine…how about I visit your bedroom tonight say, around 3 AM and start playing some frigging wind instrument right in your face. Maybe then you’ll know the living Hell that us goats are going through with this crazy babe in the forest.
For Fandago’s new Flash Fiction Challenge
Promoter Frank Knoles realized too late what he hadn’t done right
As to why a new act flopped on opening night
Frank had been in showbiz for close to thirty-five years
“Knoles has a nose for talent”, his reputation from peers
Gonzaldo the great and Miss Edna’s trained mice were a few of his clients
Minor successes in their own ways, just not box office giants
This new performer he premiered was a large strongman from Brussels
Piotr Yawnvergerschueder and his magnificent muscles
It’s not that his act was lousy or without flair
It’s just that the theatre was empty with nobody there
Frank realized his mistake in one starling notion
He had shortened Piotr’s name for easier promotion
It’s always a hard sell to get people in seeing a new artist perform
Especially a talent that’s been billed poorly as “THE BIG YAWN”
This post is part of SoCS
Christine was driving over to her Parent’s house in a furious state of mind. She had just walked out on her boyfriend of two months, Scott. He wasn’t a total loser but, his final insult of her value to him an hour earlier was the final straw. He was a man of frugality, never wanting to spend any exuberant amount of money on any of their dates. Scott always claimed to be “great with a budget”, a trait that Christine actually admired in his personality. She was never good at finances herself, often finding her checking account slightly overdrawn.
However, there is a difference between being “financially astute” and just being downright “cheap”. It was the realization that Scott was the latter that finally pushed Christine out the door.
Valentine’s day came and with it Scott went surprisingly overboard earlier with the gifts. Christine was shocked to receive multiple stuffed animals, various boxes of chocolates and at least five huge metallic balloons. This was highly unlike Scott to spend this kind of money on her.
Christine had come over to Scott’s place right after work and was greeted at the door by Scott holding a giant teddy bear. She entered his apartment and gasped at the generous pile of gifts he had for her on his coffee table.
Twenty three minutes later, Christine had stormed out through Scott’s front door in total disgust. She got in her car and started driving over to her folk’s house.
It wasn’t that the abundance of gifts weren’t wanted or welcomed. Scott just decided to give them to Christine the day after Valentines day. He purposely waited for all the merchandise to be discounted. Upon admitting this to her, Christine dumped Scott right there in his living room. She did grab one small heart-shaped box of candy on her way out the door, always being fond of dark chocolates-no matter what the price.
He woke up to her wall
Cold and clear in its structure
A night of opnions provided the material
Built from his words
Now, he is blocked out
Wounded by isolation
He needs to reconnect
Break through with insight
She awaits his attempt
That recognition of regret
With clarity he chips away
The impenetrable now accessible
Their embrace reconstructs their love
Lives awakened in deepest sleep
Her stories take ongoing forms
Scenes in slumber
The creating dreams play once again
A lifetime in seconds
Is it her past repeated?
Present moments perhaps mirrored
Or a world visible to her mind alone
Stories with no ends
An ongoing flow of questions
A process of breathing
The passion of her writing never rests
This was written in response to The Hunted Wordsmith’s prompt
He saw the campfire and guessed who would be there. An open flame usually brought lustful teens together. He would kill them all. They deserved it living their perverted ways. He walked towards the flame, clown mask on and machete out.
Earl “Reaper” Toomey looked amoung his fellow bikers of the ‘Satan’s Sons’ gang. They were getting restless just drinking out in the woods. They needed to beat someone’s ass, just for the Hell of it.
As a clown-faced man jumped out Reaper and his eight buddies stood up. They cracked their knuckles and grinned in delight.
Written for this week’s Friday Fictioneers prompt from Rochelle Wisoff-Fields. Photo Credit: Anshu Bhonjnagarwala
Another innovative weapon had been introduced today by the FloraTech corporation. This field is the result from years of hybrid research. Each flower grown here, has been spliced together with the poison of the African tree frog. A touch of their pedals now inflicts instant paralysis on any invading enemies.
The sound of her Dad tapping away on his typewriter always brought great comfort to Nicole growing up. She would sit on this couch and listen to the melody of him writing. She stopped by to visit tonight, happily hearing him still typing away.
Five years after his death.
Written for and inspired by-
Twittering tales #122
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