There Was A Caper in Washington

I wrote this for the August 29th Flash Fiction Challenge

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Marni left school about 4:00 and headed for the teacher’s parking when out of nowhere she was flanked by two burly men with sunglasses and dark suits.

“You guys Special Agents?” she looked back and forth.

The left guy flashed a badge case, she caught a glimpse of tin. The right tendered a card, they were indeed Feds.

“We need to speak with your father, Miss Gilroy.”

“Last I heard he was still in jail,” she answered.

First agent, “We think he might’ve been in Seattle last night.”

“You haven’t seen him, then?” the second agent asked.

“Nope, sorry.”

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The prompt: In 99 words (no more, no less) write a story about the safebreaker’s daughter. Who is she, what did she do, and where? Go where the prompt leads you!

OLWG#117- In Memory of Katherine Rabine

 Written for OLWG#117

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Katherine Rabine was not a normal girl.

She spoke only seldom and seemed always to be in the presence of feathered creatures. All types of birds. Sparrows and dickie birds seemed to hover incessantly. Ravens and crows circled high above. Bright colourful parrots and macaws perched nearby and watched her every move. They protected her.

 Katherine had amazing blue eyes. The iris of her right eye was turquoise; lots of green and lots of blue, with a wee touch of red. it looked like a tropical island sky at midday. Her left eye was different, more an aqua; all green and blue without a trace of red. The colour of Caribbean waters lying over a sandbar.

 

The pupil on her left was dark and inky. It shone and reflected your image if you peered close enough. It gave the impression that she could see into your soul. The other pupil looked like a void; empty, deep, and bottomless. A hole in the sky for the birds to fly through. A passageway from there to here.

 

Katherine Rabine was not a normal girl.

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The prompts were:

1. Where the grass grows uphill
2. A hole in the sky for the birds to fly through
3. Written in fire

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Just Up From The Compleat Angler

I wrote this for the August 22nd Flash Fiction Challenge

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In the village of Marlow, Buckinghamshire, the visitor will find an agreeable climate, a magnificent bridge, delightful restaurants, and river walks. At the top of the High Street sits Albion House, where Percy Bysshe Shelley and his wife Mary lived. In this house, Mary Shelley finished her Gothic novel.

It’s a lovely old home; painted white. It features floors of hardwood and terracotta tiles. French doors open to a small garden off the ground floor, and the entire structure glows with the patina brought by old age and meticulous care. A simple, small brass plaque marks its literary significance.

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The prompt: In 99 words (no more, no less) write a story about old world charm. It can be nostalgic or irreverent. You can invent an “old world,” return to migrant roots or recall ancient times. Go where the prompt leads you!

OLWG#115- Whydon’tcha?

 Written for OLWG#115

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The thin man, with the grey buff Stetson, sat a bit taller at the bar, reached into his coat pocket and fished around till he found his crumpled pack of Marlboro Reds. Pulling out the last cigarette he held it up to the light and tried to straighten it. He was moderately successful so he pulled a blue tip match from his hatband and struck it alight with his thumbnail. He repeated this step three times before he finally got the smoke lit.

Behind the bar Andi ambled his direction, “Dusty, ya’ll know ya can’t smoke in here. Ya gotta either put that out now, or go outside.” She put her hands on her hips and glared at him; challenged him.

He looked back at her, “Hi, Andi,” he said. He closed his eyes, rubbed the stubble on his chin and smiled absently at her.

“Dusty, yore all liquored up again. You oughta just go home.”

“I’m never going home agin, Andi. ‘Less you let me come home with you!” He took a long draw on the cigarette and blew the smoke in her direction.

She shook her head and teetered away, back down the bar. Zimmerrman raised his finger, signaling for another gin fizz.

An older woman a couple of stools down piped up, “I’ll take ya home Dusty.”

The thin cowboy looked down at her, “Jeeze, Ma; what’re you doing here? Aren’t you missing the Channel 7 News?”

“It’s OK, honey. I got yore ole bed for you to sleep in. Still have those ‘Cowboy Bob’ sheets you liked so much. Nothing’s changed.”

Dusty grimaced and spun on his seat. He stood to leave and started stumbling towards the door.

Andi called out after him, “Give my best to Rose Marie, Dusty. We’ll see you guys for dinner t’morrow night. Don’t forget to bring that drain snake. Our downstairs toilet is clogged again and Dave can’t clear it with the tools he’s got.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Dusty murmured under his breath. He raised his left hand in a kinda half-assed wave.

The door swung closed behind him and his mother hollered out, “See ya, boy. Bring those grandkids around for a visit sometime, whydon’tcha?”

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The prompts were:

1. the final year of growth and liberation
2. liquored up
3. never going home

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Miss Scarlet- In the Kitchen- With an Apple

I wrote this for the August 8th Flash Fiction Challenge

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She who’d smiled and cooed when she gave him the fruit,
now laughed out loud
and watched him chew.
The fruit glowed red, juicy, crisp, and tart.
When he bit in, droplets ran to his shirt and
down his chin.
They burned through the soft cotton and scarred his skin.

He reached for her, in pain, confused;
his finger was cut
on the hem of her red pleated skirt.
I watched the rent spread wide, filling with crimson before
overflowing the wound and splashing onto her open-toed mules.
Shoes that were once white, were now scarlet,
like her name.

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The prompt: In 99 words (no more, no less) write a story about a poisoned apple. Let’s explore dark myth. Deconstruct the original or invent something new. Negotiate the shadows, shed light, but go where the prompt leads you!