Thank you to Alistair at Sunday Photo Fiction for hosting. If you’d like to join in, click here. To read more stories click here⇒
© Mike Vore
The Princess of Hardy County, West Virginia
“Rise! Rise! I am the Princess of Hardy County, West Virginia!” I danced in sunshine between cow patties, velvety mullein, and prickly purple thistles. The rush through the pine grove whispered rain.
Warning: Minor adult situation and possibly offensive language (how does one really correctly gauge these things?). Like this? If you’re easily offended, read no further? Blah.
ps This gives a whole new (maybe old) meaning to flash fiction.
Something of a Dreamer
Elsa was known for digging up obscure songs by famous singers. She’d share the really good ones. After my failed crush on a man who barely registered my existence, she played this song by Mary Chapin Carpenter, “Something of a Dreamer.”
Take It All Back
“Don’t tell me I’m overreacting. You’re nothing but a stupid redneck hick.” As the words escape, Melissa regrets them, but some awful force makes her continue. Meanness molds every word.
Thanks to Rochelle for hosting Friday Fictioneers. If you’d like to join in, click here.
PHOTO PROMPT © Claire Sheldon
Nothing But My Aching Soul
I feel for Jocelyn.
What if my husband left me for a twenty-something bikinied selfie-taker whose photos Continue reading
PHOTO PROMPT © Rochelle Wisoff-Fields
Thanks for Rochelle for hosting Friday Fictioneers. If you want to read participate, click here.
Carrot Ranch Flash Fiction Challenge. June 22, 2017 prompt: In 99 words (no more, no less) write a story that involves a dream. This action could have happened while awake, such as daydreaming, or make up a dream when asleep. Go where the prompt leads as it could be a nightmare or just fond memories or ambition.
This is #2 and fictional, although a very similar theme to the first.
I feel gentle fingertips caress my temple, wake to his brown eyes fastened on mine, concern etched in them. His breath, hot upon my cheek, once would have been enough.
“Are you getting up?” he asks, a whisper.
“I need a little more sleep,” I say. He nods, kisses my brow. I almost pull him to me, to have him close.
I’ve never told him that sometimes she appears in dreams and her laughter clutches me. I sleep hoping to dream of her.
I think I hear him say: “Please come back to me” before I slide into slumber.
Lucy Kilgore; the last one? This is #8.
photo by Christian Widell via Unsplash
3 Line Tales. Thanks to Sonya who provides the photo prompt. Click here to join in.
This is a bit longer than the stories I usually post. However, if you have the time, please tell me your thoughts. I would very much appreciate it. Many, many thanks, Sascha. (ps. I am happy to read your longer piece as well, just let me know…except if it’s novel length (sorry).
The Gray Area
I’ve been over twenty hours on this highway, watching the pavement slide under the tires, passing through rain that glosses the road over like ice and nighttime in which reality becomes the repetition of a white dotted line against black. My headlights show the tawny sleekness of deer at the edge of the highway, the fat waddle of groundhogs, and, for hours, a plentitude of nothing except images like a succession of stills from a movie many years old.