The Week in #FlashFiction Summary 11-14 thru 11-18

This was an interesting week for me. Busy and full of meeting new folks, both online and in person. It gave me a chance to really reflect on how much I enjoy talking to people. So if you were one of the ones I chatted with this week, I'm so glad I had the opportunity to hobknob with you! On with the summary.

On Monday, I entered the #MenageMonday challenge hosted by Cara Michaels. This time it was a YA version because her judge was the birthday boy and had just turned 10 years old. It was fun to come up with 200 words to the following photo, the phrase "eye of a [...]", and using Sherlock Holmes as a character, though not necessarily the main character. I won Honorable Mention for my entry.

“It’s gonna work, Tiffany,” Ryan stated as he set out all the paraphernalia he needed.

“You’re gonna bring Sherlock Holmes forward in time to help us solve the mystery of why your uncle went missing? Ryan, he’s a fictional character. You can’t bring him ‘forward in time’ when he never really existed.”

“He did,” he insisted. “And I’m gonna prove it. And then he’s gonna find my uncle.”

Four pop cans with railroad spikes wired to them stood half buried in the sand of the old playground, wired together in a large square. One corner went under the old swingset, but Ryan said “it couldn’t be helped” and they’d wound the swings up on the crossbar. Ryan said the sand was perfect for the “space bubble” to make the time tunnel.

“Okay, are you ready?”

“Are you?”

“Here we go.”

Ryan touched the wires to his dad’s car battery and the flash of light knocked him on his butt. A blue bubble grew beneath the swingset.

“It looks like the eye of a husky,” she whispered.

When the tall man in a long checkered coat holding a funky pipe stepped out on the sand, Tiffany's jaw dropped to the ground.

Elementary, my dear! Also on Monday, I wrote a 500 word piece for #MotivationMonday hosted by Wakefield Mahon. It's entitled "Amazing Grace" and I was the winner. We had to write to the following photo continuing after the phrase prompt:

“I heard the Asian preacher playing trumpet outside of the station.”

When Grace looked up at the strange statement, she almost dropped her latte. It wasn't an Asian preacher, but an extraordinarily beautiful male with a long horn pressed to his lips on top of the courthouse across the street. Chiseled features stood out starkly against the crystal blue sky as his chest expanded to blow another anthem of notes. Grace stopped short, gaping as a pair of great white wings extended out behind his back and the music of the horn danced through the autumn air. Grumbled comments of other pedestrians who hadn’t expected her to stop surged around her.

Grace glanced at her fellow foot travelers, wondering if they saw the handsome man with the wings and horn, but no one else stopped. She frowned and looked again, but he’d disappeared.

I must have imagined it.

She shook her head and resumed her journey, going over the chores she had to finish when she got home that day. She hadn’t realized she dropped her head until she ran into someone. Someone tall and hard, who smelled like sandalwood incense until her latte added its own scent when it splashed across his belly.

“Be easy, Grace. I’ve got you.”

She looked up, way up, into the light brown eyes of the man holding her steady and froze. The same chiseled features she’d seen on the rooftop faced her with a compassionate smile curling his sensual lips. The wings visible over his shoulders shone white in the reflected light off the buildings, but no feathers shifted in the mild breeze. The skin was leathery, like a bat’s wing, and a small clawed thumb gripped the edge of the longest wing-finger.

“What are you?”

He cocked his head to one side as his smile broadened. “What do you think I am, Grace?”

“When I first saw you with the wings and the trumpet . . .”

He laughed and the music in his laughter tempted her to join him. “An angel?”

“Yes, but now . . .”

“But now?” he prompted.

 She huffed with exasperation. “Now you don’t have a trumpet. Where did you put that thing, anyway? And what’s with the bat’s wings? I expected feathers.”

He laughed again, tucking her arm into his as one leathery wing extended around her shoulders, hugging her to his side.

“Contrary to popular belief, angels come in all shapes and sizes, with all kinds of wings. Mine just happen to look like this.” He pulled her against his chest as the other wing closed around her, encasing her in a sandalwood scented world with his blazing golden eyes staring down at her. “I wanted you to know I’m here for you.”

“Here for me? What are you talking about?”

He leaned forward and kissed her forehead, then returned her to the world in front of a speeding taxi. Horns blared and people screamed as her world shattered into brightness, her latte spilling across the asphalt like golden blood.

“Be easy, Grace. I’ve got you."

Dragon winged angels are my all time favorite! :) On Tuesday, I found Buffy Christopher hosting Six line Sunday on her blog and while I was a little late, I couldn't resist writing a short six line story to the following photo. 

“Lift me just a little higher, Max.”

“I don’t want to lift you, I want to kiss you,” he grunted as her knee hit him in the side.

“But I want to climb the wall.”

“You’re not wearing the right shoes, Tess,” he remarked.

“Since when has that ever stopped me?” she retorted, reaching higher.

He sighed as he pulled her butt up higher, enjoying the soft press of her breasts against his face as she attained her goal.

Also on Tuesday, I wrote a quick 100 words for #TuesdayTales hosted by Stevie McCoy. There were two prompts, the word "hastate", which means "spear shaped" and the following photo.

Mirriam stared in wonder as she crouched at the edge of the glen. The sparkling lights had beckoned her from her home to Sherwood Forest and she’d expected faeries dancing in a sacred stone circle. But when she arrived, the lights glinting through the trees came from flowers. Each flower started as a hastate bud, then opened in a brilliant shot of light, adding its color and scent to the air.

One steel blue bud swirled open below her nose, bathing her in glorious sapphire light.

“Blessings be with you,” she heard whispered and her heart sang with peaceful joy.

Today, there are two blogs I write for. The first is #100words with the #FridayFictioneers hosted by Madison Woods. We were asked to write 100 words to the following photo. This is the beginning to a story that has been brewing for a few months and is waiting for the editing projects to end. I've entitled this 100 words "Taking the Reins".

Bethany viciously kicked the loose stones on the road as she walked while Killian ambled along beside her. She wanted to scream and hurl the rocks in a tantrum, but she had too much respect for her equine companion and her hands fisted on the reins.

“Damn him!”

Killian tossed his head at her outburst and she patted his neck. It wasn’t her horse’s fault her father was a controlling, arrogant bastard. Just because he was a US Senator didn’t mean he could dictate who she’d marry. Dammit, this wasn’t the middle ages when men sold off women for land!

More to come on Bethany and company soon! Also, today I wrote 100 words for #FridayPictureShow challenge hosted by Jen DeSantis. The requirements are 100 words exactly for the following photo prompt. Mine is entitled, "Seven Sisters."

Seven sisters in a line

Waiting for rescue sublime.

Seven songs sung at the dawn

Bring them to windows drawn

To gaze upon a frightful sight

Of Demon Horde and one black knight.

Says he, “One of you will have to pay

So others may survive this day.

Choose one among you for sacrifice

To pay for all the pain and vice

You’ve brought to our simple land.”

Seven sisters then clasp hands

And Serena, youngest one of all,

Offers to be the one to fall.

For six sisters she loves most

To save them from the Demon Host.

Thank you for joining me today and I hope you enjoyed all the stories. Come back for a snippet of a Pirate tale on Sunday and have a great Thanksgiving week! Happy reading! :)

The Week in #FlashFiction Summary 11-7 thru 11-11

Happy Friday 11-11-11! Do you know the last time this date came around it was 100 years ago? Woo-hoo! Also, Happy Veteran's Day! I had two grandfathers in the military; my dad's dad was a Marine in the First World War and my mom's dad was an Army air corps mechanic on the B-29 Superfortresses in WWII. Blessings to those who have served and those who still do. I greatly appreciate your sacrifices and efforts in serving for your country.

Now, on to the #flashfiction for this week. On Monday, I participated in #MenageMonday where we had 200 words to create a story from the following photo, the phrase "say what you want" and the word "risible", meaning something provoking laughter. Here's my entry inspired by Mr. SM and the movie Hitman, entitled, "Diana".

“Diana” sat at a little wrought iron table, tapping away at her laptop. Evening sunshine burnished the ornate buildings around the square, suffusing the café in shadow. She was grateful for the cut in heat.

“Your target is Consuela Aragon, daughter of the Spanish Ambassador,” she typed, knowing her voice would sound smooth, elegant and faintly British to the assassin on the other end. “The client wants her death to be embarrassing to the ambassador as a message to curb his vices. The client wishes for the body to be found in a public place and had some suggestions: a disco, strip club, or brothel. Can you comply?”

She raised her coffee cup to her lips, savoring the lightly sweetened libation as it rolled over her tongue. Say what you want about the Italians, they made a damn good cuppa. She tucked one patent leather heeled foot behind the other under her chair as the words “I can comply” appeared on her screen. She typed, “Confirmed. Transmitting data”, then closed the laptop.

“Hello, Diana. I’ve missed you.”

The visage before her wasn’t risible. “Hello, 47. I trust you’ve been well?”

Her bald companion smiled and sat, adjusting his red tie.

Also on Monday, I was the judge for #MotivationMonday where the writers had 500 words to create a story from the following first line: "Somehow he wasn't surprised that it was snowing in Austin on June 19th." Mine was ineligible, but it's entitled "Temporal Adjustment".

Somehow he wasn't surprised that it was snowing in Austin on June 19th. Not that it looked like Austin, or that calendars had been discovered yet. Wind whistled across the open savannah, driving snow before it like the cottonwood seeds he used to see here. Well, back in his own time. He tightened the bison hide around his shoulders with a sturdy hemp belt and turned his back to the wind, grateful he still had his flannel shirt, fleece gloves, wool hat, and scarf. He’d abandoned the down parka to the Giant Short-Faced Bear he’d encountered two weeks ago. Damn thing though he smelled like chicken!

Hoisting his overnight pack up onto his shoulders, he continued his trek southwest across the brittle plains. When he’d come through the time portal, he hadn’t expected to be thrown into the Ice Age of Austin. He’d expected to land somewhere near the late Pleistocene when things started to warm up and the harsh cold weather was tapering off. The great ice caps were supposed to be retreating northward back to Canada and Alaska, not advancing further south. He grumbled for the millionth time about sloppy calculations and poor research.

Damn graduate students!

The wind howled again, sounding almost like a voice calling him. No, wait, that was a voice!

“Doctor Sterling! Doctor Sterling!”

He looked back over his shoulder to see a figure lumbering toward him in a black parka and large backpack. He recognized both the voice and the shape of his senior grad student Cara Zephyr. What the hell was she doing here?

“It worked, Dr. Sterling! Isn’t it great?!” she crowed as she reached him, grabbing his arms and bouncing up and down like an excited puppy.

“What are you doing here? How did you get here?” he demanded harshly.

“I came to see you in your lab and saw the temporal adjustment machine working so I packed my gear and followed you.” She grinned at him with lips unchapped by the harsh elements. “It really worked!”

“Yes, it worked, but there’s no way to get back. I’ve tried.”

“You’ve tried to get back?” She cocked her head. “What do you mean? How long have you been here?”

“Two weeks!”

Her eyebrows disappeared under the brim of her fleece hat. “Really? Wow!” He wanted to shake her out of her enthusiasm. “Did you forget your return transponder?”

“My what?”

“Didn’t you read Tom’s notes?” Cara dug around in one of her voluminous pockets, withdrawing a small steel pocket watch. “Tom said he’d found that something could go through the worm hole made by the Temporal Adjustment Machine, but couldn’t come back unless there was a transponder attached to the item set to the frequency of our own time.”

She held up the open-faced watch. A digital read-out showed June 19^th 2011, 09:34 LAT 30˚ 17’ N, LON 97˚44’ W.

Maybe his grad students weren’t so sloppy after all.

“Let’s go home.”

“But I just got here!”

"We can always come back, Cara. You just proved it." He took her arm, leading the way.

Great thanks to Cara Michaels, Sterling Priest, and Tom Keller for starring in my little play in words. ;)

On Wednesday, I participated in the #HumpDayChallenge where we had 100 words to make a story with the five word prompts of "emaciated", "stomp", "veil", "tar", and "miraculous". I'd been discussing novel first lines with a friend and wrote the following first line to make her smile. Then I used it to start this little story entitled "No Trespassing".

The sign said 'No Trespassing', but the oozing lines of blood marring the words suggested someone had ignored the warning. An emaciated padlock dangled unharmed from the gate beside the chain link fence torn open like tissue paper. The Druid Priest stomped his feet and chanted in hopes of calling upon the Fae across the Veil for some sort of miraculous response to save us and the town.

“This ain’t gonna work,” Thompson growled. “That thing’s gonna beat the tar outta us, we go in there.”

“Shut up. You got any better ideas?” I retorted.

“Nah. Just sayin’ is all.”

Today, I wrote 100 words for the #FridayFictioneers using the following photo prompt. I've entitled it "Piper's Dawn".

The third night Suriya heard the pipes on the wind, she resolved to find them. Legend had it the Pipers only came out at dusk and dawn; the first to send the sun to bed and the second to bid it rise.

Bedding down in the crackling leaves at the edge of the sleeping autumn forest, Suriya waited for dawn with anticipation firing her blood. The silvery sound of the pipes built around her just as the sun’s light crested the ridge. Tiny Pipers danced around her, luminescent in the glorious sunrise, and winked in acknowledgement of her marveling presence. 

Also today, I wrote 100 words for #FridayPictureShow using the following photo prompt. It's entitled, "Lost Carnival".

The old coaster stands derelict now, rust corroding the rails, support ties lying in crumbling disarray; but I’ve heard the hoots of a pipe organ playing carnival tunes at night and smelled the scents of popcorn and cotton candy in the breeze.

I’ve seen sparkling lights beckoning from the overgrown fairgrounds, but I’ve never found anything other than an old brass game token, the kind they used to give out to revelers for the rides.

Just last night I heard the clackity-clack of the coaster’s wheels and the joyful screams of the riders. Tonight I’ll be there with my camera.

Thanks for stopping by. I hope you've enjoyed the summary and you're more than welcome to stop by this Sunday for Six Sentence Sunday, a snippet of my WIP entitled The Goblin King. Happy reading! :)

The Week in #FlashFiction Summary 10-31 thru 11-4

This was a full week of #Flashfiction and I wrote more than I have just to keep up with all the challenges. Because it was Halloween on Monday, the #MenageMonday blog by Cara Michaels was appropriately moody with the following photo, the phrase "didn't see (insert phrase) coming", and my judge's prompt of Borophagus, the extinct North American bone crushing dog. ;) We were allowed up to 500 words. I was judge, so my entry didn't count, but here it is, Title: A Dog Day.

I sighed with contentment as I rested my back against rugged hillside; well, mountainside, really. The sun warmed my shoulders and the crown of my head through my straw hat. The environment was changing once again. We humans changed the landscape of our world, but the planet itself went through cycles and environmental variations, the likes of which we’d never seen.

Gazing down at the valley before me while I munched on an apple, I followed the relatively new railroad tracks marring the pristine desert landscape with “progress” and mentally changed the vegetation and geomorphology of the vista. The scraggly trees shot another twenty feet in the air and larger bushes plumped along the filling streambeds like mushrooms. A herd of giant ground sloths ambled slowly away from the pack of Borophagus canids, scoping out the prey animals. They in turn were watched by a pride of Smilodons, the great sabertoothed cats, their chief rivals for the herds of bison, mastodons, and sloths.

I sighed again. God, I loved paleo! The critters were so much cooler than the ones we had in the world today. I tossed the apple core down the rocky slope, then sneezed as grass fronds shot past my ears, the entire hill becoming furred like the back of a long-haired cat.

“What the – ?”

I froze as the two predator groups turned their heads, ears perked in my direction. Could they hear me? How was that possible? This was my fantasy, dammit!

I lifted my daypack silently, never taking my eyes from the hungry predators. No outrunning them, but maybe I could deter them. I dragged my rock hammer out of its nylon cocoon and gripped the rubber handle tight enough to etch the pattern into my palm as I got my feet under me. I’d fight them standing up.

The Smilodons launched off their ledge first, flowing down their hillock in a tawny wave. They were silent and I just waited with dread. Those long canines they sported were gonna be a bitch to defend against.

A piercing howl raised the hair on the back of my neck as humanoid shapes burst from the grass of the valley just this side of where the railroad tracks had been. Exclusively male, the bipeds met the cats with knives and spears, screaming war cries.

The cats scattered and bolted, leaving two of their number dead on the ground and the humans celebrating their victory by dancing on the bloodied turf.

I must have made another noise because one of them paused and turned my way, hunting for me in the tall grasses. I raised my rock hammer when he arrived in all his loin-clothed and war-painted glory. Fierce brown eyes stared back at me curiously, dismissing the weapon.

A large canid loped up beside him and I flinched in recognition, dropping the hammer. Not Borophagus, he’d befriended Canis dirus.

“Man, I didn’t see this coming,” I squeaked before he grabbed me and threw me over his shoulder.

Also on Monday, I entered #MondayMotivation hosted by Wakefield Mahon where we had 500 words to write a story continuing from the following first line: "Mary stumbled out through the motel room door. The frightened look of the maid reminded her she was covered in blood." I was the winner and will be the judge next week! Here's my winning entry, entitled, The Sacrifice.

“No, no, dammit!" the Legendary Arthur MacKensie growled as he furiously erased the words on the page. "That's pure crap!"

Yeah, legendary, to someone who knew nothing. He hadn't written a good word in weeks, but his editor was hounding him to at least send the beginning to a new story so they knew he was doing something.

Arthur started again. “Mary staggered through the motel room door, her clothes sticking to her where the blood soaked through. A passing maid shrieked and tossed three fluffy towels into the air in her hurry to get away.”

That was a little better, but still not what he wanted. He banged his head against the desk and moaned.

“You know I can give you what you want, Arthur.”

“I know.”

He raised his head and looked over at his best armchair. Kiera sat with one leg crossed demurely over the other under her skirt, her hands folded in her lap. His Muse, the woman who promised much and took much more.

“But there’s a price.”

“There always is.”

She gave him a half smile, never revealing her teeth. “This time it could be worth it.”

It could be. He’d benefited from her help before, his books selling millions. Her help had gotten him this luxurious house, the Aston Marten in the drive, and the adulation of the world. But it had cost him his wife, family, and quiet moments out in public. He was a famous celebrity. It should’ve been enough. But lately, it had started to pall.

“Tell me how it could be worth it.”

Kiera threw back her head and laughed, sensing victory. “Oh, Arthur, this will be the best one yet.” She rose in a fluid movement and slid behind him, draping her arms over his shoulders. “The story will bring people laughter to lighten their hearts, tears to cleanse their souls; even suspense and thrills. It will be your greatest masterpiece.”

He nodded, resigned. “Will I get to enjoy any of it?”

She was silent for so long fear froze him solid and his testicles tried to crawl up inside his body, seeking warmth.

            “Arthur, you can enjoy it, but not in this form. You must choose to expand your horizons.”

            He nodded again and pulled out of her arms as he stood up. He sought her hematite colored eyes, swallowed hard, then tilted his head to one side in offering. She smiled widely, the sharp points of her canines flashing before she wrapped him in her embrace.

            “This will only hurt for a moment, beloved,” she whispered before she bit him.

            Sharp pain quickly diminished before the surge of sensual lust blooming within him, his penis hardening without his say so.

            “Oh God, yes!”

           

            “Famous reclusive author Arthur MacKensie is missing. Despite the success of his latest novel, he would not answer calls from his publisher. Police have no leads in his disappearance.

            In other news, the Bloodless Butcher has struck again, increasing the victims to nine.”

On Wednesday November 2nd, I added a 100 word post for the #HumpDay Challenge hosted by Tracey Hansen to the prompts of "station", "humble", "crossed", "tooth" and "hover". It's entitled, Razrael's Redemption.

They followed the path taken by Jesus that fateful day, now called the Stations of the Cross, in small groups here and there. Pilgrims from all walks of life, both humble and genteel, flooded Jerusalem every year, looking for salvation from the remnants of a saint. Razrael snorted with derision as he crossed to the long evening shadows of the building ahead. He picked a tooth with one sharp claw as he hovered over an old woman praying. She’d be a perfect meal.

As he reached for her, she remarked, “There’s still hope for you, Razrael.”

“Mary? Is that you?”

Thursday November 3rd, I joined the #3-4Thursday Challenge hosted by DRyan Leask where you can write on 300 word story with all the prompts or 3 100 word "blind" stories when the prompts are given. I chose the blind version to the three prompts of "The story is the character's last letter or letter to someone special", "every breath (someone/thing) take", and "mustache". The voting for the best story will be open until Monday so go check out the other entries. I had Weird Al Yankovic's song "Since You've Been Gone" in my head when I wrote mine, which is entitled, His Beloved.

Dearest Cynthia,

I miss you so much, it feels like my heart has stopped beating in my chest. Each breath I take slides into my lungs with the sharpness of broken glass and my ribs hurt with the effort. When you left to go visit your folks in Saskatchewan, I thought it would only last a couple of weeks, but as it turned into months, the time has dragged me through my days like I’m trudging through sludge. My whole body aches with the effort to move. Waking up is almost as painful as dreaming of you with me.

Yesterday, Mrs. Crenshaw pruned her roses for winter, the ones you love so much because they smell like your perfume. Every breath I take is full of your scent when I walk past her yard waste bags warming in the waning sun of autumn and it brings tears to my eyes. I cry so much from your absence my eyes sting like I’ve washed them in vinegar and my abdomen cramps with my sobs. The scents of you and your little Chihuahua Kinzey are slowly fading and I scour the corners of the house for little mementos of your presences.

I’m surprised how much your absence affects me and what a difference it’s made now that you aren’t here. My house is so clean it sparkles and the stench of unwashed canine and dog shit is gone when I walk through the door. I don’t find random hairs woven into my mustache; my couch is free of the fur that works its way into all my good dress pants. I’m breathing easily for the first time in years and your decision to stay home longer warms my heart. I’m sure your parents are thrilled. I know I am.

Sincerely, Kurt

Today, Friday November 4th, I've posted 2 100 word entries in the #FridayPictureShow challenge hosted by Jen DeSantis to the following photo prompt. No title for this one, and if you want to read the other, please visit her site.

The dream started off slowly, sensation skimming up along Rhianna’s legs with fingers of pleasure. His body took shape in her awareness; dark hair, broad shoulders, and heat, so much heat. A rigid length of velvet covered steel pressed against her thigh. His lips sealed over one breast, his tongue dancing wet circles around the nipple. She arched, moaning as he slid inside, grateful his visits had increased after Bobby walked out.

“Are you ready, my love?”

“Ready? Always.”

Orgasm shot her into the heavens with him, his arms holding her, and she sailed through the starlit bliss until morning.

There is also the #FridayFictioneers hosted by Madison Woods where you're given a photo prompt and #100words to tell your story. Here's mine, entitled "The Promise".

The forgotten road wended through the bare-branched tunnel of sleeping trees and brush, leading to a place of legend.

I knew I’d find the magic if I followed it, but I didn’t know if I’d find him again. He’d promised to meet me here on the Winter Solstice, his kisses offering more than fleeting pleasure, but it had been so long since I last saw him. Would he hold true to his promise?

In the fading light of day, he appeared, offering me his hand and a wide triumphant smile

“Come, my Lady.”

Squaring my shoulders, I took his hand.

So that's it for this week. Do visit all the blogs. There are many opportunities to write #flashfiction all week long, these are just a few of my favorites. And come back again to see my #sixsunday post this weekend! Happy reading! :)