Two for Tuesday Challenge # 13 – June 18 – 24

Flash fiction challenges such as Five Sentence Fiction has kept me writing and improved my craft, so I serve up some here every Tuesday. Since every one likes choices I’m providing you with two weekly writing prompts.  You can participate in either one, or double your pleasure by trying your hand at both. Submit your efforts any time between now and next Tuesday.

The Standard Prompt will always consist of a two-word prompt to be used as inspiration. The Non-Standard Prompt will change from week to week. Sometimes it will be a visual prompt, sometimes a first sentence or phrase, sometimes a scenario, etc.  The limit for the Two for Tuesday Standard Prompts is 200 words and the Non Standard Prompt has a minimum of 200 words but no limit allowing for more in depth explorations. Use the little blue link thing below to submit your link or leave an entry in the comments section.

Don’t forget to check out the other entries.

Since this is Challenge #13, I felt two sinister prompts were in order. Here is this week’s two-fer:

Standard Prompt:
ghost image

You have lots of creative leeway. The limit is 200 words. The words can be used:

• simply as a point of inspiration and do not have to be used directly
• they can be included exactly as provided
• or each word can be used independently of each other (for example if Death Row was the prompt instead of crafting a story about an inmate on the way to the gallows, you might write something like: Despite feeling like death from an excess of cheap vodka consumed the night before, Evelyn moved on to planting her next row of spinach).

Non-Standard Prompt:
This week’s alternative prompt is a senario:

Thumping and yelling is heard coming from next door through the paper thin apartment walls.  When Mark flushes after using the toilet, the bowl clogs and backs up with copious amounts of blood.

As per usual with the Non-Standard Prompt there is no word limit (to allow for more in depth explorations) but there is a minimum of 200 words.

Write on!

If you prefer to write first and read later, be forewarned that my own personal effort follows.  This week I opted for just the Non-Standard prompt. It’s a lot longer than ususal but I hope you enjoy it:

Flushed (1777 Words)

Jeezez, she’s at it again, thought Mark, what time is it, 2:00? He checked the clock, it was actually 2:23. The staccato delivery of angry words from next door were muffled by insulation and wall board as if he were hearing the argument from underwater. It wasn’t all one sided, there were both the high registers of a woman and the deeper notes of a man’s voice.  Mark’s neighbor, Haley, was a high maintenance girl. At least that was his impression from the limited observations of passing her in the hall or occasionally sharing an elevator with her.  She obviously was having a bit of a row with her latest beau, who was in some kind of investment banking, day trading or financial related vocation. He wore expensive looking suits, slicked his hair back and sported a Don Johnson-esque perpetual 5-day growth of beard.

There was a loud thump against one of the shared walls. It was hard enough to topple a stack of change on Mark’s dresser. “Whoa. That’s getting a little out of hand.” He could hear more heated exchanges and something was broken.  The yelling became less intrusive. They must have moved to another room that didn’t back up to Mark’s bedroom.  His eyes drooped closed and his desperate need for sleep filtered out the rest of the noise.

He jolted awake to a complaining bladder. With eyes still closed he did the Helen Keller dance through the darkness trying to avoid barking his shin on the blanket chest or raising a bruise on his thigh from the corner of his dresser on the way to the master bath. With the light still off he flushed when he was finished but the toilet gave a paltry little burble rather than the customary rushing whoosh. He turned the light on and peered in the bowl. There was just a small puddle barely filling the recess at the bottom.

Before he even had a chance to grab the plunger a spiral of red curled into his toilet followed by a “floop” sound and a rush of about a gallon of a thick, muddy, crimson mixture.

“Christ! What the—?” He shook the handle and a whole dark red mass of blood and hair burbled up, inching towards the rim, threatening to overflow.  Mark kicked the white throw rug out of harm’s way and rammed the plumber’s helper into the middle of the ugly mess and began plunging with an urgency. The slopping and splashing left little polka dots of red on the white porcelain rim and Mark gagged twice.

As suddenly as the nightmare had flooded his toilet it drained away with a gurgle. With a wad of toilet paper he wiped away the red dots and flushed it down with crossed fingers. After straightening the rug, he vigorously washed his hands.

“Oh my God,” he said aloud, and physically shook off a shiver that ran from head to toe. He went back and stared into his toilet bowl. Everything looked normal, no blood or gore.

Back in the bedroom, the spilled stack of coins on the dresser caught Mark’s eye. That had happened.  There had been an argument going on in Haley’s apartment. Something or someone did bang against the wall, hard enough to knock over some pocket change.

He thought about banging on his neighbor’s door and demand to talk to Haley, but it was after 4:00 in the morning and there was no law against shouting matches. What was he going to say, “You guys were really getting into it about two hours ago?” Was he going to say that his toilet nearly overflowed with blood, which could only have come from her apartment? How was he going to prove it?

He walked back into the bathroom. The toilet was clean and he gave it another flush.  It drained and refilled like normal. There was no hint of blood or evidence of clogging, no proof or indication that anything out of the ordinary had ever taken place.

Mark dropped back onto the bed and didn’t even bother to slide beneath the covers.  He gave his face a rough quick massage with both hands and let out an extended sigh. Exhaustion soon won out and he drifted into an uneasy sleep.

When he woke the sun was slanting through the windows from a higher angle than usual. He had slept through much of the morning and there was a persistent banging. Someone was knocking on the door.

“Coming! Coming!” he called. Mark opened the door to two suited and serious looking men both holding out identification.

“Mr. Winstead?” asked the older of the two and Mark nodded his head in reply. “I’m Detective Harper and this is Detective Briarton. There was a disturbance next door and we’d like to ask a few question.  Mind if we step come in?”

Mark stepped to the side, “No, please.  Anything I can do to help.” He led them into the family room and shifted a bunch of junk from the sofa to the floor. “Make yourselves comfortable.” The one named Harper sat down and nodded to his partner.

“Actually, Mr. Winstead,” said Briarton who remained standing, “we were hoping that I could take a quick look around while you chat with Detective Harper. Nothing in depth, mind you. Just, you know, take a peek in each room. I don’t need to look inside any drawers or anything. But it’s up to you. We don’t have a search warrant at this point.” The man smiled with arched eyebrows waiting for either approval or obstruction.

“Uh…” Mark shook his head. “I don’t know…” An edge of irritation had crept into his voice and he gave a little sigh. “Am I…? Let me get this straight, am I under some kind of suspicion?”

“We don’t have any suspects at this point,” said the older detective. “We’re simply trying to figure out what we have here.  We don’t even know if there is a crime yet. Did you hear anything last night, Mr. Winstead?”

“Please call me Mark, and yes, feel free to take a look around.” He rubbed his face and turned back to Harper as Briarton left the room. “Yeah, I heard an argument. A pretty heavy one, things getting broken and stuff.”

“And what time was this?”

“I don’t know around 2 AM. Maybe a little later, like 2:20-someth—”

“Boss!” Briarton interrupted with a call from the other room, “You need to come see this.”

Mark and Harper exchanged a look and suddenly panic inflated across Mark’s chest as he stood abruptly.  Detective Harper got up from the couch slowly with a side glance at Mark and he stepped from the room towards Briarton’s voice. Mark followed him down the hall to the bathroom where the toilet was brimming red and the white throw rug was soaking up more blood.

“Mr. Winsted, I’m arresting you on suspicion of murder. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law…” From behind the officer someone began knocking on the door.

He jolted awake to the sun was slanting through the windows from a higher angle than usual. He had slept through much of the morning and there was a persistent banging. Someone actually was knocking on the door.

“Coming! Coming!” he called. Mark opened the door to find Haley with a swollen, blackened eye and a few bruises.  She carried a plate of cookies.

“Sorry about all the racket last night.” she gave a shy smile and despite the battering she was still a very attractive girl. “A peace offering.” She held the plate out to him. “They’re still warm. I just finished them.”  She looked at her feet and then back up at him, “A peace offering an a bribe, actually. I was wondering if you could help me take some bags down to the dumpster?”

“Uh, sorry. Thanks for the cookies.  Are you okay?” Mark pointed to his eye indicating her shiner.

“Oh yeah.  I”ll be fine. The asshole’s gone.  He won’t be back.”

“Come on in,” said Mark standing aside. “A cup of coffee, some fresh baked cookies?”

“No. Thanks all the same. Like I said I was hoping you might help me shift some bags of trash. I couldn’t sleep after Gary left. so I did some major spring cleaning.  I used some of those contractor bags and over filled them.  They weigh a ton. If it’s not convenient, I can ask the guy in 403.” She smiled at him again and took a step in towards him.

“No, no. I’ll help you.” He set the plate of cookies down and followed her next door.

Just inside the door were four large heavy duty contractor-style black plastic bags tide and duct taped closed.  Mark grabbed two and shouldered the first one. It was clear that he wasn’t going to be able to carry more than one. “Good God, what’s in here?”

“Make up and shoes,” Haley joked. “Half my life really. The disposable half.  My lease is up next month so I’m starting to clear shit out. I’m getting rid of all the useless stuff.”

The two of them made it down the service elevator with a bag each to the dumpster in the back and hefted them in and went back for the rest.  As Mark was lifting the last bag it snagged on a rusty flange and tore a hole. A thin thread of thick, sticky red liquid drooled from the hole onto the blacktop and splashed a little onto his white running shoes—three drops in the shape of Mickey Mouse. “What the f—?” he said as the bag tipped into the dumpster.

She was on him in a flash and her hand shot to his crotch. “Keep you mouth shut and I can make you a very happy man,” Her hand cupped his balls and she gave them a bit of a caress. He could feel himself growing hard. “Turn against me and you’re balls will be hanging from my rear view mirror.” and she gave them a hard squeeze. “Understand?”

Unable to speak he nodded his head with tears springing to his eyes and she let go. The she stepped up to him and pressed herself against him and said, “Now how about some cookies…and maybe a little cream to go with them?” The bulge grew in Mark’s pants and the blood thrummed in his ears drowning out the little voice in his head that was saying, “Run away!”

Five Sentence Fiction — Home

Monday is when I tackle some Five Sentence Fiction. Feel free to take Lillie McFerrin’s challenge to write a five sentence story based on a single word prompt. The word does not have to appear in your five sentences, just used for direction. This week’s word is Home

Here’s my offering:

Tony Gambolli was cursing the heat from his sweat soaked mattress, a thread bare sheet tangled into a knot at his feet and a ceiling fan ineffectively pushing hot air around the small room. This was his home now and it was a place where time seemed to stand still; it was 3:18 in the morning according to the bedside clock and the fan had developed a tic-tic-tic sound that was nearly as annoying as the small yapping dog somewhere outside. The shade in the window wasn’t long enough to pull all the way down and the neighbor’s post lamp threw a sliver of harsh light across his eyes almost no matter how he lay on the bed. Despite his constantly shifting positions, the mattress relentlessly reflected his body heat mirroring his every move while the warm temperatures made his feet and hands feel like they had swollen to Mickey Mouse proportions. A quick check confirmed that the clock still read 3:18 and Tony belatedly wished he had been a better person when he had still been living.

Got five sentences? Share them!

If you enjoy flash fiction challenges stop by each week to participate in my writing challenge offered every Tuesday. Take your pick from two, yes that’s right, two different prompts that I will be providing right here weekly.

Two for Tuesday Challenge #12 – June 11 – 17

Flash fiction challenges such as Five Sentence Fiction has kept me writing and improved my craft, so I serve up some here every Tuesday. Since every one likes choices I’m providing you with two weekly writing prompts.  You can participate in either one, or double your pleasure by trying your hand at both. Submit your efforts any time between now and next Tuesday.

The Standard Prompt will always consist of a two-word prompt to be used as inspiration. The Non-Standard Prompt will change from week to week. Sometimes it will be a visual prompt, sometimes a first sentence or phrase, sometimes a scenario, etc.  The limit for the Two for Tuesday Standard Prompts is 200 words and the Non Standard Prompt has a minimum of 200 words but no limit allowing for more in depth explorations. Use the little blue link thing below to submit your link or leave an entry in the comments section.

Don’t forget to check out the other entries.

Here is this week’s two-fer:

Standard Prompt:
dirty laundry

You have lots of creative leeway. The limit is 200 words. The words can be used:

• simply as a point of inspiration and do not have to be used directly
• they can be included exactly as provided
• or each word can be used independently of each other (for example if Death Row was the prompt instead of crafting a story about an inmate on the way to the gallows, you might write something like: Despite feeling like death from an excess of cheap vodka consumed the night before, Evelyn moved on to planting her next row of spinach).

Non-Standard Prompt:
This week’s alternative prompt is a visual one, write a story using the photo below. As per usual with the Non-Standard Prompt there is no word limit (to allow for more in depth explorations) but there is a minimum of 200 words.

Write on!

For those who like to write first and read later, be forewarned, my effort follows.

The debris crunched beneath his feet and the smell of years—dust, mildew, gypsum, rot—even after all these years could not quite cover the aroma of sweaty boys (all dirty laundry, hormones and cheap aftershave) mixed with a still detectable whiff of paste wax and disinfectant. The jeers and taunts echoed through the halls of his mind alongside the phantom squeak of tennis shoes and the rhythmic poom-poom-poom of a basketball on hardwood. This room still gave him shivers. There were more than memories haunting these four walls.

“Debakey! Blue team.” At the beginning of the of the basketball unit he was usually greeted with enthusiasm because of his height, but once they had become aware of his shortcomings in the skills department his name usually elicited a chorus of groans. The whole strategy and fast pace of the game had always eluded him and despite his close proximity to the rim he had been a lousy shot. In school he had towered over most of the others, a gawky and insect-like teenager. To make things worse he was shy and introverted, making him a perfect target.

The abuse began with simple name calling. Bug. Frankenstein. Freak. Sasquatch. Then the intimidation began. Tripping in the hallway, shoving in the cafeteria.  From there things had gone from bad to worse. And that is what brought him back all these years later.  The school had sat dormant—abandoned. It was about time someone took the initiative to completely erase the painful memories and so he clicked the lighter open, touched the flame to the gas soaked rag, tossed the bottle, turned and walked away without looking back.

Two for Tuesday Challenge #11 – June 4 – 10

Flash fiction challenges such as Five Sentence Fiction has kept me writing and improved my craft, so I serve up some here every Tuesday. Since every one likes choices I’m providing you with two weekly writing prompts.  You can participate in either one, or double your pleasure by trying your hand at both. Submit your efforts any time between now and next Tuesday.

The Standard Prompt will always consist of a two-word prompt to be used as inspiration. The Non-Standard Prompt will change from week to week. Sometimes it will be a visual prompt, sometimes a first sentence or phrase, sometimes a scenario, etc.  The limit for the Two for Tuesday Standard Prompts is 200 words and the Non Standard Prompt has a minimum of 200 words but no limit allowing for more in depth explorations. Use the little blue link thing below to submit your link or leave an entry in the comments section.

Don’t forget to check out the other entries.

Here is this week’s two-fer:

Standard prompt:
white noise

You have lots of creative leeway. The limit is 200 words. The words can be used:

• simply as a point of inspiration and do not have to be used directly
• they can be included exactly as provided
• or each word can be used independently of each other (for example if Death Row was the prompt instead of crafting a story about an inmate on the way to the gallows, you might write something like: Despite feeling like death from an excess of cheap vodka consumed the night before, Evelyn moved on to planting her next row of spinach).

Non-Standard Prompt:
This week for the alternative prompt, write a story about the Grim Reaper on vacation. As per usual with the Non-standard prompt there is no word limit (to allow for more in depth explorations) but there is a minimum of 200 words.

Write on!

For those who like to write first and read later, be forewarned, my own effort follows. Once again, I have attempted to combine both prompts into one story.

Death Takes a Holiday (481 words)

Grim Reaper’s wife—Dour is her name—was puttering in the kitchen, blackening dinner to the perfect charcoal consistency.  Grim tossed back a second shot of Absinth and Drain-o . “Bad day at the office, dear?” she asked.

“By heaven and hell, yes.” His voice bubbled and rattled like lug nuts boiling in molasses. The words bounced off the blackened walls reverberating with a dark menace.

“You’re echoing, dear. No need for that here. Use your ‘inside voice’ please.” She was waving an acetylene torch over the black lumps in the iron skillet to bring up their ashy finish. The rim of the pan glowed orange and the smell of brimstone filled the air.

“Dinner smells inspired, my little vulture. And you look ravished. I could eat you whole.” He made little slurping noises and his teeth clicked like a thousand writhing beetles.

“Grim, you silver-tongued devil.” A dark shadow raised across her face. “You make me blush. There will be plenty of time for all of that later. Why don’t you turn on the telly? Dinner won’t be ready for another 45 minutes.” Grim flounced down into his chair kicking up a black cloud and pressed the ‘on’ button on the remote.  The TV screen flickered to life—tuned to dead air between channels—filling the den with a bit of white noise fizzing and fluttering like a swarm of termites.

He pulled the stack of brochures from the end table. They curled and flaked to ash at the edges beneath his touch. Death Valley. Hell’s Kitchen. Black Forest. Dead Sea. Hells Canyon. Purgatory Falls. Decisions, decisions. He was looking forward to a break from all of that soul harvesting, finger pointing and banshee wailing.  Grim poured another Absinth and Drain-o savoring this one with slow sips, a lovely bitter burn all the way down.  He sighed. A whole week without that damnable robe and scythe.

He got up to leave the room. Dour turned around and asked, “Where are you going?”

“Never you mind, my curious bat, I have a little surprise for you.”

When he returned he stepped up behind her quiet as death. “Well, what do you think? Does this make me look fat?” Dour turned to find her husband comically modeling a bilious yellow Hawaiian shirt, acid green shorts and blood red sandals. She doubled over and sprayed hot spittle everywhere in a loud and spirited cackle. Tears of laughter bunched in her eyes and his image swam in front of her like a brightly colored specter. When she had regained the capacity to speak she said through a dying chuckle, “Lord, deliver me. Grim, you absolutely kill me!”

“That’s what they all say, my lovely viper. That’s what they all say,” he replied with a sharp toothy grin and they both threw back their heads and let loose a throaty howl.

Five Sentence Fiction — Desolate

Monday is when I tackle some Five Sentence Fiction. Feel free to take Lillie McFerrin’s challenge to write a five sentence story based on a single word prompt. The word does not have to appear in your five sentences, just used for direction. This week’s word is Desolate.

Here’s my offering:

The engine light had been on for a while but he kept driving and then the intermittent clunking began, a shudder every minute or two at first but it quickly ratcheted up to a constant rattle-clanking until the loud painful screech of something metal seizing up wailed in the dark and everything went dead. The dome light wouldn’t come on when he opened the door and the starter didn’t even make that clicking noise when he turned the key; no electric locks, no headlights, no flashers, nothing but him, a useless hunk of machinery, and the smothering darkness on this desolate stretch of crumbling roadway—oh, and add the blood chilling screech of a fox or some other hungry nocturnal beast. Gavin popped and lifted the hood despite having no mechanical experience, only to be confronted by a whiff of ozone and melted rubber as a cool breeze played across the back of his neck, drawing a shiver down his spine right before the words were spoken from behind him, “You need help?”

“Jesus, you scared me half to death!” Gavin said almost reflexively as he whipped around finding himself facing a beautiful, raven haired woman who seemed to be lit from within and was smiling from behind a pair of full crimson lips.

“Only half?” she said when the razor flashed and as his life leaked from his throat Gavin’s Honda inexplicably rumbled to life, the headlights suddenly spotlighting a pair of receding devil red pumps.

 Got five sentences? Share them!

If you enjoy flash fiction challenges stop by each week to participate in my writing challenge offered every Tuesday. Take your pick from two, yes that’s right, two different prompts that I will be providing right here weekly.

Two for Tuesday Challenge #10 – May 28 – June 3

Flash fiction challenges such as Five Sentence Fiction has kept me writing and improved my craft, so I serve up some here every Tuesday. Since every one likes choices I’m providing you with two weekly writing prompts.  You can participate in either one, or double your pleasure by trying your hand at both. Submit your efforts any time between now and next Tuesday.

The Standard Prompt will always consist of a two-word prompt to be used as inspiration. The Non-Standard Prompt will change from week to week. Sometimes it will be a visual prompt, sometimes a first sentence or phrase, sometimes a scenario, etc.  The limit for the Two for Tuesday Standard Prompts is 200 words and the Non Standard Prompt has a minimum of 200 words but no limit allowing for more in depth explorations. Use the little blue link thing below to submit your link or leave an entry in the comments section.

Don’t forget to check out the other entries.

Here is this week’s two-fer:

Standard prompt:
dead drunk

You have lots of creative leeway. The limit is 200 words. The words can be used:

• simply as a point of inspiration and do not have to be used directly
• they can be included exactly as provided
• or each word can be used independently of each other (for example if Death Row was the prompt instead of crafting a story about an inmate on the way to the gallows, you might write something like: Despite feeling like death from an excess of cheap vodka consumed the night before, Evelyn moved on to planting her next row of spinach).

Non-Standard Prompt:
This week for the alternative prompt, write a story that relies on a distinctive dialect as a central part of the tale. As per usual with the Non-standard prompt there is no word limit (to allow for more in depth explorations) but there is a minimum of 200 words.

Write on!

For those who like to write first and read later be forewarned that my effort follows. This week I once again attempted to satisfy both prompts in one story. I hope that you agree that drunken slurred speech can be considered a dialect.

Pauline Unfiltered (781 words)

“Mom. Oh thank God, you’re home. I didn’t know what else to do. Dad showed up freaking shit-faced. Sorry, I didn’t know what else to do,” she said again. “I didn’t think I should just leave him here. It wasn’t fair to let you walk in to that.” Karen fidgeted in the foyer practically vibrating with anxiety. “Listen, Jeff’s already at the restaurant with his parents. I was supposed to be there 20 minutes ago. He’s probably shitting a Rottweiler about now. You mind if I go?” The words tumbled out piling one on top of the other.

“No! Of course. Go! Sweetheart, you’re an angle. Give Jeff my love.”  Mother and daughter exchanged a knowing look and Pauline kissed Karen on the forehead then reached out to brush a strand of brown hair out of her daughter’s eyes. “You look fabulous. Jeff won’t be able to stay mad for long. If he does tell him I’ll kick his ass.” Karen smiled and Pauline stepped aside. “Go! Don’t keep your fiance waiting another second.” She shooed the frazzled brunet out the door and leaned against it composing herself before confronting her drunk ex who would soon be a dead drunk if she wasn’t careful.

“Jesus, Michael. Look at you.” He took Pauline literally and looked down at himself taking a stumbling step to keep his balance only to bark his shin on the coffee table sending him sprawling.  Pauline caught him to keep him from getting better acquainted with the oak flooring. For her trouble she got showered with the bourbon from his glass which slipped from his hand and went skittering unbroken across the floor with a ringing clatter.

“Oopsh, sorry ‘bout ‘at.” They were still in a pseudo embrace.  They held each other by the elbows. “Thiz iz nysh.” He looked at her through swimming puppy dog eyes but she glared back. “C’mon Paulie, lessnot fight. We use to haff sumpin’ spesh’l.”

“One, apology not accepted. Two, this is not ‘nice’ by any stretch of the imagination.” She dropped her hands and then wiped bourbon from her blouse. “Three, lucky for you, I’m too tired to fight and four, we used to have something going for us but that was before you started dipping your stick into every honey pot that was old enough to avoid bringing statutory rape charges.”

“Thaz juss down righ’ cruel. You doan know whud the tem’tation’s like teashing at a college, z’round’d by all those gore-juss lil things. They come to clash prac’ly nekid.” His voice went falsetto on the word naked and he threw his arms up for emphasis and nearly tipped himself over backwards.

“Cruel?” Pauline starred at him slack-jawed. “That was the Disney version. You want cruel? I can give you cruel. Your big dick doesn’t begin to compensate for your small mind. You are a mediocre history professor at a small and inconsequential college in a state that’s the butt of countless jokes.  You don’t put much effort into anything other than sweet talking your way between the thighs of every coed who swings her heart-shaped ass at you. You have no conscience, sense of loyalty or concept of fidelity. You are a pathetic, ego-centric, little man who happens to have perfect teeth and blonde hair. And that’s just for starters.”

That’s when the slap hit. It was a classic, roundhouse, open-palm, Hollywood-style, stinging slap. Pauline bit back the tears that sprang up not wanting to give him any satisfaction. Both were stunned and Michael’s hand was still held high. She took hold of his wrist with an iron grip and stepped in nose to nose.

“I’m going to go take a long hot bath and when I come back down you better be gone. I don’t care where you go, how you get there, or if you even arrive there alive. I want you fucking gone. And don’t you ever come back to my house. Before you go, though, know this: the truth is the sex was rarely little more than mediocre and certainly never fulfilling—you always came too early, you’ve gained weight and lost hair neither of which are becoming on you and your pathetic behavior as a husband is only surpassed by your profound ineptitude as a father. And if for some bizarre reason you are entertaining the thought that there is even a cat’s whisker of a chance that we’d ever spend time in the same room—much less the same bed—again let me disabuse you of that delusion here and now. Have a nice life, Michael.” She let go of his wrist and walked past him without looking back.

Michael stepped outside. A rain had begun to fall.  He didn’t even notice that he was crying.

Five Sentence Fiction — Charmed

Monday is when I tackle some Five Sentence Fiction. Feel free to take Lillie McFerrin’s challenge to write a five sentence story based on a single word prompt. The word does not have to appear in your five sentences, just used for direction. This week’s word is Charmed.

Here’s my offering:

Charmed, enchanted, halcyon, pastoral, utopian, sublime; regardless of the label applied, it was a perfect day for grilling. The cloudless sky graduated from cyan at the horizon to nearly cobalt over head, while unfiltered sunlight cast sharply defined shadows on the ground as if they had been painted there. A slight, perfectly cool breeze, like the tickling breath of gods, slipped among the leaves prompting them into whispered conversation. Jeremy proudly walked up to the gleaming chrome and brushed aluminum 5 burner monster and cranked the chunky black knobs inaugurating his brand new gas grill. His ears were still ringing as he looked up from the ground past his wife—concern etched on her face rapidly spouting words that he couldn’t hear—towards the ruined grill’s split and contorted propane tank and came to the conclusion that he should have taken the salesman’s offer to assemble the grill for a paltry $24.95.

Got five sentences? Share them!

If you enjoy flash fiction challenges stop by each week to participate in my writing challenge offered every Tuesday. Take your pick from two, yes that’s right, two different prompts that I will be providing right here weekly.