Tag Archives: flash fiction

No Flowers

 

No Flowers

‘He felt just a little more intoxicated than he’d planned.’… Excerpt from Police Report #YW384 9/4/18

Really? Bullshit! You never plan to get ‘intoxicated’, you always plan to get stinking drunk. Those cops must have had a good laugh over that one.

Local Florist Reports Break In… In the early morning hours someone forced open the rear door of Robin’s Floral Chateau, gaining unauthorized entry. According to the report Robin gave the police, they only took one bouquet. “The funny thing is, they left a handful of quarters on the counter,” she said, “can you fingerprint quarters?” Police are examining the surveillance camera from the nightclub next door. The Online Journal 9/4/18

It will be fun to see how that jerk delivers the flowers, I know who they’re for. Better not be in person either, he was so pissed when I got the restraining order, but he scares me now. So loving at first then the drinking started, I’d never been with a man before, it was different, exciting, forbidden fruit I guess. The guys at The Ramrod warned me, I didn’t want to hear it. Those flowers had better be for me.

Trail Of Petals Leads To Flower Bandit… “After reviewing the surveillance tapes from The Ramrod, we determined that Mr. Kite, known to the bar, was the culprit. Upon arriving at his residence, we noticed suspicious petals on the front seat of his vehicle. Mr. Kite admitted to the theft but could not explain the whereabouts of the floral arrangement. I booked him on breaking and entering and a DUI charge,” stated Sargent Lowe. The Online Journal 9/4/18

Still no flowers, after posting his bail, no flowers. Asshole!

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I haven’t done a flash fiction forYeahWrite in ages. I thought it would be fun when I saw the prompt, this is what came out. Here are the instructions:

The first prompt is a mandatory opening sentence. This must be the first line of your story. The line, from YeahWrite #384 fiction|poetry winner Marcus Gustafson, is: He felt just a little more intoxicated than he’d planned.

The second prompt is the Narrator’s Point of View. The Narrator, from the YeahWrite editors, is: the main character’s ex.

FOLIAGE

 

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FOLIAGE… a Drabble for FriFic

A telephone rings in Wicker Park…

“I’m pissed, Cheryl.”

“Well helloooo to you too. What’s up now?”

“You know the pretty foliage I like to look at? They’re cutting it down!”

“You got me. Where?”

“Outside my kitchen window!!!”

“That ratty ivy next door? I wouldn’t call that ‘foliage’, Ethel. Why?”

“They’re going to paint the bricks!”

“Big improvement.”

“But, Cheryl, paint? I complained to the painters, but they wouldn’t listen.”

“For crying out loud, Ethel, that’s not who you talk too.”

“I was told ‘time marches on, lady’, so rude! It’ll be ugly.”

“How ’bout getting a window shade?”

“I should have called Betty! Good-bye!!!”

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friday-fictioneers

Loved this week’s photo prompt, by Roger Bulltot, of the Renwick Ruins on Roosevelt Island. Originally a smallpox hospital built in 1856 and claimed to be the most haunted spot in NYC. You can read such a story right here… Tour Guide at Roosevelt Island.

(I trimmed Roger’s photo a bit since brownstones in Chicago don’t have lawns that large)

BOXES!

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BOXES! … a drabble for Fri Flic

The light is blinking on an answering machine in a Chicago third floor walk up.

Click… ‘It’s me Ethel, call me!’

“What’s up now, Ethel?”

“Get over here right away, Cheryl!”

“Whoa, whoa, slow down, what’s the rush?”

“Boxes, Cheryl, boxes full of food.”

“Oh for crying out loud! I’ll be right over.”

It’s times like this that Cheryl wished they didn’t live so close. Ethel had recently gotten an iPhone and was going crazy ordering things on Amazon. ‘Boxes of food?’

“Thanks for coming, what am I going to do, they’ll spoil.”

“Better put your Blue Apron on, Ethel.”

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This week Rochelle Wiseoff-Fields chose a lovely photo belonging to Dale Rogerson for the Friday Fictioneers to find a story in. Dale can be found writing at A Dalectable Life.

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Here they are… 

Get Off The Pot!

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Get Off The Pot!  A drabble for Friday Fictioneers

‘What is taking her so damn long?’, thought Ethyl. She had to pee and was dying for a cigarette, having just taken up smoking recently. “Cheryl, hurry up!!!”

“Hold your horses, Ethel.”

Ethel was tired of holding her horses. And there it was again, those tones, very faint, so familiar. Just then it dawned on Ethel. “Dammit, Cheryl, I know what you’re doing. You are sitting there playing Trivia Crack on your phone with Frances while I have to pee!!!”

“I’m doing no such thing!”

“I can hear the frigging wheel go round”

“I’m… dammit!!! Now look what you’ve done!”

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The prompt photo by  J Hardy Carroll immediately told me what Ethyl and Cheryl were up to today.  Join Rochelle Wisoff-Fields and the gang to read more 100 word stories at:

A JUKEBOX AT EVERY TABLE… Friday Fictioneers

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A JUKEBOX AT EVERY TABLE… a Drabble for FriFic

A telephone rings on the Northside of Chicago…

“Hi, Cheryl, it’s Ethel.”

“It’s December 21st, I assume you want me to help you with your Christmas decorations again. Why can’t you do them early like everybody else? I’ve still got shopping to do.”

“No, no, I’m done with them. I’ve got a hankering for a chili dog, and there’s a new place in Cicero I want to try.”

“For God’s sake, Ethel, just go to the Devil Dog on the corner. You know how far Cicero is, right?”

“Yes, but this place has a jukebox at every table. And, there’s a WalMart next door.”

“Oh… okay, I’ll go.”

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Roger Bultot’s photo reminded me of fun times and good eats in the past and prompted the girls to take a trip.  Thanks to Rochelle for prompting me to write a story.

Here are some 100-word stories by my friends:  

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THEY WRITE ON FRIDAYS… Friday Fictioneers

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THEY WRITE ON FRIDAYS… a Drabble x Four for FriFic

On the Northside of Chicago, a call button is pushed…

“Ethel, lemme in.”

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“Those stairs are going to kill me. What you want to show me?”
“Check this out, Cheryl; I’m writing a story!”
“What the hell is this photo?”
“It’s my writing prompt for Friday Fictioneers. I’m going to be an author!”
“Oh spare me. Is this before the oil painting, the pottery, or the garden?”
“No, I’m serious this time.”
“You are always serious, Ethel, you just find something new the next day. Okay, what’s with this Friday fiction thing?”
“A writing group that writes on Friday’s. A lady named Rochelle runs it, and she’s written a bunch of books. Look, here’s all the people and their stories this week.”
“Hmmm… if they write on Friday, how come there’s 56 stories, it’s Thursday? Besides, they look like a bunch of weirdos to me, look at that guy with the clown nose, number 53 looks cute, though. What do you want me to do?”
“Help me think of a story, Cheryl. I thought this would be easy, but I don’t see any story in this photo.”
“Quit whining, Ethel. I see a prison in this photo. Do you think Peter Abbey was in prison?”
“Who?”
“Peter Abbey, the guy Rochelle got the picture from. I swear you don’t pay attention to anything, Ethel. Write a story about a prison. How long does it have to be?”
“100 words, no more no less. I hear she’s pretty strict!”
“How in hell you supposed to write a story in 100 words? Maybe we better read a couple stories.”

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“I have to admit, Ethel, some of those are pretty good. Just steal an idea from one of them.”
“I can’t do that if I’m going to be a real writer, Cheryl, they have to be my words. Besides, they might catch on and then I’d get in trouble.”
“Oooooh, what kick you out of being a Friday Writer?”
“It’s Friday Fictioneers because we write fiction!”
“And you write on Friday; I get it. Okay, let’s write a prison story. One for women and there’s lots of cat fights.”
“Good, and mean guards! Someone gets a shiv in this walkway and there’s blood all over.”
“I like that, better start writing this down. I’ll help you.”
“I’m excited, Cheryl, maybe I’ll be a famous author someday.”
“Don’t you mean, We, Ethel?”

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friday-fictioneers

I have always written exactly 100-word stories… no more no less… and as Ethel says, ‘I hear she’s pretty strict!’ and I have never wanted to get on that little ball of fire’s bad side.  But, since this is Rochelle’s fourth year heading up Friday Fictioneers, I thought I’d write 400 words… a Drabble a Year.  I asked the girls to help; I wonder if they can figure out how to work the frog thing.  Thanks to Peter Abbey for the photo prompt.

Here’re some stories from other people who write on Fridays…

SCREAM… In an Imaginary Garden

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SCREAM… In an Imaginary Garden

On the Northside of Chicago, a telephone rings…

“Hi, Cheryl, it’s me Ethel, have you decided!”

“Which Ethel?”

“What do you mean which? I’m the only one you know.”

“Haha, decided what?”

“Your costume!”

“I told you, I don’t do Halloween, and I’m not coming over to help you hand out candy to brats.”

“Pleeease.”

“Okay, I’ll wear a scream mask.”

“Because you love the movie?”

“Because you make me want to scream.”

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Ethel and Cheryl decided to take part in the costume party at the Imaginary Garden with Real Toads today.  Mama Zen wants us to write about our Halloween costume in 65 words or less at toads.  My friend Björn Rudberg wrote an interesting poem today and introduced me to Mama Zen.

 

THE INDISCRETION… Shapeshifting 13 #46

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THE INDISCRETION… for Grammar Ghoul Press

The Father stared, “Harlot!” Bloom of cheeks gave them away.

Young Man shrank from his reach and the ferocious bloom raised in anger.

The Mother cried.

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I’ve been wanting to write a story for Suzanne for some time… here it is.  Tony asks for exactly 26 words, a story or poem using any form of the word “bloom.”  Reminds me a bit of the glorious days of Trifecta, except we get seven words less. Thanks to curator Tony Lovell for the prompt.  Shapeshifting 13 #46

“BLOOM”

noun

  1. :  a mass of wrought iron from the forge or puddling furnace
  2. a bar of iron or steel hammered or rolled from an ingot
  3. a :  flower
    b :  the flowering state <the roses in bloom>
    c :  a period of flowering
  4. :  a state or time of beauty, freshness, and vigor

verb

  • : to produce flowers

  • : to change, grow, or develop fully

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The illustration of the Young Lovers is a painting by British Artist Pete Marsh

 

SPRING PLANTING… Friday Fictioneers

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SPRING PLANTING… a drabble for FriFic

The phone rings in a brownstone in Chicago…

“Hi, Ethel, what’s up!”

“Spring!!! That’s what, Cheryl.”

“It’s 36 degrees out, what makes you think it’s Spring?”

“The landlady is planting flowers and she always does that on the first day of Spring.  But I don’t like her new planter.”

“What’s wrong with it?”

“It’s a porcelain throne, Cheryl!!!”

“What the hell are you talking about, Ethel? What’s a porcelain throne?”

“As if you’ve never hugged the Porcelain Throne, goody-two-shoes. It’s a commode. A loo.”

“For Christ’s sake, Ethel, speak English!”

“It’s a toilet, dammit! In front of my house!!!”

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Ethel and Cheryl have returned to Friday Fictioneers!   Rochelle threatened to steal this photo from TedBook’s DAILY PICS, and it looks like she did!  To read more stories based on this photo or write one of your own, click on the frog.

 

King of the Mountain… Revisited

Repeating the story I wrote the first time this photo appeared at Friday Fictioneers, featuring our own Ironman… To read current stories of this photo prompt by Sean Fallon (he’s alive and well in Australia) click this frog…    

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