Category: Flash Fiction

Blog, Flash Fiction

Blind Faith – Flash Fiction

by  • 

Blind Faith

The church clock struck again. We’d waited more than an hour.

“Why’s this taking so long?”, said Ma wearily .

“It’s ok”, I replied, knowing the question was rhetorical.

Ma was still guilty about the explosion that left me blind since I was five.  It was May Day and the village was celebrating.  Da left his cigarette burning while he stepped outside to watch.  Pretending I was a grown up, puffing on it, I choked so hard I dropped it near the gas stove.  I don’t remember much else until I woke in the hospital.

Since then Ma has taken me to every faith healer that she could find.  

Each time I say “For how can I be sure I shall see again?”

“The world on the first of May will be brighter that day because you’ll be able to see it.” she replies.

Copyright © 2022 Christine Bolton - Poetry for Healing
All Rights Reserved

Merril is hosting Prosery Monday at D’Verse And has prompted us with this line:  
“For how can I be sure
I shall see again
The world on the first of May” --From “May Day” by Sara Teasdale
Prosery Flash Fiction of exactly 144 words and must include the complete line from the poem.  It may be punctuated but no words can be inserted within the given line.
Blog, Flash Fiction

Walk It Off – Flash Fiction

by  • 
woman walking near closed doors of building near water with self reflection
Photo by Mitch Kesler on Pexels.com

Walk It Off

With anxiety at a high level I’m pacing the room unable to calm down.  Everything was fine until the call from James.  Why did I answer?  He aggravated me more than usual.

I have to get out of here and walk before I blow a gasket.

I’m halfway down the street before realizing I had no coat.  Shivering, I wandered.  Lonely as a cloud nine, because they are few and far between, well at least to me.  I really can’t remember the last time I was happy with James.  He is probably the most high maintenance man I have ever known.  I feel like I am constantly babying him. Ugh!

The night time streets are empty and I am grateful for the solitude.  I’ll walk until I can cool off and then head home with a clearer head.

James is in the rear-view mirror.

Copyright © 2022 Christine Bolton - Poetry for Healing
All Rights Reserved

Lillian is hosting Prosery Monday at D'Verse and has prompted us with
the famous line "I wandered lonely as a cloud" from William Wordsworth's 
famous poem.  We are to use the line in its entirety with words in that order, although they may be punctuated. Prosery is a piece of flash fiction no more than 144 words excluding the title.
Blog, Flash Fiction

Blessings In Disguise – Flash Fiction

by  • 

Blessings In Disguise

They sat on the stairs waiting, shoulders touching. Listening to him intently, and loving the warmth of his body next to hers.  It was serendipitous she’d locked herself out of the apartment as he was coming home from work.  She smiled, remembering.

“You ok?” He had said as he stood outside his door watching her struggle with her door.

“Yes, fine” she had responded, not wanting him to see how frustrated she was.

“You’re locked out, aren’t you?” He said with a smile on his face. “I’ll call a locksmith for you.”

“Not necessary” she said.  Embarrassed at her own incompetence.  This was not how it was supposed to be.  She’d had a much better idea in her head how it would be when they finally met.

But she thought, “It is a moon wrapped up in brown paper.”  Sometimes blessings come in disguise.

Copyright © 2022 Christine Bolton - Poetry for Healing
All Rights Reserved


Bjorn is hosting Prosery Monday at D'Verse and his prompt is a line from the poem
Valentine by Carol Ann Duffy - “It is a moon wrapped up in brown paper.”  We are to
use it in our piece of Prosery (flash fiction).  No more than 144 words excluding
the title.
Blog, Flash Fiction

Bookworm – Flash Fiction

by  • 

Bookworm

She looked over the top of her glasses, perched on the end of her nose.  There he was standing in front of French Literature.  Her heart skipped remembering the last time he had stopped by the desk for assistance.

Sighing, she turned her attention back to cataloging the pile of books that were in front of her.   Busying herself she hadn’t noticed he’d moved across the library floor and was now standing in front of her.

“You look as if you need a break.” he said in a bright, cheerful manner.

Startled she dropped the book she was holding. 

“Excuse me?” she said looking up smiling as she realized it was him

“Would you like to have lunch with me?”  he asked.

“Yes!” she answered, maybe too quickly.

“Great!“  he said.  “Oh, and bring no book, for this one day we’ll give to idleness.”.

Copyright © 2022 Christine Bolton - Poetry for Healing
All Rights Reserved

Ingrid is hosting Monday Prosery at D’Verse Poets and has prompted us with the line: “And bring no book, for this one day we’ll give to idleness.” from from Wordsworth’s ‘Lines Written at a small distance from my House…‘ We are to use the line in our piece of Flash Fiction (Prosery). The rule is that Prosery should be no more than 144 words, excluding the title.

Blog, Flash Fiction

What Goes Around Comes Around – Flash Fiction

by  • 

What Goes Around Comes Around

As a child she remembered climbing on the rubble of what was once terraced houses.  Sometimes discovering staircases standing alone, still intact but minus the bannister 

A treasure trove of others belongings could still be found in the heap of bricks.  Books, sometimes photos with singed edges, a toy, or a tin of buttons.  

Looking back, understanding a child’s innocence of the horrors that had barely preceded her, she wondered “What are the roots that clutch, what branches grow out of this stony rubbish?”.  A debris of once loved abodes full of life becoming a playground wonderland.  

Then rising from the ashes to become concrete and glass, a new way of living for many in incomprehensible heights above a broken city bombed from recognition.

She stared up at a tower block born from that wreckage now decaying from neglect. What goes around, comes around. 

Copyright © 2021 Christine Bolton - Poetry for Healing
All Rights Reserved

Mish is hosting Prosery Monday at D'Verse Poets where we write a piece of flash fiction no longer than 144 words. She has prompted us to include the following quote
from the T.S. Eliot poem The Wasteland.
“What are the roots that clutch, what branches growout of this stony rubbish?”
Blog, Flash Fiction

Keep on Running – Flash Fiction

by  • 

Keep on Running

Time had passed since Abigail heard the voices so maybe the coast was clear. 

They had been muffled at first until the footsteps got closer, and then she could clearly hear the familiar, distinct southern drawl.  Two men conversing, unaware of her presence as she lay silent and motionless in the undergrowth, not daring to breathe.  She recognized the plantation foreman, Ned, immediately.

“As I said Caleb it ain’t gonna make an ounce of diff’rence.  You can lock ‘em up at nightfall but if they want it bad enough, they’ll as sure as hell try and make a run for it” 

“So if all do their duty, they need not fear harm?” Responded the younger man.  

“Exactly” said Ned, “They just need direction” his voice trailing off as they moved away.

Abigail shuddered, remembering the whipping she had received the last time she escaped.

Copyright © 2021 Christine Bolton - Poetry for Healing
All Rights Reserved

Ingrid is hosting Prosery Monday At D'Verse Poets tonight and has asked
us to write a piece of Flash Fiction (Prosery) using no more than 144 words
excluding the title.  We are to use this line from William Blake's poem,
The Chimney Sweeper.
"So if all do their duty, they need not fear harm"
Blog, Flash Fiction

Common Language – Flash Fiction

by  • 

Common Language

Her early morning beach walk cleared the lingering fog in her head.  Remnants of heady passion from the night before were hard to shake off. 

Surprised to see him when she had opened her eyes.   Sunlight shining on his bronzed body.  She’d half expected him to have left without a word.  She panicked slightly, and pulled on her shirt slipping silently out the door.

She sat studying the clouds.

“There you are” she heard a voice say 

She turned.  He was walking along the damp sand towards her.  

“Why did you leave?” he asked. His voice slightly accented.

“Just looking for familiar objects in these clouds.”  she answered without thinking.

“But these clouds are clearly foreign, such an exotic clutter against the blue cloth of the sky”, he said.

“Clouds speak in the universal language”, her voice a little husky. “Don’t you know that?”

Copyright © 2021 Christine Bolton - Poetry for Healing
All Rights Reserved


Merril is hosting D’Verse Poets Prosery Monday and has prompted us with ‘Clouds’.
We are to use the following lines:

“But these clouds are clearly foreign, such an exotic clutter
Against the blue cloth of the sky”

–from “Clouds” by Constance Urdang

Prosery is a piece of flash fiction no ,longer than 144 words, excluding the title.

Image by MustangJoe from Pixabay
Blog, Flash Fiction

The World Is My Oyster – Flash Fiction

by  • 

The World Is My Oyster

Annie sat with her mother on the porch of the family home on Apple Pie Ridge.  Rocking gently in the same chair where her father sat every night.  He had passed on leaving Mama alone.
 
She had driven most of the day through the Shenandoah Valley to get to the house in Winchester, VA. Nestled in the heart of apple pie country, she knew what would be for dessert.  
 
“Mama, what are thinking?”, said Annie, breaking the silence.
 
“My darling, I know you are a career-driven Civil Rights lawyer”, she looked at her daughter with a slight frown, “but when are you going to stop crying for the bleeding hearts of the world and settle down?”
 
“Oh mama, please” Annie begged. “The whole world is my oyster.  No, I do not weep at the world – I am too busy sharpening my oyster knife.”


Copyright © 2021 Christine Bolton - Poetry for Healing
All Rights Reserved


Lisa from Tao Talk is hosting Prosery Monday at D'Vere Poets.
She has prompted us to write a piece of Flash Fiction or non-fiction
using this line:

"No, I do not weep at the world – I am too busy sharpening my oyster knife."

–Zora Neale Hurston, from “How Does it Feel to be Colored Me” in World Tomorrow (1928)


Image by David Mark from Pixabay 
Blog, Flash Fiction

The Journey – Flash Fiction

by  • 

The Journey

The sky was grey and the rain continued falling in bottomless buckets.  

“Oh this is so dreary Mimi.  I can’t stand it anymore”, said Alison moving away from the window.

“I feel like I am stuck in this place forever”

She had been in New York for six months and was still searching for the right job and continued to struggle making new friends.

“Now child, what is your problem?’ asked Alison’s grandmother. “You’ve moped around this apartment all day”

“I am in a job I hate, and I swear, if I am left sitting at another Starbucks waiting to be stood up yet again, I will just scream.  What is the point?” she whined.

Mimi thought carefully.  “Crucial to finding the way is this: there is no beginning or end.  Alison, you just need to remember, it is the journey, not the destination.”

Copyright © 2021 Christine Bolton - Poetry for Healing
All Rights Reserved

Meal is hosting D’Verse Poets Prosery Monday and has prompted us with writing a piece of Flash Fiction of no more than 144 words, excluding the title, using the line “Crucial to finding the way is this: there is no beginning or end” taken from Jo Harjo’s “A Map to the Next World.”

Image by Kevin Phillips from Pixabay 

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