Tag: Flash Fiction

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Bookworm – Flash Fiction

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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

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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

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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

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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

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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

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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 

Blog, Flash Fiction

Stranded – Flash Fiction

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Stranded

Trisha wondered how long they’d been there.  Probably ages.

They were lost because, as usual, Andy refused to follow the map.  It’s much more adventurous, in his opinion, to follow the sun. 

“Oh God, you’re such an idiot” she mumbled under her breath.

He looked up and she thought he might have heard her. 

Hurriedly she said, pointing to the setting sun, “Thanks to you we haven’t a clue where we are and all we know is that west is that way.”  

“We still don’t have a phone signal either”.  Her voice quivering, scared of being on the ridge in the dark.  Angry at the wasted time while he stood pontificating the meaning of life quoting Rilke.

What was that quote?  “Only mouths are we. Who sings the distant heart which safely exists in the center of all things?”

Well, it certainly wasn’t Andy.

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

Sanaa is hosted Prosery Monday at D'Verse Poets tonight. She
has promted us to write a piece of Flash Fiction with no
more than 144 words using this line “Only mouths are we.
Who sings the distant heart which safely exists in the
center of all things? – from Rainer Maria Rilke, “Heartbeat.”

Image by StockSnap from Pixabay 

Blog, Flash Fiction

Dreams Are Free – Flash Fiction

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Dreams Are Free

She sat quietly in the small space she’d discovered on the top floor of her uncle’s house.  A box room, probably meant for storage, but there was a chair, some old boxes of books and small window overlooking the lake.  

She was reflecting on recent events that had brought her here.  The hectic comings and goings of visitors had given her an excuse to disappear for a while.

Grateful for the solace of the tiny room, she let her mind wander wherever it chose to go.  A sudden knock on the door made her jump.

“Ella. Are you in there?”, said her cousin Joel.

She wondered how long before someone came looking.

“What are you doing?” He demanded.  “We need to talk”

She replied reluctantly, “Joel, if you are a dreamer, come on in.  If not, then you can just let me be. OK?”

Copyright © 2021 Christine Bolton – Poetry for Healing

All Rights Reserved

Lillian is hosting Prosery Monday at D'Verse Poets tonight and has
prompted us with the line "If you are a dreamer, come on in".
The line is from Shel Silverstein’s poem, Invitation, as published
in his wonderful book, Where the Sidewalk Ends.
We are to write a piece of Flash Fiction no more that 144 words long,
excluding the title, and MUST use the prompt line as stated.

Image by Gaby Stein from Pixabay 
Blog, Flash Fiction

What Am I Doing Here? – Flash Fiction

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What Am I Doing Here?

Opening my eyes I saw sunlight streaking through the blinds.  My heart fell instantly with a thud as I realized I was in the guest room. Again.

The previous day had been fairly uneventful and we had chugged along with the rhythm of two married people who knew each other very well. My husband, needy and bad-tempered due to some physical demands, and me, the enabler.  Most of the time it worked, but on some occasions, particularly when I was tired from giving all the extra attention, that’s when the fireworks fly.

He’d snapped an order at me.  I appeased him and chose to be quiet while I tried to cope with the feelings welling up inside of me.  What am I doing here?   I am miserable but “I prefer keeping in mind even the possibility that existence has its own reason for being.”

Copyright © 2021 Christine Bolton – Poetry for HealingAll Rights Reserved

Merril is hosting Prosery Monday at D’Verse Poets tonight and has prompted us with the following line from the poem “Possibilities” by Polish poet, Wislawa Szymborska

“I prefer keeping in mind even the possibility that existence has its own reason for being.”

We are to create a piece of flash fiction of no more than 144 words, excluding the title, and include the line in its entirety.

Image by Sh1ra from Pixabay 

Blog, Flash Fiction

Emotional Life Raft

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Emotional Life Raft

“Just let me go”, I said angrily as I pushed his arm away and headed down the hallway. 

“Why do you always have to be in control?” I yelled at him slamming the door on his enraged voice.

I need air and space, I thought.  Much space between us.  I can never think straight when he gets so argumentative and demanding.   My back is always against the wall and I struggle to justify my actions when he is firing questions at me.

I went out to the hazel wood because a fire was in my head and it felt like my stack would blow. A gentle breeze through the trees was calming and eventually the flames died down.  I could think clearly once again. 

I walked for what seemed hours.

“Where did you go?”, he asked on my return.

“Anywhere but here”, I replied

Copyright © 2021 Christine Bolton - Poetry for Healing
 All Rights Reserved
Kim, from Writing in North Norfolk is hosting Prosery
at D'Verse Poets tonight.  She has prompted us to write
a story of no more than 144 words to include these lines
from "The Song of the Wandering Aengus" by William Butler
Yeats.

I went out to the hazel wood,

Because a fire was in my head,

You can read the whole poem here

Image by Valiphotos from Pixabay 
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