Category Archives: Fiction

What the Snow Covers

Click here to read another response to a flash fiction prompt. 500 words, something about snow. This prompt from Going Ballistic, the blog of writer Dan O’Shea, whose collection of short stories, Old School, I have read, and is great.

Please leave some feedback if you like it, and maybe check out some of my other posts.

Thanks to Dan O’Shea for the fun writing prompt.

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Egg Salad

A response to a “flash fiction” challenge from over at http://terribleminds.com/ramble/. The challenge this time was to write a story, of 1000 words or less, about making a sandwich.

I didn’t think that a story actually about making a sandwich would be readable, so I settled for a story that takes place while someone is making a sandwich. That’s close enough, right?

Click this link to read the story: Egg Salad Flash Fiction

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Trapped

Trapped

Roy is eighty years old. He moves and speaks slowly, and doesn’t hear well. One ear is dead, the other is constantly fuzzy. Sometimes he fails to hear the phone ringing, or people talking to him. On a gray morning in February, when a woman begins screaming, he hears it clearly. The sound cuts right through the static of his bad ear. There is something about a woman’s scream that demands attention. He struggles out of his recliner and slowly makes his way across the living room. Looking out the window into the parking lot, what Roy sees sends a chill up his back. It’s the girl from downstairs, the pretty girl who is married and expecting. She is kneeling in the snow, rocking back and forth and wailing, cradling her belly. Roy wonders what is wrong with her, knows it must be bad. He needs to help if he can. He shuffles back through the living room into the kitchen, cursing his slow gait. He picks up the phone and carefully dials 911. It takes a long time to explain what is happening to the dispatcher, and longer to make his way downstairs and out into the parking lot. He approaches the girl, Sarah, who is now weeping, covering her face with her hands. He is about to speak to her when he catches sight of what is lying in the snow at her knees. He stops, lifts a hand to his mouth, and closes his eyes.

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Sugar

Sugar sits, alone and waiting, in a dark hotel room. She’s been waiting for forty minutes to meet a man, a client. She thinks of clients as friends, and of what she does in this hotel room as simply a meeting. This friend is named Bertrand, and she wonders what he will be like.
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