Flash Fiction: Vase

This was written, or will be when I’m done, for Carrot Ranch’s Flash Fiction Challenge. This weeks prompt is shards. The challenge is to write a story that is exactly 99 words.

Last week’s prompt colonnades reminded me of a proctologist. This week’s reminds me of a game I spend way too much time playing called Star Wars Galaxy Of Heroes and my need to get 49 more Mission Vao shards by Thursday so I can qualify to unlock Revan. Technically, I have a week after the event starts, but I don’t want to wait that long. That makes no sense if you’re not a super nerd and play the game. My roommate makes fun of me for needing “sharts.” No one needs sharts. This story isn’t about butt doctors or Star Wars or sharts.

Vase

The crash echoed throughout the house.

Sam and Pete stared motionlessly and silently at the shards of the former vase strewn across the floor. It was their mom’s favorite. It was her mother’s.

They both considered running, but where? It wasn’t a big apartment. The only way out was through the front door. That meant getting past dad. It was afternoon, so he had been drinking for hours already. He wouldn’t even drink his morning coffee without whiskey.

Before either could move, dad stomped down the hall with fists flying.

Sam broke the cycle.

Pete broke his daughter’s arm.

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