Flash Fiction: Replay

This was written for Carrot Ranch’s Flash Fiction Challenge. Each week’s challenge is to write to a prompt in exactly 99 words. This week’s prompt is to write about an interlude. I came up with this.


In the two hours since she stormed out, I’ve done nothing. I’ve hardly moved as the fight replayed in my mind.

Was she wrong?

Was she right?

Was I right?

Was I wrong?

Were we both wrong?

Were we both right?

I looked at every angle. I examined every word.

I watched the tears stream down her face. I rewound them and watched them fall again. I watched her leave, slamming doors, and wiping her eyes.

I sat as the garage door slowly crawled along its track.

The garage door groans again.

Have we cooled or will we reignite?

Friday Fictioneers: Hurricane Rachel

Friday Fictioneers is hosted by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields who provides us with a photo prompt. Each week’s challenge is to write a 100-word story inspired by said photo prompt.

PHOTO PROMPT © Jan Wayne Fields

The driveway seems like an odd place to set-up a tent. Instead of pitching my tent in the driveway, I went metaphorical. This is a story, not a cry for help.

Hurricane Rachel

It came in with a wave and a smile.

She came with a sweetness I’ve never known. It took no time before she was always on my mind. I could never wait to see her. She became the highlight of my life.

She had somebody, but I couldn’t fight my feelings. I fell hard. Finally, I couldn’t hold back.

She left me holding the shattered remains of my heart when she refused to acknowledge my existence, which I only made worse with my persistence.

It came in with a wave and a smile but left me twisted, tangled, and suicidal.

#TellTaleThursday: An Exercise In Finality

This was written for #TellTaleThursday with Anshu & Priya. Yes, Thursday was yesterday. Thanks for noticing my tardiness. It’s up to 250 words on the prompt. This week is a visual prompt.


The picture is of the Hindu celebration of Holi, which is also known as the festival of spring, the festival of colours (the other side of the world is still stubbornly clinging to that extra U), or the festival of love (or louve?). I am not going to attempt to write a story about a holiday I’ve only learned existed in the last 15 minutes. It looks to be a beautiful holiday in spirit and practice. It’s very colorful or colourful. Here’s a Wikipedia link. I was very close to giving up on this week all together before I found my story.

An Exercise In Finality

Too many heartbreaks, failed relationships, and unrequited loves finally got to Craig. He decided Denise was it. She was the last woman who would break his heart.

Craig turned to friends, but no one wanted to hear his tale of heartbreak and woe. He turned to alcohol and bhang but only felt worse in the morning.

Feeling helpless and hopeless, Craig did something he never imagined he would do. He got on his computer and started researching guns. He bought a 9mm Glock. He took a handgun beginners class and went to a shooting range.

At night, he lay in bed with tears streaming down his face holding his Glock to his temple. This became a nightly routine as he tried to work up the nerve to end it and made damn sure he knew how to use his gun so he wouldn’t get it wrong.

It turned out to be a good thing that Craig didn’t rush. He learned that shooting oneself through the temple isn’t always fatal. It was just as likely to end in serious brain damage. From then on he repositioned the gun to under his chin.

Day after day, Craig walked through his lonely existence. Night after night, he cried and prayed and tried to find the nerve.

One day, Craig walked into a coffee shop. That’s where he saw Sae. Her eyes shone like the sun through the dark clouds in his soul. He saw all the colors of the rainbow in her smile…

Friday Fictioneers: Undecided

It’s that time of the week again. This was written for Friday Fictioneers. Friday Fictioneers is a challenge hosted by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields to write a 100-word story inspired by the below photo prompt.

PHOTO PROMPT © Dale Rogerson

My first thought was the video for Chris Brown’s “Undecided,” which got me thinking about domestic violence. Then, the sample from Shanice’s “I Love Your Smile” Scott Storch used in the beat made me think of an amazing smile I haven’t seen for far too long because I was undecided for far too long. Then, I got lost. Then, I remembered my joke about carnies being the most famous people on Epatrus with the best dental plans in Norman Normalson & The Normals. All that somehow got me here.


“I love your smile.” She blushed and giggled and gave him a little shoulder bump. “I’ve missed you. It’s been far too long.”

“Remember that next time you’re undecided.”

“I am completely decided. You’re all I want. You’re all I need.”

“Good. Let’s go on the Ferris Wheel.”

“I will never understand your affinity for the Ferris Wheel.”

“It’s romantic. We can snuggle up in the pod and look out over all the lights.”

“It’s slow.”

“That’s half the appeal. Sometimes you have to take things slow.”

“Whatever you say.”

“You goin’ up alone, sir?”

“Uh… Yeah, it’s just me.”

Thorned Rose

Thorned Rose

She gave me a thorned rose
that left me with permanent holes
I hoped its red pedals would hold true
but it was its thorns that shown through
I nurtured it from a bud and held it precious
only to discover its nature was malicious
when in bloom it was my happiness
when its thorns shown through my happy left
when in bloom it was beautiful
through its thorns it was cold and cruel
its thorns punctured more than just a vein
they caused so much more than simple pain
for so long she kept them concealed
and they dug deep once revealed
they tore through to my very soul
that’s where it really took its toll
leaving me a fraction of my former whole
she left a pain that will never die only dull
she left me with permanent holes
when she placed in my hand a thorned rose

This is old. I didn’t want to do the cliché Throwback Thursday or Way Back Wednesday. When I was on the radio, sometimes I would play old songs. When I did I used to say, “This is a blast from the past for your ass.” So, I’m going with that. This one is a blast from the past for your ass.

I don’t remember what exactly inspired this poem. I made some tweaks to it before posting because I didn’t like it as much as I used to. I wrote it at work whilst working at the worst job I’ve ever had. It just came to me, and I wrote it while no one was looking and e-mailed it to myself. (Sometimes I like to get an e-mail that’s not about how small my penis is.)

This is also one of three poems my friend talked me into submitting to a local county fair. I don’t remember in which place this one came, but I won the top three spots.

My friend showed this to my grandmother (I don’t usually show people things I’ve written, at least not until it’s copyrighted. What do you have there, grandma? A book of poetry. Interesting.), and she said something like, “I didn’t know he could write such beautiful things.” So, if you don’t like this, you can take it up with my grandmother.

Interestingly enough ‘thorned’ is not a word used by actual human people. Only teddy bears, rabid dogs, and I say ‘thorned’. Actually, I don’t say it, I just wrote it. Maybe I should have used the word thorny, but that kind of brings on a sadomasochist image. “I’m so horny I need a thorn shoved in my…” I’m not sure where that’s going, but I hope it’s not in me.

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