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?

Your Love Is Weird

Inspired by Todd.

Your Love Is Weird

I don’t know where we go from here
It’s time to separate my dear
This might not be what you want to hear
But you’re love, you’re love is weird

I apologize. I’m sorry.
There’s one thing I guarantee
The things you like aren’t for me
I’m really not into pee

You make whips and chains
Seem old-fashioned and plain
I don’t want to play Gerald’s Game
That idea is insane

Have you heard of missionary
Some of the shit you do is scary
Not a little bit but very
That poor statue of Mary

I’m pretty sure it’s illegal
Like that thing with the eagle
Tied to the back of the beagle
Feeding antacid to a sea gull

I should have known things were wonky
When you brought in that donkey
That’s still not nearly as funky
As the things with the monkey

What was that thing with the penguin
My mood is no longer sanguine
I know there’s no way I can win
All I can do is give in

Things aren’t supposed to go in there
I’m getting the hell out of here
It’s time we separate my dear
Because you’re love, you’re love is weird

Friday Fictioneers: White Rose

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. Rochelle’s is beautiful, poignant, and educational. It makes mine look shallow and mediocre. There’s a reason I went with white that has nothing to do with Rochelle’s story. It’s in the story.

PHOTO PROMPT © Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

White Rose

“The white one.”

“Do you want a bouquet?”

“No, just a single white rose. I want something simple and elegant like her.”

“Do you want a card?”


I hate being in love with you from across the room. I hate trying to find someone else when all I want is you.

“White roses signify a new beginning or a farewell.”

“Perfect. I’m sure it’s going to be one of those. I’m hoping for the former.”

She chose the latter. She never talked to me again. A few weeks later, I found out she was dating the flower delivery guy.


This is another Cubby prompt. This was a hard one. I stared at the prompt and had nothing for days. I tried to write about heroes from a lot of different angles. I tried the standard Joseph Campbell ideal of a hero. I tried to go the direction of The L Squad. I tried to make it about blood donation since they gave me a card that says I’m a hero. I even tried to write it about squirrels. I thought of the last quatrain and built it from there. Then, it was easy. All the most important people in my life are women. I admire their strength and courage and the way they still find time for tenderness, not to be confused with Tinderness, sweetness, kindness, and love. Cubs still had to help me find a decent rhyme for laurels.


A hero is born not from the laurels
Of glory but
from the worth of her feats
One who won’t sacrifice her morals
She stands up tall and never retreats

It’s the strength she shows when times are rough
She can still bear the weight of the world
The way her smile glows when she’s being tough
She is a woman, no longer a girl

In a world where she is often oppressed
She takes it and never loses her stride
She won’t allow herself to be suppressed
She carries herself with dignity and pride

It’s the subtly of her touch
As she puts her arms around me
A comfort I need so very much
And takes away my pain heroically

Poetry Prompt: Rebirth

I am very late on this. My mom has always teased me about being “fashionably late.” There’s a difference between showing up fashionably late and being too late to even help clean up. This would be that latter. I’m posting it anyway.

This is oddly optimistic for me. I’m much more optimistic than my writing. The prompt is assuming I have the power. My pessimism comes from my lack of power and faith in people to do the right thing. I’m also an over-explainer, which I can’t explain.

Thanks to Cubby for the prompt. Hers, Perfecting Creation, is way better than mine, by the way. She may argue, but she will be wrong. That is a little preemptive arguing.


If I had the power of creation,
Strength borrowed from a mother
I’d see the rebirth of a nation
One where we cared for one another

No murder. No retaliation.
School kids wouldn’t shoot each other
Substance over sensation
We wouldn’t trample on our brother

We’d unify without complication
There’d be no grouping based on color
No gender discrimination
We’d uplift instead of smother

With peace and love as inspiration
We can grow under their cover
As we reach for global unification
If each eschews hatred to be a lover


I pour out my soul to you
Still you don’t respond

I don’t know what else to do
Now that you’re gone

You left with my heart
But you can keep that

It’s only a small part
I really need we back

You lift me up, make me better
With your smile, with your light

Logic says, “Move on. Forget her.”
With you is the only time I feel right

You picked up my pieces, made me whole
Then I walked away, silly me

Now, there’s a hole in my soul
Poured into another soliloquy

Terza Rima: Home (Alternate Version)

Inspired by Cubby’s terza rima challenge, I said I would work on one that was fitting for the Nobbinmaug universe. While I was writing a terza rima for Norman Normalson, I thought of this. This one worked out much more quickly, so here it is. Yay!

Norman’s is coming soon. Update: It’s here.

Home (Alternate Version)

Home’s so far away, there’s nowhere to go
I ask for a dollar, you tell me, “No!”
I am all alone with no one to call
I have nothing left ’cause I’ve lost it all
Alone on the streets, time passes so slow

Up above, the bombs’ burst gives off a glow
As bullets fly by, I keep my head low
I wonder which of them carries Death’s call
Home’s so far away

Your heart’s the only home I want to know
I thought I could side-step Cupid’s arrow
I was so damn sure that I wouldn’t fall
That I walked away, imagine the gall
Now, I’m all alone, and I need you so
Home’s so far away

Rondeau Challenge: My Heart

I answered another the call of challenge from Cubby. This one is a Rondeau poem, which should be obvious by the title. Yes, it is dark and depressing. What do you expect? It’s the most wonderful time of the year. There are also a few imperfect rhymes. Ignore that. Let’s use our imaginations to pretend the rhymes are better than they are. That will make this depressing poem fun for everyone. It’s not nearly as good as my Terza Rima. Oh well. I will try to revisit these and try them in a style more befitting of this blog, meaning aliens and farts. Maybe robots and space pirates. Cheese? That would be fun.

If you are not aware, Rondeau is a form of Renaissance French poetry that originated in the late 13th century. It’s believed to have originated as a form of song. I looked up this one, too. Yep, I’m still a nerd.

My Heart

My heart is yours always, is that a crime?
Am I in exile till the end of time
I’m not here asking you to walk with me
But I’m here begging you to talk with me
I’m all alone, a line without a rhyme

I know I am the one who crossed the line
I was too late when you were right on time
Your smile lit up my dark life painfully
My heart is yours always

I took too long, and I ignored the signs
I thought I could leave you and him behind
How could I have taken so long to see
That you fit all my needs so perfectly
Now, he has your heart, but you still have mine
My heart is yours always

Terza Rima Challenge: Write Or Die;

I am not one to hide from a challenge unless it’s challenging. This is another one from Cubby, whose post from yesterday is fun and whimsical and definitely worth a read. That post is also where she reupped her challenge.

Mine is not fun or whimsical. It should be whimsical. I write about aliens. I learned poetry from Hip-Hop. Maybe I’ll try again later. What else am I going to do? Rewrite Norman Normalson & The Normals again? Oh yeah. That’s what I’m supposed to be doing, editing, finding an agent, getting published… Dang it!

For those who are unaware, a terza rima is rhyming pattern featuring interlocking three lines rhyme. The literal translation from the Italian is ‘third rhyme.’ Yes, I looked it up because I am a nerd. It was first used by Dante Alighieri in his Comedìa, which later, more than 200 years after he died, became known as Divina Commedia or Divine Comedy. Yes, I have read it, and, honestly, I don’t think it’s as divine as people seem to think. I took it as being more satirical and political, but that may just be the pessimist in me. Maybe it just helped me enjoy it more. Here’s my attempt at achieving divinity:

Write Or Die;

I write or die; all I have are my words
I search my mind for lines selectively
I present to you my unspoken heard

Lay out words organized impeccably
There are days I can hardly lift my head
My soul relies on creativity

There are days I think I’m better off dead
I need you; only you make me feel right
I can’t tell you, so I write you instead

I need you; for your love, I’ll stand and fight
I know I’m a writer, not a fighter
I need you; for your love, I’ll sit and write

The world is dark; words can make it brighter
Write till I die; then be a ghostwriter;

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