Blog Flash 2012: Reading

*trumpet fanfare* Day 6! The word today is ‘Reading’. Now if I can only say 100 words about reading. Here’s my try, a little country love story.

DAY 6: READING

He edged alongside the house, the weathered grey clapboard scraping his hands.

She stood in the window, reading in the half-light. He focused on the sill’s peeling paint; he could paint that for her.

Cheeks stained red, he watched her read, couldn’t look away.

He absorbed all the tiny details: the fall of a red-gold curl, the curve of her cheek, her eyelashes’ flutter as she turned the page.

She smiled to herself as she read a good line, brow furrowed.

Well, that just cinched it; he had to ask her to marry him, any girl who loved to read.

Word Count: 100

Blogflash 2012: Frustration

I’ve often said writing flash fiction is like an addiction (such as in this guest post I wrote when I was featured on Laura Howard’s lovely blog). Trying to do this Blog Flash challenge is like shoveling big clods of mud out of a wet hole; it’s worthwhile, but sometimes the impediments move faster than you do.

Yet I slog ahead. Day 5’s word is Frustration.

DAY 5: FRUSTRATION

She’d waited so long for this day.

It had been a hundred years to the very hour since she and Edouard had sat on the edge of the Fountain de la Mer in the Place de la Concorde.

True love’s kiss: a moment of perfection. When she opened her eyes again, she was transformed, her skin hardened to stone.

Today, a couple sat at the fountain’s edge. Her eyes were fixed on them. He kissed her; she slapped him and left.

The mist from the fountain slid down her face like tears.

Beside her, Edouard stared on in stony silence.

Blog Flash 2012: Busy

Gosh, I was doing so well (kind of) in the Blog Flash 2012 and then I ran smack into real life (more on that in the next post). So here it is the 14th (!!!) and I am only on Day 4 of Terri Long’s killer flash blog challenge.

Fittingly Day 4 is “Busy”.

BUSY 
“Hamlet, we need to talk.”
“Not now, Ophelia.” His fingers tapped his iPhone, his eyes skittering away, “Sunday, 5ish?
“People’ve died. I mean, you accidentally killed my father and–“
“Being a monarch of Denmark, there’s something all the time.”
Ophelia stared at her hands, the fine hairs on each knuckle reflecting the light.
“Tuesday?” Hamlet said. “Just so busy.”
After he left, Ophelia drew the milky-hued bath.

Her first time, she surged up, strings of seaweed hair taped to her face.
So she placed a heavy, smooth stone on her chest. 
She didn’t leave a note. She was too busy.
 
Word count: 100
Artwork by Alyssa Monks.