Look, three days in a row posting flash fiction for Terri G. Long’s Blog Flash 2012. Maybe I can do this after all. Four entries to go.
Read Day 1: Thinking and Day 2: A Furry Friend.
Day 3: Color
“Never in the field of human conflict has so much been owed by so many to so few.”
– Winston Churchill
Cream-tinted pink blossoms wafted through the abandoned Normandy orchard, landing on his feet and face.
His broken spectacles lay nearby, yet the colors of this moment seeped through so rich.
Dolores wore a blue dress the day he enlisted, he remembered – Victory blue; she clutched his hand so tight.
His hand now, velvety red where it pressed tight to his stomach.
In their last hug, the nape of her neck smelled of apple blossom shampoo.
Miles away, the bells cried Victory. The sound overtook him, but it was mostly the colors he felt as he slipped away.
Photo Credit: Alex Barlow (stuckinseoul on Flickr) – All rights reserved
I have looked on in envy as my friends have signed up for #BlogFlash2012, a blogging challenge that has thirty days, thirty prompts, run by Terri G. Long (@tglong on Twitter).
I cannot join this challenge, as the combination of a new job and massive overload of creative projects (editing, Thieves at Heart audiobook, etc) has left me with almost no time to blog. Poor Yearning for Wonderland has suffered as a result.
And then came along J.B. Lacaden (@jblearnstowrite) and all he had to do was express mild regret that I wasn’t doing it. I’m apparently a complete sucker for a personal challenge.
So I shall pick the days I can manage and bobble along. You create 100 words or less, fiction or fact, that communicates the prompt in your own creative way.
DAY 1: THINKING
“You only ever think; you never do.”
His words cut. All she’d been created for was static beauty, thought over action. He’d left the next day.
She stood on the edge of the marshes circling her father’s estate. She envisioned dragging iridescent silk through stagnant water.
The sky spat rain, lowering clouds sweeping into the far horizon. Circular gusts ripped hair from her tidy chignon.
Around her neck, she wore his ring. A quick jerk and it sunk to the bottom of swirling mud. She took a step, then another. Looping her skirt over her arm, she never looked back.
Word count: 100
Art by ©2012 Melissa Nucera
All copyright and reproduction rights are retained by the artist.