Sean knew he shouldn’t keep the telly open well past bedtime But he couldn’t help it. He also did not regret it.
“That stupid movie again?” his brother grumbled under a clump of moss.
“Shut up,’ he hissed back, not blinking. Never taking his eyes off the scene.
Even with the movie muted, the now familiar cacophony of human screams filled Sean’s head as the windy funnel took the school bus off the road and threw it like a weightless rock to the sea.
It was the biggest shark-fest in movie history.
And Sean loved every bloody second of it.
*Inspired by the prompt hate to love from The Daily Post.
The intruders were young, barely teenagers.
They were sprawled on the carpet, watching cartoons while eating his cake.
He’d tell them to leave, if he weren’t too worried about upsetting Sally again.
Sally hated it when he treated her guests unkindly.
Even when they were rude and were eating his cake!
He had been hoping to dig into that sugary treat tonight. He’d even practiced his fridge opening technique, too—!
“Dad!” Sally called out. “Your stupid old dog’s home! I think he wants to eat my friends!”
But if they weren’t too skinny, he’d seriously be considering it.
*Inspired by the prompt unexpected guests from The Daily Post.
The lab took Daddy away in a burst of flames.
It was an accident, Mommy told everyone.
Old chemist tinkering with new ideas, resulting in bad chemicals colliding…
But the sadness in her eyes did not fool Sophie.
Sophie was down there, too. She saw everything through a slit in a forgotten closet.
The old chemist was Daddy. The new idea, his assistant. And the bad chemicals were them and Mommy colliding in a burst of tempers, betrayal and threats of death.
Sophie had never left Mommy’s side.
She hated Mommy for leaving her there.
Mommy didn’t even feel sorry.
*Inspired by the prompt 10,000 spoons from The Daily Post.
The painting moves!, the little girl would often say.
It was only kooky Aunt Elsa who believed her. Everybody else thought it was just a phase.
But Aunt Elsa knew better—
The little girl had always been Grandpa’s favorite.
Not even the locks on the dead man’s old room, where the painting hang, could keep him from taking what was his.
So when the little girl finally disappeared, it was only Aunt Elsa who knew why.
She could see them—
A grinning old man and a scared little girl, blending in with the otherwise vibrant colors of The Marketplace crowd.
*Inspired by the prompt the artist’s eye from The Daily Post.
Here’s a new challenge I’m trying out hosted @ sammiscribbles
……her weary soul finds solace in
……..a corner of that old house
………void of the town’s petty grievances and
……….explosive tempers that ate away at her sanity
….when she was still alive.
*Inspired by the prompt Haven from the Weekend Writing Prompt challenge @ sammiscribbles.
Here’s another challenge I’m trying out hosted @ GirlieOnTheEdge
A wave goodbye was the last thing they shared before she went her way and he just stood there watching.
It’s been a decade since and he still thinks about that day, Should he have stopped her, would she have stayed?
She tells him to stop acting like he cared and he tells her to please get out of his head.
A scream jolts him out of his thoughts—a phantom echo, a recurring nightmare engulfing him even in wakefulness.
She never got to scream then.
Strange that it’s all he hears now instead of the deafening explosion that turned her car into useless scraps, and her into a vengeful memory haunting his conscience for the rest of his life.
*Inspired by the prompt Wave from the #SixSentenceStories Challenge @ GirlieOnTheEdge.
I found a new flash fiction writing challenge, hosted by dVerse Poets Pub. 😊
The beat of knife on chopping board—
Chop chop chop, it goes.
A soothing dance of steel on wood. Wood on steel.
Focusing mind on task.
When far away an interrupted cry cuts through measured rhythm…
Lucy closes her eyes, takes a breath.
Nose, heart, veins quivering from a burst of reality.
Sweet and metallic, dripping from the crimson potion on her hands.
Thick soup. Coppery stew.
Full-bodied stock of life.
Eyes snap open. A hand flicks up to rub a passing itch.
Warm potion now on cheek.
Cheek throbbing from latest proof of love.
A smile tugs at swollen lips.
Beat of steel on wood.
“I’m sorry honey.”
“I’ll be a little late with dinner tonight…”
Even when separated from the rest of him,
Hugh’s hands are still so tough.
*Inspired by the prompt “When far away an interrupted cry” from Prosery Challenge @ dVerse Poets Pub.
“First night here and the neighbors are already ignoring us!” Susan says, voice hushed like a true-blue rubberneck, salivating over the lavish party across the street.
“Ho~ney,” Harry drawls, channel surfing, “if they want to invite us, they’ll knock.”
The knock comes three days later. A soft-spoken old woman with a toothy grin, inviting them to a neighborhood feast that night.
Susan dresses to the nines. Harry can’t be bothered.
The first party had been a celebration of their arrival, they are soon told.
“Like grace before a meal,” adds Toothy-Grin.
The house is back on sale the following week.
*Inspired by the prompt keeping up with the jones’ from The Daily Post.
The list fell out of Teddy’s favorite book. Elsa didn’t expect to find it anywhere else.
On it, written in her husband’s childish print, were fifty things he wanted to do before he kicked it. Most had been struck out with a thin straight line, drawn with care and pride.
Some he did on his own.
Elsa smiled at the memories of the few special ones they did together.
But then, she gasped.
A shaky line had begun to appear over a particular item—
11. Prove that ghosts exist.
Elsa ran out screaming to the eerie echoes of Teddy’s laughter.
*Inspired by the prompt kick it from The Daily Post.
The research facility held twenty-four kids, but only four adult bodies have been found, each charred corpse marked with a staff I.D., curiously intact. Familiar names, unforgettable faces—
Tara’s jaw tightens at seeing one particularly remarkable woman. Her heart swells thinking of that reviling sneer never again touching that charcoaled face.
Twenty-four captive kids were here. All saddled with destructive abilities and intentions. Twenty-three are now missing—
“You okay, kid?”
Tara, the police rookie, takes one last look at the remains of Lian Cook, Head Researcher. “Yeah…” She smiles, thinking it’s what the real Tara would do. “Never better, Boss!”
*Inspired by the prompt sudden shifts from The Daily Post.