August

Brave Enough – Thursday Threads

/ JoHawkTheWriter / 13 Comments

Touching the scar on my arm, I let my finger trace the line.

The diner reeks of nostalgia, the linoleum is worn, but the coffee in the battered cream-colored cup is hot and strong. I sip, watching the two uniforms place their order and adjust their stools at the counter.

The glass door opens, the bell tinkles merrily, and he walks toward me, pausing, he towers over me, but I stand my ground. He sits in the booth. The table separated us, and he leans forward, reaching for my hands. I pull back, plaster my spine against the vinyl seat, ramrod straight, and drop my fists into my lap. But I won’t look away.

I had forgotten his eyes were blue. If I could forget that, perhaps I can leave behind the rest. Memories flash, slashing red and deep. Tear-stained faces, broken promises, and outright lies will forever live encased by walls.

He says he loves me, and he needs me. He can’t go on without me. The begging begins with words so often repeated that I no longer require the script. I have heard it all before.

“I don’t hate you, it’s just… I don’t need you anymore,” my voice sounds distant, flat and cold.

He speaks from far away, and my ears grow deaf.

“There’s nothing left to say. I won’t go back.”

My bill is paid, the time is now, and I rise. The uniforms nod as I stroll by, and I step through the open door.

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Keep on writing.

Jo Hawk The Writer

Wiser Now – 100 Word Wednesday

/ JoHawkTheWriter / 5 Comments

Title: Wiser Now
Source:  100 Word Wednesday: Week 133
Word count: 100 words

Image by Bikurgurl

They always ask how it began. Three guys with garage band mania, copying guitar licks and belting it out until the chords cracked. Arms locked, we were in it together, working for our break.

Running on the edge of the world, we chased empty promises of happiness. Seduced by the money, and rock n roll fame, they said the fabric that binds, was the gag on our dreams. It broke our bond.

Every man for himself, the road got tough, an F’ed up free for all.

Ditching superficial words, daring to swim in deep water, we found the true reward.

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Keep on writing.

Jo Hawk The Writer

Midnight Nightmare – Flash Fiction

/ JoHawkTheWriter / 17 Comments

Written for BrewNSpew Café Writing Prompt
Thanks, Eugenia.

I must sleep. It’s been hours, days, and yet it terrifies me. Sitting on the edge of my crumpled bed, I grasp my head in my hands. Alone in the dark, I’ve barred the doors, checked them twice, and my mind says I am safe. It tells me to relax, find my pillow, close my eyes, and fall asleep.

I listen to my good advice, lie down, exhale, and breathe deeply. It lasts until I begin to toss and turn, and my legs tangle in the sheets.  I reach for gossamer bindings that dissolve as I touch them, releasing me so I can stand and walk toward my bedroom door. I step outside.

Fog, mist, vapors rise, obscuring my vision of the road and the black leafless trees. Animal eyes wink in the distance, judging me, hunting me. I try to run, but it paralyzes me, unable to move, it forced me to face the terror.

Somewhere an engine revs, a menacing growl that vibrates through my body. Moments pass, I hyperventilate as claws sink into my skin. I scream. Eyes bulging, I stare into wicked orbs.

Midnight regards me, annoyed, she shifts and yawns, stretching her mouth wide.  Parked on my chest, my black cat purrs and I swear she smiles an evil smile.

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Keep on writing.

Jo Hawk The Writer

The Aftermath – Friday Fictioneers

/ JoHawkTheWriter / 47 Comments

Title: The Aftermath
Source:  Friday Fictioneers sponsored by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields-Addicted to Purple
Word count: 100 words

demolished-purple-tent on driveway with grills

PHOTO PROMPT © Jan Wayne Fields

Jan checked the canopy’s weights. Taylor was getting ice, and she needed to light the grills for the neighborhood barbeque

Taylor’s truck sped toward her, bouncing over the curb, he spilled from his seat before it stopped moving.

“Get inside,” he yelled. As he pointed to the sky, sirens screamed.

“Tornado.”

They raced ahead of the monstrous roar to huddled in the basement.

At the “All Clear” they emerged. The fickle funnel wrecked devastation on the opposite side of the street while their property remained unscathed.

“I’m going to help,” Taylor said.

“I’ll start the grills. They’ll need to eat.”

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Keep on writing.

Jo Hawk The Writer

Vagabond Shoes – 100 Word Wednesday

/ JoHawkTheWriter / 6 Comments

Title: Vagabond Shoes
Source:  100 Word Wednesday: Week 126
Word count: 100 words

Image by Spencer Davis

Nina paced, flitting from the window to the deck. A massive cruise ship slid across the water and Nina sighed. Cannes was diverting, Marco was a fabulous host, and the season was ending.

“Time for a new beginning,” she said.

An hour later, her suitcase rolling behind her, as she checked her phone for directions to the audition. Seventeen days to Port Canaveral promised stops in Barcelona, Lisbon, Ponte something, and her next adventure.

In exchange for four hours of Vegas-style dancing in the Stardust Theater, they offered crew’s quarters and pocket change. Nina threw her hat into the ring.

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Keep on writing.

Jo Hawk The Writer

Into the Night – Flash Fiction

/ JoHawkTheWriter / 17 Comments

Ralph’s legs burned. He clutched his ribcage and rubbed the twitching muscle which begged him to stop. The intercept lay two hundred yards ahead. Holding the flaming torch higher he inhaled, hardened his resolve and pushed himself forward.

His blood beat in his ears and he struggled to quiet his breathing. He slowed, as he approached the archway. Moving with caution, he allowed the flames to illuminate his surroundings and he checked the shadows. No one lurked, no sign of ambush. Beyond the opening was a solid wall, his choice was to turn north or south. His torch showed nothing but an empty corridor running in both directions.

“Am I too late?” he wondered.

Somewhere water dripped, creating a steady cadence that echoed in the dark tunnel. Ralph leaned forward. He twisted his head to the right, extended his left arm to push the sputtering light as far from his ears as he could manage. He strained to decipher the second sound hidden in the reverberations. It was almost imperceptible, but there was the sound of a slow plodding horse.

“We’re in a race against time. Why would he move so slowly? Was it someone else? A trap?”

The flame crackled and sputtered. It had served its purpose, and he extinguished it. His eyes adjusted to the darkness, and he listened again. It was difficult to figure the direction of travel, but the footfalls grew clearer, getting closer. If it was the prince, he would approach from the south. Ralph moved to the right side of the arch hidden from whoever approached but granting him an unobstructed view of the corridor.

He waited, as the steady trod advanced toward him.

A tall black stallion proceeded into the intersection, carrying a large dark bundle. Ralph stepped around the archway and peered into the darkness. Nothing and no one followed. He clicked softly.

“Whoa, boy,” he said. The horse snorted and stopped.

As he moved closer, he could tell it wasn’t a pack, but a man strapped to the horse’s back. Ralph made soothing sounds, reached for the bridle and led the stallion into the shadows. He patted its neck and turned his attention to the rider. The man’s black cloak bore the royal crest. He lifted his head twisting his face towards him.

“My Prince?”

His eyelids fluttered, and he struggled to focus.

“Ralph,” he said, “Ralph, we must hurry. No time to….”

He didn’t wait to hear more. He mounted, situating himself behind the slumped form, his feet found the stirrups and he grabbed the reins.

“Yah,” he called as he leaned over the prince’s body. The horse jolted forward, and they raced into the night.

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Keep on writing.

Jo Hawk The Writer

Changing the Story – Flash Fiction Challenge

/ JoHawkTheWriter / 9 Comments

Title: Changing the Story
Source:  Flash Fiction Challenge
Prompt: Write a story about a poisoned apple.
Word count:  99 words

I lift my eyes to behold the fairy tale wrapped in a make-believe land. I am defenseless, cold, and empty inside. Laying on my deathbed, the heroes turn away, and the wise men tremble. They are lost on the path leading nowhere.

But my story is not over. I refuse to bow. Rocks cannot break my glasshouse. Searching deep inside, I find the spark, light the fire, prove I am still alive.  Flames reveal the true ending.

I reject the poison apple you fed me, and it becomes the instrument of your death. My revenge is my life, well-lived.

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Keep on writing.

Jo Hawk The Writer

Forgotten Songs – Weekend Writing Prompt

/ JoHawkTheWriter / 16 Comments

Title: Forgotten Songs
Source:  Weekend Writing Prompt #118 – Song
Objective: Write a poem or piece of prose in exactly 102 words.

Photo by Jenny Yang on Unsplash

Jing-sheng’s cane clicked on the cobbled street. Pausing he lifted his head, scrutinizing the cages hanging between the buildings like forgotten laundry.

It started in the mid-15th century. Privileged elite gathered in tea houses, gossiping, drinking tall tales, and discussing the intricacies of feeding, raising and training their pets.

When his grandfather died, Jing-sheng embraced his legacy and his flock. No one would call him elite. A simple working man, he carried his treasures to the park every morning.

Vanished from the wild, the devoted ones slipped away. The exotic song of birds became a memory that faded with the winter wind.

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Keep on writing.

Jo Hawk The Writer

Discovering Secrets – Thursday Threads

/ JoHawkTheWriter / 8 Comments

Sofia sat across from Marsh. He was quiet, sipping his whiskey, and focusing on his phone. She had learned to never interrupt him.

The waiter laid their dinner plates on the table and Marsh studied her.

“Sofia, do you love me?”

“Of course, I do.”

“You know, I would have believed anything you said,” Marsh paused, “Until now.”

Marsh turned the device toward her. The image showed her and Nick, naked, and in his bed.

Her hands trembled and her cheeks burned.

“It’s not what you think…”

“A picture is worth a thousand words,” Marsh said laying his phone aside.

Sofia remained silent, waiting as Marsh started eating.

“It appears I have been neglecting my duties as a husband.”

“No…”

“No? Your photo tells a different story.”

“It’s over,” she whispered.

“Yes, it is.” Marsh stuffed a bite in his mouth.

“I know. You need to get pregnant,” he said jabbing his knife toward Sofia with each syllable.

“I don’t want a baby.”

“Liar,” the force of the word slapped her. Marsh leaned back in his chair.

“I would believe you, but there is that image. And it says the opposite.”

Sofia knew Marsh would be angry, but his reaction scared her more than his anger ever could. She wasn’t safe now. She almost laughed. She realized he had always threatened her. The fleeting thoughts of leaving him began to coalesce in her mind. Her subconscious had been planning her escape for years. It was time to execute her plan.

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Keep on writing.

Jo Hawk The Writer