August

Violante’s Metamorphosis

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Photo on Visualhunt.com

Violante planned to perform the familiar centuries-old ceremony. As the decades passed she found the ritual was becoming harder to complete. It wasn’t the ritual itself, but the preparation that taxed her. Things were easier in earlier times, technology and progress impeded her ability to make the ritual work.

She sighed wishing for simplicity, the old times and her sister’s comradery. They had become as rare as the magical walnut tree. Now, she worked alone. The night arrived, and she and her pets walked the moonlight path.

Under the walnut she felt the power it held and said the ancient chants, clouds gathered, and the old gods walked with her. They anointed Violante with oil, released the frail body that cursed her existence, raised her in the rays of a new sun. The transformation complete, the physical link to her life severed, she stepped into her new beginning.

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Keep on writing.

Jo Hawk The Writer

Fade — 3 Line Tales, Week 132

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From Sonya’s 3LineTales at Only100Words.
You can find the original prompt here. Thank you, Sonya.

photo by Khürt Williams via Unsplash

The day played on a continuous loop reserved for her mind only.

Brilliant flashbacks fluttered past reflecting ghosts from other days.

Grains of sand slipped through the hour glass stealing the memory frame by frame.

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Keep on writing.

Jo Hawk The Writer

Yu and the Yellow Dragon

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Photo credit: Carrie Kellenberger I globetrotterI on Visualhunt / CC BY

Stories of Gonggong and the Great Floods were Yu’s first memories. By the time he was four, he could recite the tale. Gonggong was a powerful giant red dragon and the god of water. Zhurong the god of fire desired to be king of the gods. Zhurong challenged Gonggong to a battle. The two fought, destroying towns and villages, devastating the land in their wake. Zhurong won. Gonggong was ashamed of his failure. His shame turned to an uncontrollable rage, and he smashed a mountain releasing the great floods.

For years Yu watched his family and neighbors battle the water god. Whenever they appeared to be winning Gonggong laughed and sent floodwaters to destroy their crops and the homes and villages they had rebuilt.

Determined to save his people, Yu vowed to stop the Great Floods. On his quest, he met a yellow dragon and Yu convinced him to help. Together they devised a plan, but they needed the black turtle for the plan to work.  Yu and the yellow dragon searched for the black turtle until they found him. Yu told the story of his people and their suffering, and the black turtle agreed to help them in their mission. The plan worked, and they stopped the floods. Yu’s family and neighbors returned to their homes and a grateful people proclaimed Yu as their king

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Keep on writing.

Jo Hawk The Writer

The Drop — Friday Fictioneers August 10

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

PHOTO PROMPT © Ronda Del Boccio

His directions showed a booth in the empty section at the rear of the diner. The hostess motioned for him to sit and dropped the menu on the table. Bart sat his back to the brick wall and watched her disappear around the divider, leaving him alone.

He leaned forward and ran his hands underneath the tabletop and the bench where he sat. He checked his phone, determining he was in the correct spot

“Where is it,” he wondered?

A planter box sat on the divider and Bart’s hand snaked along the rim, searching. He removed the envelope and smiled.

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Keep on writing.

Jo Hawk The Writer

Duplicity — FFfPP Week 32

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Title:  Duplicity
Source:  FLASH FICTION FOR THE PURPOSEFUL PRACTITIONER- 2018 WEEK #32
Word count:  184 words

MorgueFile May 2018 1400068700w0086

Lisette tried to look inconspicuous as she walked past the restaurant’s main window. The restaurant was empty, so she adjusted her sandal’s strap and scanned the interior. The main dining room held twelve linen-covered tables. She noticed everything, but she focused on the oil paintings. Eight hung in the room and she dismissed each one. It had to be here. She pretended to shuffle through her purse and saw it hanging behind the hostess stand. Lisette pulled her phone from her purse and walked away.

Jean-Pierre took over the family restaurant from his father, but times changed, the neighborhood changed, and the business suffered. His grown children had no interested in running the family business. It was time he retired, so he closed the doors. They had a party to say goodbye to the neighborhood and his loyal customers. The next morning Jean-Pierre dismantled his life. He removed the oil painting from the wall where it hung all these years. This one painting was his retirement fund.

Jean-Pierre took the painting to a dozen appraisers. They agreed his original Edward Hopper was a fake.

 

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Keep on writing.

Jo Hawk The Writer

Keeping Promises – 100 Word Wednesday Week 83

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Title:  Keeping Promises
Source:  100 Word Wednesday: Week 83
Word count: 100 words

Image by Bikurgurl

Danny and Suzie had spent decades planning this trip. They were young when they married, and money was scarce. Danny promised he would one day take her on a dream honeymoon. Suzie dreamed of Hawaii.  Life always interceded, and they postponed their trip. Four babies came with bottles, bicycles, and braces. The years flew and there were college tuitions and wedding celebrations. They never stopped dreaming. They researched and planned but family was more important.  Today they would view the lava flow where it entered the ocean. Suzie hugged the urn in her arms. She didn’t want to say goodbye.

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Keep on writing.

Jo Hawk The Writer

Brake Lights

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Photo on Visual hunt

The taillights in front of me blazed red, he was stopping, fast, and I was barreling straight for him.  I slammed the brakes and felt the anti-lock feature pumping the pedal beneath my foot. My right hand flew to the passenger seat to stop my purse from tumbling to the floorboards. Too late. I was getting closer to the car’s rear bumper and I couldn’t stop. The anti-lock brakes still pumped the pedal, but my tires skimmed across the wet pavement. There was a car to my right, no escape route. In my rear-view mirror, I saw the horrified face of the driver behind me. He was too close. I had no intention of becoming the middle of a sandwich.

Both hands clutching the wheel, I yanked it to the left. Terrified the action might send me into a spin, I prepared to steer into the skid. I prayed the shoulder was wide enough to maneuver without hitting the cement divider and ricochet me into a collision I wanted to avoid.

My car shuttered and shook as the tires hit rumble boards and loose gravel. That bit of resistance stopped me from hydroplaning, the traction violently slowed the car’s forward motion. My whole body lurched forward, the seat belt locked, digging into my shoulder. White knuckles gripped the steering wheel, and I screamed as the windshield raced to connect with my face. The car stopped throwing me against the seat. The purse and its contents disappeared underneath the passenger seat. My heart raced, my pulse throbbed in my ears and I gasped air. My hands held their death grip on the steering wheel. I forced myself to let go of the wheel, my hands shook, and I wanted to cry. I slid the drive shifter into Park.

The man in the car behind me slid to a stop gently kissing the bumper of the car I had been following. Three lanes of traffic doing sixty-five miles an hour come to a dead stop. I hugged the steering wheel allowing fear and tensions to ebb.

A tap on my side window startled me. The man from the car behind me stared at me.

“You ok?” He asked as I opened the window.

“Yeah, I’m fine. How are you?”

“I thought I was dead. The brakes locked. I couldn’t stop. So, I closed my eyes and waited for the collision. But it didn’t happen. My car stopped. I opened my eyes, and you had disappeared. But here you are. What happened?”

“I swerved.”

“You did more than that, you saved my life.”

We smiled like fools and laughed.

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Keep on writing.

Jo Hawk The Writer

Pushing Through — FFfAW Challenge

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Title:  Pushing Through
Source: Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers
Word count:  150 words

This week’s photo prompt is provided by wildverbs. Thank you wildverbs!

Rachel passed the bench three times today. One more time she told herself.

She wanted to sit and rest. Doctor’s orders said one mile.

“This is crap,” she thought.

“It will get easier,” they said.

“You will grow to love it,” they said.

“Your body will crave the endorphins,” they said.

Who were they kidding? It was a conspiracy, lies they told themselves. It wasn’t working, she didn’t feel an endorphin-releasing rush. She had been exercising a week and none of the garbage they spewed had happened.

Rachel stopped, staring at the bench. Sweat trickled down her back, hair clung to her face and neck. Her clothes stuck to her body in places where they shouldn’t. She fanned herself with both hands, knowing a mirror would reflect a blotchy red face.  She needed a shower.

Rachel stood and stared at the bench.

“Ok, bench. See you in a few minutes.”

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Keep on writing.

Jo Hawk The Writer

Bellini at Harry’s Bar

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Photo credit: crazybobbles on VisualHunt / CC BY

The bartender placed the Bellini on the ancient table and smiled.

“Another tough week?” he asked.

It was late afternoon, and I sat at a table in the back.  I faced the entrance, knowing my buddies would roll in soon. It had been a tough week, and I figured I earned my break.

“Can’t be all work,” I said raising my glass in mock salute.

He placed two fingers to his temple, returned my salute, performed a smart turn and marched to the bar. He mixed a good Bellini and tonight they would pile the glasses high.  I sipped my drink and felt the Prosecco flood my bloodstream. Given my current condition, tomorrow wouldn’t be pretty.

Last night I didn’t sleep. My goal was close, and I spent today putting the finishing touches on the work. The alcohol reminded me I hadn’t eaten either. I was in the right place to rectify my oversight.

The boys burst through the front door and I waved. They made their way to the table while I struggled with my nerves. Maybe I shouldn’t tell them.

“Well?” Ted asked as the boys scuffed chairs across the floor, finding their places.

It was too late. I pulled thumb drives from my pocket and handed one to each of them.

“It’s all there. Read it. Tell me what you think.”

The boys cheered, and I descended into doubt.

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Keep on writing.

Jo Hawk The Writer