From Sonya’s 3LineTales at Only100Words.
You can find the original prompt here. Thank you, Sonya.
photo by Beata Ratuszniak via Unsplash
Alexi mastered his craft, working diligently, he painted every day.
Prints of work by Van Gogh, Ruben, and Klimt sold better than any of his original pieces.
Despite the hardship and the obscurity, he refused to listen to his family and friends, confident that in the end, everyone would remember him.
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Keep on writing.
Jo Hawk The Writer
Title: Buried Treasure
Source: Flash Fiction Challenge
Prompt: write a story about a character who looks back.
Word count: 99 words
Photo by Joshua Hoehne on Unsplash
Cal dropped to his knees and gently lifted the book from the debris. Somehow it survived. If he wasn’t cradling in his hands feeling its weight, the caress of its leather cover, he would not have believed it possible.
Clutching the book to his chest, the memories coursed through him. Professor Dugan stood before him, telling Cal the odds were stacked against him ever succeeding. Cal felt defiance surge through him once again. They could laugh and sneer, but they were wrong. Sitting in the rubble Cal felt his destiny waiting.
He would show them how wrong they were.
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Keep on writing.
Jo Hawk The Writer
Photo by Michael Browning on Unsplash
River’s eyes flew open.
“River?” Simon scanned her face then checked the monitors.
She yanked off sensors, pulling her IV as she leaped from the exam table and ran to the door.
“What is it?” Simon yelled.
“Reavers,” she called as the door swished open.
Medical instruments clattered to the floor as the ship lurched, rocked by an explosion. Simon stumbled through the doorway. A Reaver slammed him, snarling teeth lunging at his throat. Suddenly, its head twisted violently, and the body crumbled.
River smiled at Simon and ran. Phaser blasts echoed, and Simon heard directions shouted to the crew from Mal, the ship’s captain. River disappeared around a corner.
Rounding the corner, Simon tripped over another dead Reaver. River caught him, whispering, “Run,” before she was off again.
Behind him, Simon saw another Reaver and ran.
The hallway ended with narrow stairs descending into the cargo bay. At the bottom, River swung right, ducking behind a container. Simon tried to follow but the muzzle of Mal’s gun stopped him.
“Mal, what are you doing?”
“You know I‘ll stand for nothing but serenity and bliss on my boat,” Mal said as he took aim and fired.
The shot whizzed past Simon, lodging in the gory, rotting mass of blood and teeth of the Reaver’s head. It’s convulsing body fell into Simon and they tumbled to the floor.
Mal stepped past them to stare at River huddled under the stairs.
“That all of them, Darlin?” he asked.
River nodded.
“For now.”
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Keep on writing.
Jo Hawk The Writer
Title: All Aboard
Source: Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers
Word count: 175 words
This week’s photo prompt is provided by Akshata Ram. Thank you, Akshata!
Ricky slammed the door, dropped his backpack with a bang and raced to the basement.
“Whoa,” he said, skidding to a stop before the model he and Gramps had started during his holiday break.
Smoke billowed from the shiny black stack of the train sitting at the depot. In the town, lights twinkled, and tiny figures walked the streets. The train whistle blasted, shattering the ice crystals that coated every surface. Startled, Ricky jumped, running for the train. It couldn’t leave without him. He sprinted across the wooden platform and leaped into the cab as the fireman blasted the whistle once more.
“I’m here,” Ricky yelled, and the old man released the cord.
“About damn time. You gonna drive or what?” he asked.
“Yeah, I’m driving,” Ricky grabbed the lever and pushed. The engine’s wheels spun on the iron rail, sparks spewed, and the boiler puffed.
“Slow. You gotta get traction first,” his fireman counseled.
Ricky eased back, the engine chugged, the wheels caught, and they were on their way as the first snowflakes fell.
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Keep on writing.
Jo Hawk The Writer
Title: Was Blind
Source: Friday Fictioneers sponsored by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields-Addicted to Purple
Word count: 100 words
PHOTO PROMPT © Russell Gayer
Rosie lived inside a Wall she couldn’t see until the stranger sat in her booth.
“How do you do it?” he asked.
“Do what?” Rosie tucked the pencil behind her ear and stuffed the order pad in her pocket.
“Live with the Wall,” he said, as he turned to look outside. “Aren’t you claustrophobic?”
Rosie followed his gaze.
“Coffee?” he prodded.
She remembered nothing else about him. The Wall followed her now, lurking outside windows, looming over buildings, creeping forward to clutch her throat with knobby fingers.
Rosie planned, engineered her freedom, fearing what would happen if she didn’t escape.
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Keep on writing.
Jo Hawk The Writer
Title: Let Go
Source: #MenageMonday Challenge
Word count: 290 words
Dreamstime, source
“You’re not really going to do this? Are you Daryl?”
I closed my eyes and wished for him to be silent.
“You know I’m not going anywhere. I can’t. Especially when you’re being stupid.”
I sighed.
“Daryl? Say something.”
“You know I have to try to save her. You heard her. The fate of the world is at stake.”
“Jesus, you bought that? Honestly, the only thing she is going to do is get you killed. Get me killed. She is a dark, twisted bitch.”
“But she is part of me just like you are. Besides, what if it’s true?” My words were barely audible as they left my lips. The rain pelted on the umbrella I held over my head and I wondered why people bothered to use them. My pants and shoes were soaking wet.
“Get over it, Daryl. Why do you always have to know the reason behind every little thing?”
“When have I ever steered us wrong?” I asked.
“Well… There was the time…”
“Shut up. Other than that one time?” There was a long silence as I waited for a response.
“Okay then. Can you trust me this one last time?”
“See? See? Even you think we are going to die. Admit it, Daryl. She’s sent you to your death. Our death.”
I had no words for him. He was most likely right. My gut knew I was the only one with the right skills. The only one who had a fighting chance of pushing back the light.
Lightening crackled over the House of Leaves and I shivered.
“Daryl?”
I pushed the other Daryl from my mind.
The die was cast, the path lay before me. It was up to me to end the game.
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Keep on writing.
Jo Hawk The Writer
Photo credit: _parrish_ via Visualhunt / CC BY-NC
Some nights I wake up screaming.
The nightmare has come again to taunt me. Who in the world do I think I am? Declaring myself to be a writer. Declaring that I am going to be a published author. Presuming that I am good. What if I fail? Sheer terror consumes me.
What if I fail?
The thought is inconceivable. I have too much riding on this endeavor. Too many people to prove wrong. Too much to prove to myself. “I can’t fail” whispers the clam and measured voice. There is a plan and I am working the plan. Every day. The story has become a part of every atom within me. I feel anxious if a day passes and I am not able to press fingers to the keyboard to move the story to the page.
The basis of optimism is sheer terror. — Oscar Wilde
Now I am an optimist it seems. There is no way I can fail in my goal. The story is being written. I will revise and edit and rewrite to ensure that it is good. It will be published and I will write another and another.
Last week I only managed to add 2,500 words to my slowly increasing total. It doesn’t feel like nearly enough, but it is more than I had last week. Review the plan. Work the plan.
Keep on writing.
Jo Hawk The Writer
photo by Ales Krivec via Unsplash
In the dark, the burden was heavier and filled with fear.
He made his way to the chapel where he got down on his knees.
As the light of dawn streamed in the windows, he knew he had been shown the way.
From Sonya’s 3LineTales at Only100Words. You can find the original prompt here . Thanks Sonya.
Keep on writing.
Jo Hawk The Writer
Photo credit: lars hammar via Visualhunt / CC BY-NC-SA
You know climbing back into the saddle is not always the easiest thing to do. But, at long last I have managed to do just that.
Friday was a stellar day. The payoff for all those days where I felt like I was just grinding it out and not making any progress. Friday I added just over 2,000 words.
In one day, I was able to write more than the combined total for the entire week!
Sadly, life intruded this weekend, so no time logged at the keyboard. The good news is that the story is demanding to be written. I am off to obey.
Keep on writing.
Jo Hawk The Writer
Photo credit: melderomero.com via VisualHunt / CC BY-NC-SA
Getting stuck sucks. Some would say that I have failed in achieving my writing goals.
Here’s the question:
“My great concern is not whether you have failed, but whether you are content with failure.” – Abraham Lincoln
The answer: I might be down but I am not out. I won’t be content until I finish what I have set out to do. This is what I have managed:
Then there was yesterday. A little bit of fact checking and word count of just over 1,100. In the last four days I have added just over 2,000 words to the total. It’s not much. But the story is now demanding that I get fingers on the keyboard.
Keep on writing.
Jo Hawk The Writer
Jo Hawk 