March

Subjugation – #MenageMonday!

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Title: Subjugation
Source:  #MenageMonday! Challenge Week 2×23
Word count: 250 words

Black And White, Chess, Board Game, Chessboard

Source: Dreamstime

Emma affixed the ends of the stethoscope in her ears.

“Let’s take a listen to your heart, shall we?” she said leaning over Nergal.

Nergal, strapped to the hospital bed, was wary and surprised at his inability to vanquish her. Instead, he shrank from her.  Long dark hair tumbled over her shoulder as she leaned forward. She had smudged eyes, and eyelashes blackened with heavy mascara. Despite her white lab coat, she exuded darkness. The corner of her lip curled.

“Funny, no heartbeat,” she said. “I never dreamed it would be this easy.”

“I’ve heard your minions, ‘she’s a marvel’, they say,” Nergal said, mocking her.

“Too bad you didn’t take them seriously,” Emma said tucking the stethoscope into her pocket.

“It is a game to you, isn’t it?”

“I call it ‘work’. Life and death. Serious stuff. Can you blame a girl for wanting a little fun?”

“I do when I’m the target of your ambition.”

Emma laughed.

“Your time has come Dark One. Great run, though. Inspirational, you might say.”

“You want to depose me?” Nergal countered.

“That’s the plan. It’s a good one, don’t you think? Though, I have wondered where the devil goes when he is dead.”

“You can’t kill me. Remember? No heartbeat.”

“Not the way you kill other beings. More of a checkmate, leaving me with your power,” she laid her hands on his chest, chanting as the fire faded from Nergal’s eyes.

“The king is dead, long live the queen,” her minions cried.

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Keep on writing.

Jo Hawk The Writer

Rolling the Calendar – Flash Fiction Challenge

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Title: Rolling the Calendar
Source:  Flash Fiction Challenge
Prompt: Write a story using the term backup.
Word count:  99 words

yellow-dodge-charger-rt-burning-rubber

Photo by Uillian Vargas on Unsplash

“I think we made it,” I said, but I spoke too soon.

Ahead, cop cars blocked our way. I slammed the brakes and as we skidded to a stop, I slammed her into reverse. Tires squawking and smoking, I punched the gas and my Dodge Charger lurched.

“Backup, backup, backup,” Harold screamed.

“No, shit Sherlock.”

Picking up speed, I jumped on the brakes, threw her into neutral and cranked the wheel. My baby spun. I shifted into second, then third.

“Hang on,” I yelled, “If the DeLorean can do it, we can.”

A poof of smoke, and we disappeared.

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Keep on writing.

Jo Hawk The Writer

The Caregiver – Weekend Writing Prompt

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Title: The Caregiver
Source:  Weekend Writing Prompt # 95 – Devotion
Objective: Write a poem or piece of prose in exactly 25 words.
Word count: 25 words

golden-retriever

Photo by Brandon Day on Unsplash

For Reggie and Buddy, it was love at first sight. Buddy’s devotion was constant, Reggie’s stalwart companion. And under his tender care, Reggie grew stronger.

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Keep on writing.

Jo Hawk The Writer

Learning to Fly – 3 Line Tales

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

photo by Eugene Lim via Unsplash

Early morning workouts and long practice hours leave little time for friends, or family, or fun.

But the Dream burns inside of you, a dream others don’t understand.

Sacrifices fade, every obstacle was worthwhile, when gravity’s bonds are broken, and you fly.

______________________

Keep on writing.

Jo Hawk The Writer

The Climb – 100 Word Wednesday

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Title: The Climb
Source:  100 Word Wednesday: Week 110
Word count: 100 words

Image by Bikurgurl

It had been a long climb. Now, at the trail’s summit, Jill realized it was worth every hard-won step. Along the path, Jill sometimes wanted to give in, give up, admit defeat.

But Bobby was with her, holding her hand. He yelled when she needed him to yell and coaxed when she needed coaxing. He picked her up, carrying her over the toughest steps. Because of Bobby, she stood awed by the view.

Jill wrapped her arms around him as a tear broke free.

Bobby wiped it away and smiled.

“See? I knew you were stronger than cancer,” he said.

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Keep on writing.

Jo Hawk The Writer

Fearless Leader – Thursday Threads

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Photo by Nicolas Thomas on Unsplash

“Step away from him and slowly lay the knife on the altar,” Abbie said stepping from her hiding spot. Startled eyes swiveled towards her and the automatic rifle she held. The one with the knife did as she told him.

“Let me assure you if I fire this gun, someone’s gonna be dead,” she continued, “Now, line up in front of the altar.”

Abbie watched as twelve robed figures slowly obeyed her command.

Rodger squirmed on the ground, struggling to get to his knees.

“You okay, there, Rodger?” she asked.

“I had everything under control, until you walked in,” Rodger grunted as he worked to escape from the amateur’s bonds.

“I see. Had them right where you wanted them, did you?”

“Exactly,” Rodger said as he continued struggling with the knot.

One of the robed figures moved, perhaps thinking Abbie was distracted.

“Easy there, big boy. Remember? I fire. You. Dead,” Abbie flicked the muzzle at him, motioning for him to move back.

Once free, Rodger walked to Abbie.

“Geez, Abs, if you had just kept quiet,” he began.

“If I had held my tongue, you’d be dead.”

“I was running out of options,” he grinned as he stepped past her.

“Dead,” Abbie repeated, backing out of the cavern.

“Everything is so black and white with you, Abs.”

“What about the device?” Abbie whispered, watching the robed figures.

“I have a plan.”

“Is it as good as this one?”

“We’re clear. Follow me,” Rodger said.

Abbie turned, and they ran.

__________________________________________

Keep on writing.

Jo Hawk The Writer

 

Due Diligence — Friday Fictioneers

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PHOTO PROMPT © Fatima Fakier Deria

Title: Due Diligence

Source: Friday Fictioneers sponsored by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields-Addicted to Purple

Word count: 100 words

Dianne’s heart raced. Today wasn’t a normal day. Usually she donned white cotton gloves to protect the delicate manuscripts and ancient texts she read. She searched the world requesting and gaining access to rare volumes written in arcane languages. The ink faded and difficult to read. It was worse when the ink eroded the paper leaving lace and obliterating meaning.

Today a rented boat and diver waited. They knew only what she needed them to know. If her research was correct, she would find the evidence she needed to confirm her conclusion. Today she hoped to find the sunken treasure.

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Keep on writing.

Jo Hawk The Writer

When Superheroes Fail — FFfPP

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Title: When Superheroes Fail

Source: FLASH FICTION FOR THE PURPOSEFUL PRACTITIONER- 2017 WEEK #14

Word count: 200 words

Dani wrestled the large cardboard box out of the minivan and hauled it to the front porch. She fumbled with the keys, unlocked the door, shoved the box over the threshold, and then kicked it across the tile so she could slam the door shut. Exhausted, she collapsed on the sofa in the living room and soon cried herself to sleep.

It sat in the same spot for months. Day after day, Dani walked past it.

“It has been almost a year,” her mother reminded her, staring at the box. Dani, didn’t reply, didn’t look at it.

Today was Justin’s birthday. Dani made his favorite cake, chocolate with chocolate icing. She lit the candles and carried it to the box as she sang ‘Happy Birthday’ to him. The candles burned, white wax pooling on the dark chocolate icing before she finally blew them out. Setting the cake on the floor, she knelt and opened the box.

On the top, just has she remembered were his superhero shoes. She hugged them to her chest. He was hers for only twelve years. At the end, she held his hand and told him he was brave. Even superheroes couldn’t save her baby boy.

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Keep on writing.

Jo Hawk The Writer

Diva — FFfAW

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Photo prompt provided by Louise with The Storyteller’s Abode. Thank you Louise!

Title: Diva

Source: Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers – Week of March 28, 2017

Word count: 170 words

Edgar pounded the keys of the piano and slammed the lid shut. He kicked the stool, sending it clattering across the floor. Clara jumped out of the way as it bounced off the wall. Standing, his face full of rage, he pushed past Fannie and headed downstage.

“That is enough. I cannot tolerate one more sour note from your diva,” he spat flinging his arm in Fannie’s general direction.

“Edgar, it is a rehearsal,” a voice pleaded from a seat in the middle of the darkened theater.

“At this rate, you’ll be in rehearsal for years. No. I won’t stand for this. Either she goes or I do.”

“Edgar, be reasonable.”

Edgar turned and stomped off stage.

“Edgar?”

He was gathering his things from the greenroom when Fannie entered, closing the door behind her.

“Edgar, I know I can’t sing, not like her. But mother won’t let me go.”

“Stand up to her. Quit.”

“You know I can’t.”

“Oh, Fannie.”

The tears began as Edgar pulled her into his arms.

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Keep on writing.

Jo Hawk The Writer

Fuga! — Warm Up Exercise

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Photo credit: infinitaletizia via Visual hunt / CC BY-NC-ND

My lungs burned as I raced after my brother. We plunged headlong down the steep streets attempting to fly with each step, the papal guards a short distance behind us. I cried out in pain as my shoulder slammed into the wall where the street curved. I was running so fast I couldn’t navigate the turn.

“Avanti,” Sandro yelled at me. He shouldn’t have wasted his breath, I knew what would happen if the guards caught us. Seconds later Sandro skidded to a stop, dashed to his left and vanished. I fixed my eyes to the spot where I had last seen him, slowing as I got close. I glanced left into a short vicoletto. The alleyway ended with a set of stairs that lead to bolted doors. Sandro’s head peeped out from behind a wooden door that half blocked the stairwell. He motioned me forward.

“What have you done? There’s no way out of here. The guards….” my voice trail off as Sandro motioned for me to be quiet and disappeared behind the wooden door. I heard the guards in the street. Maybe they wouldn’t find us.

I ducked behind the door, only Sandro wasn’t there. Instead, I looked at a dark opening where a wall should be. A cool, damp breeze wafted into the vicoletto.

“Entra qui.”

It was Sandro’s voice, reaching out from the murky void. I stepped inside drowned in darkness as the door silently slid shut, cutting us off from the guards.

“Silenzio,” he whispered. We could hear the guards outside the door. They tromped up the stairs and banged on the bolted doors. There was a loud crash as one of them knocked over the potted plant. A muffled voice called from the street and the guards retreated. Only silence remained.

Sandro fumbled in the darkness lighting a candle.

“What is this place?” I asked.

“Passaggio segreto, secret, no? Corrono sotto la città.”

“Under the city?”

“Si. C’è un’uscita al di là delle mura della città. Passato le guardie.”

“The tunnel will get us past the guards?”

“Si. Passato le guardie saremo al sicuro.

“Andiamo,” I said. Trusting my brother, we began our escape.

______________________

Keep on writing.

Jo Hawk The Writer