Choosing Action – 3 Line Tales

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

three line tales, week 192: a rainbow over a plaza Photo by Sara Riaño via Unsplash

Rosie heard the sayings, listened to the famous, sappy song, and she believed the pot of gold existed at the rainbow’s end.

It wasn’t a secret, no one contested the facts, but when a rainbow appeared, they stood motionless, staring, stuck with wonder, afraid to act.

The minute the colors splashed across the sky, Rosie chose an end and ran headlong towards her goal.


Keep on writing.

Jo Hawk The Writer

Hollow Victory – Friday Fictioneers

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

PHOTO PROMPT © Dale Rogerson

Ginny balanced the Louisville Slugger against her leg and sighed, realizing she had earned her fifteen minutes of fame. Her friends would slap her back. They would call her the bomb.

She had grown tired of hanging her head, ducking questions and running scared. The trash talk time had ended, and the time for action had arrived. She stepped up to the plate, dug in, and swung for the fences.

The police, so slow to protect her, were quick to arrest her, but her file proved it was self-defense. No matter what they said, it didn’t feel like a victory.


Keep on writing.

Jo Hawk The Writer


An Event – FFfPP

Title: An Event
Word count: 200 words

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Rachel checked the time. She was sure their text had said eleven, but the sidewalk café was deserted. Her compulsion ensured she was always early. But she expected someone would be here, setting up maybe? There were no life signs.

She sighed, digging her phone from her purse, and squinted at the screen. It was blank. She glanced around the empty street and looked skyward. She shifted, positioning her body to shield the sun’s glare. No bars. No connections, and when she tried to access her texts, nothing displayed.

Her gut twisted, but she pushed it aside, refusing to acknowledge it. She sat in a chair, resigned to waiting. They would arrive soon. The minutes ticked, the wind blew, and clouds scudded across the sky. Shivering, she waited for the shadow to pass.

“How are you alive?” A respirator’s hiss obscured a man’s voice. The black-uniformed figure emerged from the dark craft hovering behind him.

“I’m waiting for my friends,” Rachel’s heart pounded in her chest.

“They’re not coming.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Come with me.”

“Why? What’s happened?”

“There’s been an event. No one survived.”

“But, I’m here.”

“That’s why you must come with me,” he said, extending his hand.


Keep on writing.

Jo Hawk The Writer

The Devil’s Playground – #MenageMonday

Source: Dreamstime

Friday night regulars, they met to drink, play cards and see how much of each other’s payday they could steal.

“Does it help?” Malachi asked flipping a card toward Tyrone.

Tyrone’s gnarled finger directed it to rest on top of his other cards. He sighed.

“Naw man. Ain’t nothing helpin my luck, tonight,” he pushed back his chair and took the last drag off his cigarette as it burned into the filter.

“Hey, you leavin?”

Tyrone stubbed out the butt and fished a handful of coins from his pocket.

“Reckon I gots me enough to git home.”

“Just me and you, Reggie,” Malachi said as he gathered the deck.

Smoke billowed around Reggie’s head, but he remained silent.

Tyrone and Willie watched the hand play out. Willie ordered another drink, and Tyrone sauntered to the wrought iron exit. Outside, the express pulled away. He considered making it stop. As he sat in darkness, it began to rain, and the gutter became a rushing river. Wind howled and lightening flashed in the sky.

“Brother looks like misery done shit on your parade.” A red Cadillac rolled up on the curb.

“Ain’t as bad as all that,” Tyrone said.

Reggie leaned across the Cadillac’s seat.

“Hey, O Mighty Prince of Darkness. H’bout you hop in and we’ll truck your ass home where it belongs? All Hell’s bustin lose, and your subjects be needin your dark hand.”

Tyrone puffed on another glowing cigarette.

“Like I was sayin, ain’t as bad as all that.”


Keep on writing.

Jo Hawk The Writer

Endgame — Friday Fictioneers

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

PHOTO PROMPT © Jeff Arnold

The tables sit in a straight line. Twelve tables, twelve chess boards, twenty-four opponents each with sixteen pieces, all three hundred and eighty-four pieces engaged in battle to decide the crowning of Grand Master.

The arbiters circled like vultures waiting for the dead, held in check by the tick-tock of the game clock. The opponents fall and regroup striving for the prize.

I am the endgame, unseen, observing, manipulating. My eyes level with the boards, I influence each move.

Achieving the 8th rank, passed pawn promoted queen I look to my twin, we push the king to check and victory.


Keep on writing.

Jo Hawk The Writer

The Skeleton Ball — 100 Word Wednesday

Title: The Skeleton Ball
Source:  100 Word Wednesday: Week 95
Word count: 100 words (x2)

In honor of Halloween, I have written two 100-word sections. Enjoy.

Photo by NeONBRAND

Jim Reaper didn’t want to go to the party, but his friends all said he needed to pick up somebody. The last time he went to a party they used him as a coat rack. Before he got inside Jim saw right through a beautiful girl.

“Hi, I’m Jim Reaper.” Jim hoped his rattling bones didn’t show how nervous he was.

“I’m Dee, Dee Ceased,” she said looking down at her bony hands.

“Do you like the party?”

“No, there is no body to dance with,” Dee said.

“Dance with me?” Jim asked as his bony hand touched hers.


Jim looked at Dee’s blank expression as a slow song started.

“Let’s sit this one out,” Jim said, pointing to a table.

“Great.” Dee followed, thinking dancing with Jim was fun.

“My favorite band is The Grateful Dead,” Jim said, sitting next to her.

“Oh, I like them. Them, and Bone Jovi.”

“Me, too.”

Jim’s friend Mumford stopped in front of them.

“Hey, you guys want a drink?”

“Sure,” Jim responded. “We’ll have two beers and a mop chaser.”

Dee laughed and moved closer, “I like you, Jim.”

Jim draped his arm over Dee’s scrawny shoulder and pulled her close.


Keep on writing.

Jo Hawk The Writer

The Investigation — FFfPP

Title: The Investigation
Word count: 190 words

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Rick replaced the camera on the bed and scanned the one-room studio apartment. It was spartan. A single folding chair sat angled next to the window. A card table stood not in front of the chair, but behind it. The table held a stained ashtray devoid of ash and butts. A roll of black trash bags lay by the door, otherwise, the room was empty. No pictures hung on the walls, no clothes in the closet, no toiletries in the tiny white bathroom.

With two steps Rick crossed the room and sat in the chair.

“What do you see, boss?”

“Guess,” Rick replied.

“The victim’s apartment?”

“Her bedroom, the bathroom and… Hand me the camera with the telephoto,” Rick said. He extended his hand and waited. Feeling the camera’s weight, he moved it to augment his view, and spun the lens ring, refining his focus.

Rick laid the camera on the card table and stood. Despite excess paint clogging the jamb, it opened easily. He grabbed the camera, held to his eye, and scanned victim’s building.


“She’s not his only victim,” he said. “She is just the first reported.”


Keep on writing.

Jo Hawk The Writer

The Flower Garden — Weekly Writing Challenge

Title: The Flower Garden
Source:  Weekly Writing Challenge #165
The five words: ROUGH, GATE, RAG, HIP, WINE
Word count: 210 words

Photo by Tim Shapcott on Unsplash

It was Tasha’s favorite place in the entire world. A wooden fence that had seen better days encircled the flower garden. There were still places where white paint clung to the rough, weather-worn surface. The broken latch allowed the gate to bang in the wind with the consistency of a deer scarer.

The seasons slowly slipped through time. Greedy yellow finches plucked the coneflowers bare of seeds and the once purple petals faded to rusty brown. The clematis clung to the black iron trellis. Its cloud white petals, blown free by the mornings freezing breeze, lay scattered across the garden.

Whether the scrubby rose bushes held the fence upright, or the fence contained the wild rose was a topic of debate Tasha entertained daily.  This morning she carried the rag woven basket Gram had made for her. Full of matured crimson rose hips, Tasha dreamed of the fragrant tea Gram made each fall.

Even in the flower garden, they harvested everything edible. The elderflowers and their berries were fermenting in bottles, and if she behaved, Gram would allow her a sip of the wine. On a blustery winter’s day, one sip would transport her, warmed like blissful summer the memories would unfurl of the most beautiful place on earth.


Keep on writing.

Jo Hawk The Writer

Greystone Dreams — FFfAW Challenge

Title: Greystone Dreams
Source: Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers
Word count: 155 words

This week’s photo prompt is provided by Jade M. Wong. Thank you, Jade!

Lizzy trembled and checked her phone. The address was correct. The house was a huge Romanesque Greystone Mansion, the kind they built after the Great Chicago Fire. She didn’t dare hope, but she breathed deeply and proceeded through the wrought-iron gate, and up the steps.

A thin woman wearing magazine styled grey hair and clothes to match answered the door.

“You’re Lizzy,” she stated more than asked and extended her hand. “I’m Rose. The apartment entrance is on the side. Follow me.”

They walked along the side of the house and around the corner where Lizzy stopped and gasped.

“It’s not large, a thousand square feet, living room, and kitchen downstairs, bedroom and bath upstairs. Security deposit is twelve hundred, rent is twelve hundred. Security and first month’s rent is payable at lease signing.” Rose said unlocking the door.

“I’ll take it,” Lizzy blurted.

“Well, welcome home, Lizzy.” Rose laughed and swung the door wide.


Keep on writing.

Jo Hawk The Writer

Disavowed — Thursday photo prompt

Title: Disavowed
Source:  Thursday photo prompt: Way-stone #writephoto
Word count: 250 words

No one told me the truth. Not until it was too late. It took years to find. I spent my free time tracking leads, digging through documents and asking strangers intimate and private details.

Today I was deep in the woods following the Plat of Survey from the County Assessor’s Office. The town was named for the family who first settled the land, her name. The town grew, but times changed, and the children left for larger towns and cities seeking more opportunities, more jobs, more life. If you took a chance, you could leave small-town life and small-town values.

The children never returned. Parents died leaving a ghost town echoing with their unfulfilled dreams. A gas station and a diner remained in the boarded-up town, a convenience for travelers as they headed elsewhere.

The woods were peaceful, the birds sang, and squirrels scampered in the trees as I walked the old overgrown path. No one visited. A forgotten fence lay rotting on the ground while forest plants grew, threatening to obliterate the site. Moss-covered stones melted into nature. I tore the moss from marker faces, wiped the grim hiding what I sought.

My search didn’t take long. Her name was carved beneath the words “Devoted Daughter” followed by birth and death dates. They were all that remained to bear testimony of her life. My hand caressed a name hardened, etched upon my mind, my final connection. I knelt at her grave, and whispered, “Hi Mom. Do you remember me?”


Keep on writing.

Jo Hawk The Writer