Title: Barter at the Bar
Source: Weekend Writing Prompt #124 – Barter
Objective: Write a poem or piece of prose in exactly 11 words
Photo by Michael Mroczek on Unsplash
The barter accepted, exchanging memories for blissful nothingness, his pain drowned.
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Keep on writing.
Jo Hawk The Writer
From Sonya’s 3LineTales at Only100Words.
You can find the original prompt here. Thank you, Sonya
photo by Alina Fedorchenko via Unsplash
We stared at each other, motionless, neither willing to break the spell.
Time flew, the world spun, and the neglected building faded, crumbling around us.
When the structure failed, I lost you in the billowing debris, and my final thoughts were wishing we had one minute more.
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Keep on writing.
Jo Hawk The Writer
Photo by Luke Southern on Unsplash
Angerona’s lifeless hand slipped from Sirona’s grasp. It rested peacefully over her heart as she conjured a smile.
“I am sorry, my child. I tried to prepare you. Know that his fate is tangled with your own.”
Sirona bent closer, straining to catch every word.
“Follow the Vovk Codex,” she exhaled, and the last ember faded in her coal-black eyes.
Numb, Sirona couldn’t breathe, couldn’t cry, couldn’t believe she was gone. Not now. Not when she needed her guidance to fix this. Angerona had shrouded truth in her fanciful stories of myths and legends far removed from reality. It was a childish game of Hide and Seek and pretty rewards. Until three days ago, when the threats became real.
“It’s not your fault. You did everything possible.”
The words, filtered by dark despair and red-hot anguish, seeped into her mind. Ralph stood beside her. His presence didn’t comfort her, it only fueled her rage.
“She was lucky to live so long.”
“You imbecile. With her death, there is nothing I can do to prevent the prophecy,” Sirona rose from her spot next to Angerona to confront Ralph.
“Without her, you will die.”
“You can’t know that.”
“Were you not listening? Ralph, magic is against you and your supporters. They killed Angerona. Do you realize what they’ll do to you?”
“I don’t plan on dying.” Ralph’s face turned red and the veins in his neck throbbed.
“You haven’t got a chance.”
“The prophecy didn’t state names. There is always a chance.”
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Keep on writing.
Jo Hawk The Writer
Title: No Respect
Source: 100 Word Wednesday: Week 138
Word count: 100 words
Image by Cyranny
It’s true what they say. You can never go home again was a statement I had heard my entire life. I didn’t understand until today.
Mom said we needed to pay our respects, honor the hard work, the sacrifices, and the memories. So, the parade of cars turned left on Anderson and filed past the French Bistro. It held no resemblance to the place I remembered. Vulgar graffiti accentuated fading paint. Weeds choked the carryout window.
There was no honor, no respect for a lifetime’s sacrifices. Memories had long since fled. The only remaining task was to bury the dead.
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Keep on writing.
Jo Hawk The Writer
Title: Delicate Balance
Source: Weekend Writing Prompt #123 – Delicate
Objective: Write a poem or piece of prose in exactly 106 words.
Photo by Jack Kaminski on Unsplash
My soul cried, devoid of meaning, lacking joy. The city droned with an insistency I could no longer hear, while my failed dreams echoed through my skull.
By some miracle, I discovered the nymph clinging to a single swaying reed. My entire focus centered on the green darner while his concentration was the process of his metamorphosis and shedding the shell of his naiad existence.
He breathed life into his new form. He waited patiently, as delicate latticed appendages unfurled. Opaque wings lightened, expanded, reaching for a vision of beauty that lay hidden deep inside.
Hours later he launched his maiden flight, and my world changed.
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Keep on writing.
Jo Hawk The Writer
Title: The End of Summer Camp
Source: Friday Fictioneers sponsored by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields-Addicted to Purple
Word count: 100 words
PHOTO PROMPT © J Hardy Carroll
In the main hall’s kitchen, Kitty bled the water faucet. Other than the expected bumps and bruises and a case of poison ivy, camp had gone smoothly. Nothing like last year. One final check, to perform. With the cabins locked tight, she could return the keys.
She didn’t hear the screen door bang, because a gloved hand guided it, closing it softly. She didn’t see the knife slash, because a stealthy attacker wielded it, striking quickly.
Afternoon sunlight danced through the skylight, and she realized she had ignored the warning signs. The faucet sputtered and hissed, leaving the line dry.
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Keep on writing.
Jo Hawk The Writer
Title: The Greatest Gift
Source: Flash Fiction Challenge
Prompt: Write a story that includes the greatest gift.
Word count: 99 words
Photo by Boudewijn Huysmans on Unsplash
As the day approaches, my anticipation increases. Doubt wrings conviction from my heart while my head constructs lists designed to weigh each decision’s consequences.
My worry consumes me, and my mother sends me to visit the shrine. The Omikuji will predict my future, she says.
Thousands of paper strips tied to pine rods dominate the temple grounds. I fear the multitude of curses and bad fortunes others have tried to leave behind. Still, I make my donation and follow ancient customs. Trembling hands clutch the paper. I read my destiny and press the god’s great blessing into my soul.
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Keep on writing.
Jo Hawk The Writer
Source: Dreamstime
Jeremy stopped looking for easy answers. There weren’t any. Not for him. Maybe the shaman had a point. His life would be less difficult if he didn’t fight.
“Fighting is a way,” he told him. The wise man smiled and nodded.
It is what brought him here tonight, his latest fight. The latest obstacle standing between him and success was fifty feet of bridge. Simple. Except the damn harvest moon illuminated the world brighter than a cloudless day at high noon.
Cables groaned and the planks spanning the abyss twisted, swaying in the wind. He couldn’t see them, but they were there. Eleven o’clock, at the ridge’s cleft where the tree line provided protection yet afforded a clear shot. It was the site he’d chose. Easy as shooting fish in a barrel.
“Why are we waiting?” his second asked.
“I figure we’ve got about a twenty-five percent chance of making it to the other side.”
“Better than zero.”
“I promised to keep you alive.”
“No, you said you would try. These last weeks, we’ve had more freedom than we’ve ever known. You’ve gotten us this far. Considering where we started, we have already won.” The faces behind him smiled and nodded.
Jeremy let his breath explode through his lips.
“We should wait.”
“We should let the devil dogs catch us?” An angel’s face confronted Jeremy.
“We knew the risks and made our choices. It is our only way. The question is… Are you ready?” she asked. Jeremy smiled and nodded.
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Keep on writing.
Jo Hawk The Writer
From Sonya’s 3LineTales at Only100Words.
You can find the original prompt here. Thank you, Sonya
Photo by eberhard grossgasteiger on Unsplash
I spied Springsteen’s ears peeking over the top of the cardboard box and I knew he was hunting trouble.
His patient stalking paid off as Winston, my English Bulldog, ambled past his hiding spot.
Springsteen sprung, pouncing on poor befuddled Winston, before streaking across the room to pause in the doorway, hoping for an encore.
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Keep on writing.
Jo Hawk The Writer
Photo by Philippe Oursel on Unsplash
“It’s not an easy story,” I shifted, uncomfortable under the weight of their eyes, I studied my shaking hands. “And you’re never going to believe me.”
I peeked at Tenzin. His serene face mirrored the silent temple where we stood, surrounded by dozens of demure monks.
“Tell me what happened.”
“He said his world suddenly made sense. Then he rose and walked to the parking lot. He changed right there in front of me,” I paused, dry-mouthed as I uttered the final words, “He became a Lotus.”
The monk bowed his head, his lips moving in personal prayer. When he finished, he lifted his gaze, smiled at me, and placed his right palm on my shoulder. It was a gesture meant to comfort me, but it didn’t help.
“Samlo do not distress yourself. I have long suspected Pema would find his way to transcend this world’s constraints. He committed himself to his journey of discovering true inner peace and enlightenment. It is not surprising he would awaken and move to another dimension. It is fitting his chosen form was a lotus blossom.”
“You don’t understand.”
“He didn’t turn into a lotus?”
“Well, yes, he did. But it wasn’t a flower.” Tenzin’s face contorted, but I couldn’t stop myself. “He became a big bright metallic orange-colored Lotus. The next thing I knew he was laying down rubber and squealing the tires. He took a lap, did a donut, then sped to the exit, leaving me in a cloud of golden smoke.”
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Keep on writing.
Jo Hawk The Writer
Jo Hawk 