story

Fifteen-Minute Road Trip — FFfAW Challenge – 175

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Title:  Fifteen-Minute Road Trip
Source: Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers
Word count: 170 words

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

It was a game, a stupid childish game that saved my life. My earliest memory is of me, my three sisters and Dad playing Red Light, Green Light. We always played games. The year I turned six, Dad introduced a new game. He called it “Fifteen-Minute Road Trip”. My sisters and I listened to the rules. Dad would set a timer and we had fifteen minutes to pack a bag with everything we needed for a weekend road trip. Our first attempts caused peals of laughter when we discovered missing clothes, or shoes or toothpaste. Gradually our packing improved, and one day Dad told us to get in the car. We left for the weekend and had to live with only what we packed.

Yesterday, the evacuation team knocked at the door saying the winds had shifted, and the wildfires were upon us. They gave us fifteen minutes to gather the lifetime of possessions from our homes, pack our cars and leave. Today I live with only what I packed.

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Keep on writing.

Jo Hawk The Writer

Small Town (The Rewrite) — Friday Fictioneers July 20

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

PHOTO PROMPT © Dale Rogerson

This is a story I posted a few days ago for Friday Fictioneers. One of the comments suggested it might have more impact if written in the present simple.  So here is both the original and the rewrite. Let me know which version you like better.

The Original Story
Moist sheets clung to my body. The sun beat on me trying to turn my bruises lobster red. The oscillating fan set on high evaporated the perspiration and raised goosebumps as the artificial breeze swept across my body. I closed my eyes, tired of the heat, tired of this small town and the smaller minds that lived here. Small townspeople talked about everyone’s business and buried their secrets deep. I hid my secret well, so they would never guess why I left. I pulled the drapes across the window. Neither the sun nor that man would beat on me again.

The Rewritten Story
Moist sheets cling to my body. The sun beats on me trying to turn my bruises lobster red. The oscillating fan set on high evaporates the perspiration and raises goosebumps as the artificial breeze sweeps across my body. I close my eyes, tired of the heat, tired of this small town and the smaller minds that live here. Small townspeople talk about everyone’s business and bury their secrets deep. I hide my secret well, so they will never guess why I left. I pull the drapes across the window. Neither the sun nor that man will beat on me again.

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Keep on writing.

Jo Hawk The Writer

Release

/ JoHawkTheWriter / 4 Comments

Photo on Visual hunt

Her head rang from jangles and sirens and the neighbor’s too loud tv. She couldn’t think, couldn’t concentrate, couldn’t write. A nap, maybe all she needed was a nap. But that didn’t work either. She grabbed her keys and drove to the lake.  The din fell away as she walked the water’s edge and the wind tugged the tangles from her mind. Gulls squabbled, turning somersaults in the air before plunging into the waves to snag a silver treasure. Waves lapped at her feet, erased her footprints, denied her existence. With a deep breath, she smelled the sand, water, dead fish and life. Her heart cracked open expelling a tension she hadn’t recognized she held. Without thinking, she sank to her knees and wrote.

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Keep on writing.

Jo Hawk The Writer

Simon Says — 3 Line Tales Week 129

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

photo by Alex Knight via Unsplash

Simon was super cute, highly efficient and he learned everything about me.
I didn’t have to worry about cleaning or cooking or a hundred other minor things.
My life was arranged, tidy, sterile and devoid of any spontaneity.

______________________

Keep on writing.

Jo Hawk The Writer

Truffles

/ JoHawkTheWriter / 10 Comments

Photo credit: Trish Hamme on VisualHunt.com / CC BY

I first saw her in the spring. Chance morning meetings turned into regular occurrences. She was cute, and I looked forward to seeing her, but I forgot her before I got to work. Her business did not concern me. One morning I realized she was hungry. It took several days before I got my act together and remembered to open a can of tuna on my way out the door. The days passed, and she greeted me as I left for work, winding around my legs, expecting me to stroke her head or perhaps waiting for me to feed her.

One rainy night, I pulled into the driveway, my headlights capturing glowing eyes on my doorstep. That night everything changed. She was soaking wet and looked pathetic. Her blues eyes looked at me, she opened her mouth and mewed. She had never spoken. My heart melted and when I opened the front door she dashed inside.

Her body was a dark cream but her face, tail and the tips of her ears were a warm chocolate brown. Her marking reminded me of a chocolate truffle and that became her name. She wakes me every morning and rushes to the door to welcome me home each night. Every evening she climbs into my lap.  I pet her while she purrs and then falls asleep. I can’t remember my life without Truffles.

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Keep on writing.

Jo Hawk The Writer

Small Town — Friday Fictioneers July 20

/ JoHawkTheWriter / 20 Comments

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

PHOTO PROMPT © Dale Rogerson

Moist sheets clung to my body. The sun beat on me trying to turn my bruises lobster red. The oscillating fan set on high evaporated the perspiration and raised goosebumps as the artificial breeze swept across my body. I closed my eyes, tired of the heat, tired of this small town and the smaller minds that lived here. Small townspeople talked about everyone’s business and buried their secrets deep. I hid my secret well, so they would never guess why I left. I pulled the drapes across the window. Neither the sun nor that man would beat on me again.

__________________________________________

Keep on writing.

Jo Hawk The Writer

Hoorah — 100 WW Week 80

/ JoHawkTheWriter / 2 Comments

Title:  Hoorah
Source:  100 Word Wednesday: Week 80
Word count: 100 words

Image by Bikurgurl

 

David wanted one thing in life.  Well, two if you counted Kerry. This weekend’s graduation ceremony was one step towards attaining his first desire. He hadn’t expected training to be easy, those lessons he learned early from his dad. Training had gotten harder when his dad died because he depended on his mentor. Becoming a Marine would have made his dad proud, and that was David’s main goal.  A small box burned a hole in his pocket and he thought of Kerry. He planned to propose today. If she agreed, they would marry in the small chapel before he deployed.

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Keep on writing.

Jo Hawk The Writer

High Seas – FFfPP Week 29

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Title:  High Seas
Source:  FLASH FICTION FOR THE PURPOSEFUL PRACTITIONER- 2018 WEEK #28
Word count:  176 words

white-ship-traveling-through-vast-body-of-water-with-white-birds-flying-beside-879479 Pixel Photo

The ferry scheduled two trips a day to the island. Today, reports showed a storm with the island in its direct path. Computer projections called for rough seas, so no ferry service would be possible for two days. Based on radar Logan expected six missed trips. He plotted and considered everything that might happen. Logan needed a window when everyone would be busy with the storm. He calculated how long the Islanders would be worried about their own safety.

He built his house at the island’s highest point and dug the foundations deep underground. It was hurricane proof and ran off the grid. But Logan didn’t plan to be at his house during the storm. It started six months ago with weird things happening. Signs showed they were getting close, and he realized he had waited too long.

The storm passed leaving the island in turmoil and people even more worried.  The island sheriff was busy and he called for help from the mainland. Three homicides and two missing persons were more than his office could handle.

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Keep on writing.

Jo Hawk The Writer

The Drive

/ JoHawkTheWriter / 2 Comments

Photo credit: Phil Denton on VisualHunt / CC BY-SA

No sane person is out today. So here I am practicing my insanity. Why was it always me? Oh, I listened to their half-baked pseudo-logical arguments, concocted to serve the one telling the story. There is no point in arguing. I tried that before. The weather forecast calls for hazardous driving conditions, freezing rain, ice, and snow. The trip begins with all of it, including white-out conditions. I follow the taillights of the semi in front of me, trusting the driver will keep it between the ditches.

The truth revolves around money and betrayal. I risked everything, swallowed my fear and betrayed my family by leaving. Making my way alone had not been easy, but eventually, things fell my way. I traveled the world, negotiated deals, and they paid me well. The workday never ended, and priorities were squeezed but it was worth it.

The weather cleared as I drove past farmhouses and pastures. Lights in the houses painted an impression of cheery fires and happy families. As I drove, I wondered what it was like to never venture over fifty miles from the place you were born. The miles slipped away, and I felt my life slipping, fading into my rear-view mirror.

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Keep on writing.

Jo Hawk The Writer

Conspiracy — FFfAW Challenge – 174

/ JoHawkTheWriter / 12 Comments

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

I tell no one how I became the mistress of the Marchese Di Felecia. Or rather, I never tell them the truth. The truth is a series of coincidences that when put together seem unbelievable. If I hadn’t lived it, I wouldn’t believe it either. Being the Marchese’s mistress is why I am on the street today. I am the keeper of secrets, both my own and others. They are my power base and one reason the Marchese loves me. I pull the coarse scarf closer around my face, hoping to remain invisible. I do not knock at the blue door, but enter and head upstairs where my mother waits.

“Is the Marchesa with us?” she asks.

“Yes, my half-sister received the messages.  When the Marchese’s forces attack, our father will die. With no male heir, his territory will pass to the Marchese.”

“Does she suspect?”

“No Mother, and we need her alive.”

“For now.”

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Keep on writing.

Jo Hawk The Writer