In the waiting area, you look around. Each soul with something slipping away, inchworm-slow or cheetah-quick: capacity, hope, ability, security. Time. A baby cries and another person moans—two elderly heads pressed so tightly together, you can’t tell from which the thin keening oozes. The kaleidoscope shifts and the picture reorders, exposing fresh anguish. Blood flowers on a kitchen towel pressed tightly. Replaced, buds again—the source bore away as ruddy dribbles are expunged from the pristine.
The fine handkerchief pressed to your own reckless hand pinks with shame. You can wait. You’ll relinquish relatively little. Avert your prying eyes. Each one of them with something slipping away: capacity, ability, security, hope.
Great description allows us to see things with fresh eyes, a fresh perspective. You made me see this scene in such a unique way, Lori. We get so much of a person's inner world and emotions via what they focus on and *how* they see it. "capacity, ability, security, hope" repeated is SO powerful. You said so much in so few words with this excellent piece.
Yes agree with everything Yallaalia says, It's so visceral and chaotic (in a good way), that captures the sense of a busy emergency room. I love the use of animal imagery,
First, we had the same opening phrase so I’m glad I read yours before I posted. 🙂 Second, I’ve learned so much reading yours. And the repetition of those four words is so powerful.
"Each soul with something slipping away, inchworm-slow or cheetah-quick: capacity, hope, ability, security. Time." -- Love this! You capture the chaos & emotion so well, Lori. Wonderful descriptions!
You capture the chaos of emotions and injuries, panning in and out - it feels like we're swimming through this scene - it's very visceral - I love the inchworm/cheetah time descriptors - enjoyed the blood flowers - buds - ruddy dribbles and the discreet 'fine handkerchief ..pinks with shame'. well done
In the pharmacy the woman ahead of me disappears. In her place stands a rabbit on hind legs reaching for the counter like a kid stretching for the cookie jar. When I say “Oh” he vanishes to be replaced by a man in black tails and top hat, a flimsy vapour surrounding him. The pharmacist, non-plussed, is like a blind cantor sing-songing attractively-named analgesics in alphabetical order. She hasn’t gone far when the magician shouts “Stop … that one says: kills pain like magic.”
“You want?” she says in a foreign lilt.
“I want its secret ingredient,” the man says pulling a string of colourful kerchiefs from his top pocket. “I’m a little spellbound at the moment.”
“I’m at sevens and sixes,” says the foreign pharmacist, fumbling in the greasy till.
The rabbit reappears in the magician’s pocket and equilibrium seems to be restored.
When my turn comes, I say, “I need a potion for confusion.”
Love the surrealism! Also the alliteration of "attractively-named analgesics in alphabetical order." It adds to the sing-songing. Makes it more immersive.
Not quite sure where this is going, but this is what I came up with today:
She stands alone on the seashore, the salty water lapping against her weariness. A flock of pelicans circle high above in the barren sky then dive into the water one by one by one to scoop up their prey so they can go home to feed their waiting young.
The tide rises higher and higher as bits of broken shells and sharp fins scrape against bare feet, thighs, her heavy treasure chest. The waves cradle her body in its open swells and she surrenders it all—every scar, every late night phone call, every unexplainable scar, every barnacle that has anchored her and her child knee-deep in the quicksand—until they break free leaving her once again loose, buoyant.
Before she leaves the beach, she takes one last look at the lone pelican bobbing in the cold water and wonders how far she must fly.
Without a roof, the stars can’t be switched off. Above them, branches twitch in the night breeze. Pine needles, plastic sheeting and black bin liners stuffed with clothes, mushroom over the forest floor.
Without a roof, the stars can guide them. They huddle around glowing embers inhaling smoke and the acrid sweat of the other men cutting strips of tyres to tie twigs into ladders.
Without a roof, the stars have set. Wearing many layered suits, hoping the razor wire won’t rip their skin. They run as one.
Love the repetition of "Without a roof, the stars..." & how their beauty juxtaposed against the challenges/obstacles these characters face. A lot of tension in just a few paragraphs. Nice job.
Wow this is fab Yallaalia. The images of deprivation and fear but the beauty of the open night sky. It made me think of migrants trying to cross a border (hoping the razor wire won’t rip their skin)
Yes, it’s at a border crossing. I’m working on a novella in flash that is set on the Spanish/African border-unfortunately a lot of people are killed there trying to climb the fence
His car is backfiring bubbles. With every bump and jerk a spew of bubbles appear in the back seat and they’re multiplying fast, faster than the failing car is moving. “What the hell, Jay?” I ask. He opens his mouth to reply but only bubbles come out. “Stop the car, I’m getting out.” I say. He floors the breaks but…yeah, more bubbles. I feel their soapy bellies rubbing the back of my head and settling in my lap. Their lemony fragrance is creeping up my sinuses and filling my head. We try to pop them but they just stretch like bubblegum and snap back into place. We try to open the door but our hands slip on slime. The car keeps backfiring bubbles as it struggles to move along and Jay keeps burping bubbles like a bad movie on repeat. I see him though shiny, rainbow jumping prisms looking like a fish gasping for air. Now The bubbles are pressing on my face and I’m gasping for air.
Suddenly, in claustrophobic desperation, Jay lays down on the horn causing the bubbles to begin spontaneously popping. The bubbles are gone but now we and the entire interior are covered in their slime. Act Two begins.
How's this for a fresh, surprising description? "We try to pop them but they just stretch like bubblegum and snap back into place." I mean, the whole piece is surprising. There's a minimum of adjectives here. All your visuals are striking enough without weighing them down with modifiers. "like a bad movie on repeat" ha...Act Two begins...oh man, what more can happen? Terrific piece, Charlotte.
Thanks, Kathy. I really had to exercise my imagination for this so I thank you! The bubblegum line was added after I thought I was finished. But when I reread it I thought about the fragility of bubbles and knew I had to address it.
Love how the tension builds as the bubbles overwhelm the relationship. Also how the bubbles become round characters themselves (no pun intended 😉). Their soapy bellies...stretching like bubblegum & snap back. This is great!
The room was nearly full. We found one loveseat we both could fit on across from the lab. Looking around I counted 7 women wearing turbans, 6 men with baseball caps. Some were alone, some had a partner, like us. We’re all waiting for the pagers to lead us to the lab, waiting for the lab results, and behind that automatic door, waiting for our doctors.
The lab techs, playful and chatty with their patients, place tubes of blood into the dumbwaiter for processing. You’re up next, the pager is flashing red and vibrates off your lap. Soon, 4 more tubes will be on their way.
Annie, the description of the hats does SO much work for this short piece. And Waiting is a good title for this. I love the playful chatty lab techs. Look closer. Show me what one of the techs has sticking out of his/her pocket....
I agree...the hats work hard here. I'm also curious about how the techs are playful w/ their patients. Do they tell jokes to lighten the mood, compliment the color of their scarves?
Your dive into the world of flash fiction, especially the emphasis on fresh, vivid descriptions, is like a breath of fresh air! The exercise you suggest is brilliant for shaking up our creative juices. It’s a fun, quirky way to break the mold and see the world through a new lens. I love how you encourage writers to inject the unexpected into mundane scenes, pushing us to think outside the box and explore the boundaries of our imagination.
Explore captivating Contemporary, Romance, Thriller & Suspense, Science Fiction, Horror, and more stories on my Substack for FREE at https://jonahtown.substack.com
It was the night ceiling caved in. The chandelier swayed first, a couple of the crystals clanked together before I saw the first crack and before the whole thing came crashing down in the center of the room.
Three of us sat in a line at the bar but I was the only one that bothered to look up at the crater hole in the ceiling.
Water began to pour through in a colander pattern and showered the crowd below.
I watched a woman crawl to the edge of the hole upstairs on her hands and knees. I watched as she cupped her hands around her mouth and shout down to us, “sorry—was just in the bath, it may have poured over a bit.” A corner of her velvet emerald robe slipped through the hole. And for a moment I thought she might join the chandelier on the first floor.
I saw a black cat spring across from edge to edge. A piece of the plaster landed in the center of a table on plate of fries.
I turned back to my drink and noticed a crystal with a loose wire hung perfectly on the side of my glass.
Noticing my glass, the man next to me proposed a toast, “Cheers—I think he said—to what has been opened!”
Everyone went seamlessly back to their drinks as if a hot iron went over the room, there was not even a wrinkle.
I pushed my chair away slipping the crystal in my pocket, gripping it with my fingers so the metal wire almost pierced my skin.
Nice opening line and this description is vivid and succinct: "Water began to pour through in a colander pattern and showered the crowd below." LOVE the unexpected bit of dialogue from the guy at the bar. Lends weightiness to the piece. Another excellent description: "Everyone went seamlessly back to their drinks as if a hot iron went over the room, there was not even a wrinkle." That crystal becomes the Significant Object for this piece, especially as it has pierced her skin. Love it!
So good, Nicole! The first sight of a crack, the water, the woman and her velvet emerald robe upstairs, the cat crossing over, the crystal hanging from the side of the glass—you painted such a delicious scene! Kathy said to me “look closer” and you’ve done that in so many ways—look, the plaster landed in the plate of fries! Excellent!
Oooh this prompt gave me the chance to pick up something that has been gathering dust on my laptop for ages. I was trying to describe a mundane scene using strange and repetitive imagery. I hadn't got very far with it but the prompt encouraged me to go with it and be a bit mad!
The Dead are Always Grinning
You watch from your front porch. The estate is biscuity today, brown and crumbly in the midday heat. It is either a thing of wet concrete or browning grass and nothing in between. The baby sleeps in the mugginess of the front room, her spine curved into a question mark. You kissed her before she sank into her abandonment, her breath stale with your milk and you return to your porch. Light up, exhale, watch. Overhead red kites swoop, with some reluctance in this heat, their shrieks speaking of barren expanses. They seem innocuous here in the broiling urban grey.
You watch. The discarded crisp packets wink their sun-bleached foil, passing messages to the kites. Their language is silent and unacknowledged, like children waving to cars from the wet concrete of motorway bridges. You think of the fragments of soggy parts tucked secretly packet corners, the salty crunch a distant memory on the tongue of a long-gone passer-by. You think of your mother. Stale breathed. Yours’ with milk, her’s with astringent ruin.
You watch. Eyes stinging with the weeks of sleep deprivation, breasts heavy and groin stitched with black crosses. You think of needles. A cat stares from the garden across the way. Its old eyes look maudlin today as though it’s a creature of this town, evolved in its burdens, dog turds and fag butts. You think of your mother. Salty tongued. Thick slabs of white bread and butter. Crisps between the layers. Between you and the cat, served on the tarmac, lies a dead hedgehog, ripped and flattened. Its face smirks in death, the dead are always grinning. You think you could slide your hand inside its deflated body like a puppet and mouth obscenities through its snout like clots of rage escaping. The baby whimpers and your breasts tingle, spooling milk onto your vest top. Salt and vinegar were your mother’s favourite. Crumbs littering the linoleum of your childhood home. For a moment, the maudlin eyes of the cat remind you of your mother and you hiss it away. It runs, tail between legs under the half rotten fences.
You watch. The baby whimpers and the hedgehog grins. You think of your mother. The dead are always grinning. You can smell the proximity of neighbours from your porch, the insinuations of their cigarette smoke mixed with the floral cleanliness of laundry hung out to dry. Marlboro lights. Lenor blue. Shirts hung flaccid in the heat as though in crucifixion. The baby shrieks. Her spine must now be a clot of rage. You think of your mother. Clots of rage. You think of her hanging laundry to dry on the shower rail, with a cigarette drooling from her lips. Tracks spooling from veins spreading like grins. The dead are always grinning.
You watch. By your feet the dead flies gather belly up, their emerald bodies still glossy but their crispy legs dried in smirks. The dead are always grinning. The tears well and run down your face, streaking the light dust with track marks, salt seeping into your lips. Salt. Tracks. The baby screams like the red kites overhead. Milk and tears spooling. Empty crisp packets. Marlboro Lights. Cat’s eyes. Tracks. Needles. You think of your mother. The baby gives up her squeals and you light up again, continue to watch the dead.
Great description: "The estate is biscuity today, brown and crumbly in the midday heat." and "her spine curved into a question mark" and those swooping kites. Here, the color "red" does some work against the suburban grey. "like children waving to cars" I love the surreality of this. So many great lines. The repetition of "You watch." and "The dead are always grinning." The echoes of the "things" of this piece. I dig this, Fi.
This is so evocative, Fi! The descriptions not only sensory, but completely immersive. And the juxtaposition between the narrator & her mother complex. Love the image of the "shirts hanging flaccid in the heat as though in crucifixion." Fantastic!
Agree with others on the repetition (ex: “you watch” and “you think…”) that keeps you moving through the piece. But “…groin stitched with black crosses” said so much about the narrator and her mindset.
At "biscuity", you had me open to discover what other treasures of description were enclosed in this interesting package. I wasn't disappointed. The way you used repetition and contrast was marvelous.
The church was empty, the soles of Rose's slippers shushing across the stone floor as she moved up the centre aisle towards the altar. The whitewash walls and long oak pews were bathed in sweet candy wrapper light filtering in through the stained glass. As she neared the head of the nave she spotted a figure kneeling on the tuffet in the second row, a pop of scarlet curls peeking out from above the bench. Rose padded towards the crossing and stopped at the end of the pew, where the person was stooped, spotted rainbow gloves held in prayer against their painted white forehead.
Rose pulled her terry robe about herself and tightened the cord before sitting at the end of the row where the clown was knelt. He lowered his hands and placed them, palms to the ceiling as though he were about to receive the wounds of Christ, either side his brightly-coloured thighs, the lemon ruff about his neck whispering slightly as he moved. He turned to look at Rose, cherry mouth fixed straight across his face.
"sweet candy wrapper light" and a clown in a church! and "palms to the ceiling as though he were about to receive the wounds of Christ"...Now, Maxine, this piece can go anywhere! You've drawn us in with terrific, unusual details and great descriptions. I hope you keep going with this!
The smell of sweaty bodies and infrequently washed clothes slapped me in the face when I opened the door of the Annex Gym. The partially-filled home stands held students standing vigil over their phones. A custodian fought a losing battle against concession stand contraband. Music blared from speakers set up by the door. "Look out, Mom." yelled my fourth grader, just in time to keep me from falling face first onto a rolled up mat. He had looked forward to attending this match for days and did not want me to have a reason to leave early. We sat on the visitors' side because I wanted to be Connor's mom that afternoon and not "Mrs. H."
I spotted two of my students warming up to compete, but I chose not to say hello. I knew better than to interrupt the pre-match ritual they discussed in class. Most of the gym floor was covered in blue mats to appease the basketball coaches. We looked to center court. Instead of NBA wannabes, two singlet-clad warriors faced off against each other; a referee hovered nearby to determine the eventual victor.
At the ref's cue, the boys approached each other, the larger one taking an early advantage judging from the crowd's response. I didn't speak their language-my days as a wrestling mom were five years away- but I could see that the smaller one looked tired. Suddenly, the referee smacked the mat and foisted the winner's arm in the air. Hands on knees, the loser worked to catch his breath before exiting the mat. The winner collapsed on the sidelines. The referee was the only thing keeping him upright at the end.
"That was so cool." Connor gushed after the match ended. "I am going to do that when I get to high school."
"Great." I said, hoping that wrestling would go the way of guitar lessons and Boy Scouts. It didn't.
Kim, I grew up fully immersed in wrestling. All my brothers wrestled. I was a cheerleader for our high school wrestling team. I get this piece so much. Your descriptions put me right there. I felt this mothers dismay that her time as a wrestling mom were far from over. Well done!
The school gym, the students keeping vigil over their phones, the mat you avoided tripping on—I was just at this place last week. 🙂 And her resignation resonates in the last line loud and clear.
If there's a pew, then it's a church. If there's a sofa, then it's a living room. Unless you're in the low country. We like to put sofas in our kitchens.
I stand at the top of the hill, right foot forward, left foot back, marking the tree line at the end of the run. Malik stands next to me, his black feline paws aching to bound. We do this every day, run down the hill together, but today is different, today I am determined to join him, not lag behind. A warm thermal sweeps up the hill and my nose tingles with the pheromones of so many blooming plants.
Are you ready, he asks with his eyes, his nose an arrow into the wind. Following his lead, I push off with the balls of my feet and lift, the world spins, my arms extend into wings, his neck elongates, our feet sprout talons, his furred tail thickens into a scaled weapon and rudder, our bellies sensing the air’s velocity, moisture, direction, trees flash by, toothpicks with green heads waving. Searing power fills my veins where once there was blood. Birds flutter away, squirrels scatter and for seconds that could be days, we eat up the sky.
Too soon, we reach bottom, his four paws and my two feet land on the stubble of grass, the earth cool, the sky no longer distant blue but a friend.
Lovely! You create such a vivid and magical scene here, Vati. Love the description of the trees: "toothpicks with green heads waving." Great job describing movement and change. They both come down to earth, but now the sky is "no longer distant blue but a friend." Great job.
thanks. I so appreciate your feedback. It makes it easier to keep jumping in to the unknown and feeling comfortable putting it up for other people to read.
Challenging prompt Kathy. Fun as always though. I know there are copyright issues here, but for funsies, I figured it would be okay...
He drove the twenty featureless minutes to town. There was the saloon, just like always. He walked in, crunching his eyes down, dust wafting off of him, the pineboard floor complaining about the weight of him. Stale beer, cigarettes, sweat and manure; these were the aromas clinging to the dim. He saw her in the grey, swaying at the end of the bar, and strode to her, consciously sucking his belly toward his spine, as if that would help. A few Stetsons swiveled his way, eyes saucered. No one spoke. Drake crooned from the Wurlitzer about how ‘you used to call me on my cell phone, late night when you need my love.’
“I put that on,” she said when he got to her. “Reminds me of home.”
“You are home. Come back to the ranch. The boys need you.”
“Home is five hundred clicks that way,” and her thumb hitchhikes to the north. “There’s water there, and trees and even animals that aren’t just raised to be butchered. And men too.” Almost a sneer with this one. “Men who haven’t forgotten what it’s like to live.”
I know when that hotline bling
that can only mean one thing
He growled, his voice a menacing, quiet rasp. “It’s been a tough year. You know it. But. You. Will. Come. Now.” He stepped closer, almost within her, the extent of his belly forgotten. She turned away, swaying to the rhythm, stumbling from his encroachment. Exhaling, he peered about, gentled himself and said “you can play that music if you want.”
She nods, wipes the sweat from her brow and follows him out. The floorboards do not complain about her as she passes over them.
Nice scene, Geoff! Love how the lines from the song work as punctuation. He's trying to win her back with menace, realizes music works far better. Nice descriptions all through this. Now look at this scene again. What do you see, hear, smell that you wouldn't normally in this setting? How does that shift the story, even if only slightly?
Thx Kathy. I was thinking that he would come into the scene dancing and singing show tunes to win her back, but went with the admittedly much more tame detail of Drake playing in a dusty western saloon. I am timid!
Somehow, the kitchen table ended up in the family room. No one knew how it got there the morning we found it. A full circle walk around it offered no explanation. It was just there, blocking the TV. We tried to move it back. One time, two times, eight times. But there it was again. Determined to be in this space. I suppose we could have kept trying to tame it back to its place. But there didn’t seem to be a point. We never sat there anyway. So instead, we moved the TV.
Haha! Sometimes it's just easier that way. I love this stubborn table that maybe just needs a change of pace. "We never sat there anyway." Maybe it felt neglected. Nicely done!
I’m now realizing how I’ve tested on certain patterns of adjectives for description and I’m going to start cutting them. Not sure I did this one well but here is a free write.
Park and Ride
In Central California, in a dusty old town on a hot summer day, I met a chocolate-eyed donkey in the town square. The square was faceless but for a patch of grass and a playground. The animal stood without shade by an empty merry-go-round that squeaked as it turned. The metal frame was too hot for anyone to touch but there was no one around anyway. A bad idea from start to finish, this lonely wheel that whipped thrill-seeking children around at ferocious speeds and ended in tears or burned hands or scraped knees or broken bones. Teens smoking cigarettes sat on it late at night with nothing to do and nowhere to go. You could hear the squeak of the wheel all the way up in the apartments overlooking the square. If you squint your ears it almost sounds like hee haw hee haw. That’s the sound I heard in my mind as I drove away, sad donkey eyes burrowing into me. On the highway, my eyes lit to the horizon. I wasn’t sure if there’d been a donkey at all.
Love that the square is described as "faceless" You set the scene quickly here. We talked about "liminal spaces" a few days back and this seems to fit that idea. The abandoned merry go round, the faceless square, devoid of children. But there's this donkey. It seems almost haunted, this place. Love "squint your ears"...love that this ends on her confusion. Did she see what she thought she saw? Well done.
At the Emergency Room
In the waiting area, you look around. Each soul with something slipping away, inchworm-slow or cheetah-quick: capacity, hope, ability, security. Time. A baby cries and another person moans—two elderly heads pressed so tightly together, you can’t tell from which the thin keening oozes. The kaleidoscope shifts and the picture reorders, exposing fresh anguish. Blood flowers on a kitchen towel pressed tightly. Replaced, buds again—the source bore away as ruddy dribbles are expunged from the pristine.
The fine handkerchief pressed to your own reckless hand pinks with shame. You can wait. You’ll relinquish relatively little. Avert your prying eyes. Each one of them with something slipping away: capacity, ability, security, hope.
Great description allows us to see things with fresh eyes, a fresh perspective. You made me see this scene in such a unique way, Lori. We get so much of a person's inner world and emotions via what they focus on and *how* they see it. "capacity, ability, security, hope" repeated is SO powerful. You said so much in so few words with this excellent piece.
Thanks, Kathy. I often just muddle through a prompt but I really felt this piece and I think that makes a difference.
I'm glad to hear it, Lori. I feel like I "muddle through" about 80% of my writing. Makes me appreciate the other 20%!
Yes agree with everything Yallaalia says, It's so visceral and chaotic (in a good way), that captures the sense of a busy emergency room. I love the use of animal imagery,
First, we had the same opening phrase so I’m glad I read yours before I posted. 🙂 Second, I’ve learned so much reading yours. And the repetition of those four words is so powerful.
I agree with the others, you capture chaos and emotion well in this.
"Each soul with something slipping away, inchworm-slow or cheetah-quick: capacity, hope, ability, security. Time." -- Love this! You capture the chaos & emotion so well, Lori. Wonderful descriptions!
You capture the chaos of emotions and injuries, panning in and out - it feels like we're swimming through this scene - it's very visceral - I love the inchworm/cheetah time descriptors - enjoyed the blood flowers - buds - ruddy dribbles and the discreet 'fine handkerchief ..pinks with shame'. well done
In the pharmacy the woman ahead of me disappears. In her place stands a rabbit on hind legs reaching for the counter like a kid stretching for the cookie jar. When I say “Oh” he vanishes to be replaced by a man in black tails and top hat, a flimsy vapour surrounding him. The pharmacist, non-plussed, is like a blind cantor sing-songing attractively-named analgesics in alphabetical order. She hasn’t gone far when the magician shouts “Stop … that one says: kills pain like magic.”
“You want?” she says in a foreign lilt.
“I want its secret ingredient,” the man says pulling a string of colourful kerchiefs from his top pocket. “I’m a little spellbound at the moment.”
“I’m at sevens and sixes,” says the foreign pharmacist, fumbling in the greasy till.
The rabbit reappears in the magician’s pocket and equilibrium seems to be restored.
When my turn comes, I say, “I need a potion for confusion.”
Haha! This is delightful. I love it. Medicine as magic. Sometimes it is! Love "I'm at sevens and sixes" and that terrific last line. Well done.
Love the surrealism! Also the alliteration of "attractively-named analgesics in alphabetical order." It adds to the sing-songing. Makes it more immersive.
Love it! So surreal and mind bending with a real sense of playfulness!
Not quite sure where this is going, but this is what I came up with today:
She stands alone on the seashore, the salty water lapping against her weariness. A flock of pelicans circle high above in the barren sky then dive into the water one by one by one to scoop up their prey so they can go home to feed their waiting young.
The tide rises higher and higher as bits of broken shells and sharp fins scrape against bare feet, thighs, her heavy treasure chest. The waves cradle her body in its open swells and she surrenders it all—every scar, every late night phone call, every unexplainable scar, every barnacle that has anchored her and her child knee-deep in the quicksand—until they break free leaving her once again loose, buoyant.
Before she leaves the beach, she takes one last look at the lone pelican bobbing in the cold water and wonders how far she must fly.
"her heavy treasure chest" disarmed me, Kristin. Excellent. "every barnacle that has anchored her" Such an evocative piece. Gorgeous writing.
Thanks so much, Kathy. Been sitting here by the beach this week & the details just kind of unfolded around me.
waves cradle her body - beautiful way to express the renewal she experiences at the shore
Thank you!
Love the water lapping “against her weariness,” Kristin. Goodness, who doesn’t feel that? I also feel a renewal and cleansing—or perhaps acceptance.
Thanks so much, Annie. I'm glad this resonated w/ you.
A melancholic tale full of evocative imagery. It definitely set a mood.
Thanks so much, Charlotte! 😊
Ohhh there is so much in that pelican imagery Kristin, there's definitely a story about motherhood and loss coming through for me.
Thank you, Fi!
Home from Home
Without a roof, the stars can’t be switched off. Above them, branches twitch in the night breeze. Pine needles, plastic sheeting and black bin liners stuffed with clothes, mushroom over the forest floor.
Without a roof, the stars can guide them. They huddle around glowing embers inhaling smoke and the acrid sweat of the other men cutting strips of tyres to tie twigs into ladders.
Without a roof, the stars have set. Wearing many layered suits, hoping the razor wire won’t rip their skin. They run as one.
Oof. This took me totally off guard, Alia. Powerful piece. "hoping the razor wire won't rip their skin." Strong work in so few words.
Love the repetition of "Without a roof, the stars..." & how their beauty juxtaposed against the challenges/obstacles these characters face. A lot of tension in just a few paragraphs. Nice job.
I like the repetition, feels dreamy
Love the last line. Feels hopeful.
Wow this is fab Yallaalia. The images of deprivation and fear but the beauty of the open night sky. It made me think of migrants trying to cross a border (hoping the razor wire won’t rip their skin)
Yes, it’s at a border crossing. I’m working on a novella in flash that is set on the Spanish/African border-unfortunately a lot of people are killed there trying to climb the fence
A Ride in Two Acts
His car is backfiring bubbles. With every bump and jerk a spew of bubbles appear in the back seat and they’re multiplying fast, faster than the failing car is moving. “What the hell, Jay?” I ask. He opens his mouth to reply but only bubbles come out. “Stop the car, I’m getting out.” I say. He floors the breaks but…yeah, more bubbles. I feel their soapy bellies rubbing the back of my head and settling in my lap. Their lemony fragrance is creeping up my sinuses and filling my head. We try to pop them but they just stretch like bubblegum and snap back into place. We try to open the door but our hands slip on slime. The car keeps backfiring bubbles as it struggles to move along and Jay keeps burping bubbles like a bad movie on repeat. I see him though shiny, rainbow jumping prisms looking like a fish gasping for air. Now The bubbles are pressing on my face and I’m gasping for air.
Suddenly, in claustrophobic desperation, Jay lays down on the horn causing the bubbles to begin spontaneously popping. The bubbles are gone but now we and the entire interior are covered in their slime. Act Two begins.
How's this for a fresh, surprising description? "We try to pop them but they just stretch like bubblegum and snap back into place." I mean, the whole piece is surprising. There's a minimum of adjectives here. All your visuals are striking enough without weighing them down with modifiers. "like a bad movie on repeat" ha...Act Two begins...oh man, what more can happen? Terrific piece, Charlotte.
Thanks, Kathy. I really had to exercise my imagination for this so I thank you! The bubblegum line was added after I thought I was finished. But when I reread it I thought about the fragility of bubbles and knew I had to address it.
Great opening line!
Thanks!
From bubbles to slime, I can only imagine Act Two! So imaginative!
Thanks, Annie. Maybe I’ll actually write Act Two. :)
Love how the tension builds as the bubbles overwhelm the relationship. Also how the bubbles become round characters themselves (no pun intended 😉). Their soapy bellies...stretching like bubblegum & snap back. This is great!
Thanks, Kristin!
Oooh totally surreal and unexpected, love it!
So happy you like it, Fi!
WAITING
The room was nearly full. We found one loveseat we both could fit on across from the lab. Looking around I counted 7 women wearing turbans, 6 men with baseball caps. Some were alone, some had a partner, like us. We’re all waiting for the pagers to lead us to the lab, waiting for the lab results, and behind that automatic door, waiting for our doctors.
The lab techs, playful and chatty with their patients, place tubes of blood into the dumbwaiter for processing. You’re up next, the pager is flashing red and vibrates off your lap. Soon, 4 more tubes will be on their way.
Annie, the description of the hats does SO much work for this short piece. And Waiting is a good title for this. I love the playful chatty lab techs. Look closer. Show me what one of the techs has sticking out of his/her pocket....
Ah! Excellent guidance! Thank you!
I like the choice of a love seat for this couple and how it contrasts with the ones who are alone. The hats carry a lot of weight, too.
Appreciate that note, Charlotte!
I agree...the hats work hard here. I'm also curious about how the techs are playful w/ their patients. Do they tell jokes to lighten the mood, compliment the color of their scarves?
Thanks for that feedback, Kristin. An opportunity to add specific details—and give the staff their due for bringing light to those waiting.
Yes loved the specificity of the hats, the mixture of humanity all waiting in this liminal (but familiar) place
Thanks, Fi!
Your dive into the world of flash fiction, especially the emphasis on fresh, vivid descriptions, is like a breath of fresh air! The exercise you suggest is brilliant for shaking up our creative juices. It’s a fun, quirky way to break the mold and see the world through a new lens. I love how you encourage writers to inject the unexpected into mundane scenes, pushing us to think outside the box and explore the boundaries of our imagination.
Explore captivating Contemporary, Romance, Thriller & Suspense, Science Fiction, Horror, and more stories on my Substack for FREE at https://jonahtown.substack.com
Thanks, Jonah! I will check out your Substack!
It was the night ceiling caved in. The chandelier swayed first, a couple of the crystals clanked together before I saw the first crack and before the whole thing came crashing down in the center of the room.
Three of us sat in a line at the bar but I was the only one that bothered to look up at the crater hole in the ceiling.
Water began to pour through in a colander pattern and showered the crowd below.
I watched a woman crawl to the edge of the hole upstairs on her hands and knees. I watched as she cupped her hands around her mouth and shout down to us, “sorry—was just in the bath, it may have poured over a bit.” A corner of her velvet emerald robe slipped through the hole. And for a moment I thought she might join the chandelier on the first floor.
I saw a black cat spring across from edge to edge. A piece of the plaster landed in the center of a table on plate of fries.
I turned back to my drink and noticed a crystal with a loose wire hung perfectly on the side of my glass.
Noticing my glass, the man next to me proposed a toast, “Cheers—I think he said—to what has been opened!”
Everyone went seamlessly back to their drinks as if a hot iron went over the room, there was not even a wrinkle.
I pushed my chair away slipping the crystal in my pocket, gripping it with my fingers so the metal wire almost pierced my skin.
Nice opening line and this description is vivid and succinct: "Water began to pour through in a colander pattern and showered the crowd below." LOVE the unexpected bit of dialogue from the guy at the bar. Lends weightiness to the piece. Another excellent description: "Everyone went seamlessly back to their drinks as if a hot iron went over the room, there was not even a wrinkle." That crystal becomes the Significant Object for this piece, especially as it has pierced her skin. Love it!
Nicole, this was quite the ride!!! Wow, I had to hold on the whole way! "A corner of her velvet emerald robe slipped through the hole." hahaha
Thank you so much for taking time to read and comment, Luanne! This one went in a strange direction--still feels like a seed of an idea.
So good, Nicole! The first sight of a crack, the water, the woman and her velvet emerald robe upstairs, the cat crossing over, the crystal hanging from the side of the glass—you painted such a delicious scene! Kathy said to me “look closer” and you’ve done that in so many ways—look, the plaster landed in the plate of fries! Excellent!
Oooh this prompt gave me the chance to pick up something that has been gathering dust on my laptop for ages. I was trying to describe a mundane scene using strange and repetitive imagery. I hadn't got very far with it but the prompt encouraged me to go with it and be a bit mad!
The Dead are Always Grinning
You watch from your front porch. The estate is biscuity today, brown and crumbly in the midday heat. It is either a thing of wet concrete or browning grass and nothing in between. The baby sleeps in the mugginess of the front room, her spine curved into a question mark. You kissed her before she sank into her abandonment, her breath stale with your milk and you return to your porch. Light up, exhale, watch. Overhead red kites swoop, with some reluctance in this heat, their shrieks speaking of barren expanses. They seem innocuous here in the broiling urban grey.
You watch. The discarded crisp packets wink their sun-bleached foil, passing messages to the kites. Their language is silent and unacknowledged, like children waving to cars from the wet concrete of motorway bridges. You think of the fragments of soggy parts tucked secretly packet corners, the salty crunch a distant memory on the tongue of a long-gone passer-by. You think of your mother. Stale breathed. Yours’ with milk, her’s with astringent ruin.
You watch. Eyes stinging with the weeks of sleep deprivation, breasts heavy and groin stitched with black crosses. You think of needles. A cat stares from the garden across the way. Its old eyes look maudlin today as though it’s a creature of this town, evolved in its burdens, dog turds and fag butts. You think of your mother. Salty tongued. Thick slabs of white bread and butter. Crisps between the layers. Between you and the cat, served on the tarmac, lies a dead hedgehog, ripped and flattened. Its face smirks in death, the dead are always grinning. You think you could slide your hand inside its deflated body like a puppet and mouth obscenities through its snout like clots of rage escaping. The baby whimpers and your breasts tingle, spooling milk onto your vest top. Salt and vinegar were your mother’s favourite. Crumbs littering the linoleum of your childhood home. For a moment, the maudlin eyes of the cat remind you of your mother and you hiss it away. It runs, tail between legs under the half rotten fences.
You watch. The baby whimpers and the hedgehog grins. You think of your mother. The dead are always grinning. You can smell the proximity of neighbours from your porch, the insinuations of their cigarette smoke mixed with the floral cleanliness of laundry hung out to dry. Marlboro lights. Lenor blue. Shirts hung flaccid in the heat as though in crucifixion. The baby shrieks. Her spine must now be a clot of rage. You think of your mother. Clots of rage. You think of her hanging laundry to dry on the shower rail, with a cigarette drooling from her lips. Tracks spooling from veins spreading like grins. The dead are always grinning.
You watch. By your feet the dead flies gather belly up, their emerald bodies still glossy but their crispy legs dried in smirks. The dead are always grinning. The tears well and run down your face, streaking the light dust with track marks, salt seeping into your lips. Salt. Tracks. The baby screams like the red kites overhead. Milk and tears spooling. Empty crisp packets. Marlboro Lights. Cat’s eyes. Tracks. Needles. You think of your mother. The baby gives up her squeals and you light up again, continue to watch the dead.
Great description: "The estate is biscuity today, brown and crumbly in the midday heat." and "her spine curved into a question mark" and those swooping kites. Here, the color "red" does some work against the suburban grey. "like children waving to cars" I love the surreality of this. So many great lines. The repetition of "You watch." and "The dead are always grinning." The echoes of the "things" of this piece. I dig this, Fi.
Thanks Kathy
Reading this gave me a kind of out of body feel. So much happening here and so much to unpack. Love it, Fi!
Thanks Charlotte!
This is so evocative, Fi! The descriptions not only sensory, but completely immersive. And the juxtaposition between the narrator & her mother complex. Love the image of the "shirts hanging flaccid in the heat as though in crucifixion." Fantastic!
Thanks Kristin!
Agree with others on the repetition (ex: “you watch” and “you think…”) that keeps you moving through the piece. But “…groin stitched with black crosses” said so much about the narrator and her mindset.
At "biscuity", you had me open to discover what other treasures of description were enclosed in this interesting package. I wasn't disappointed. The way you used repetition and contrast was marvelous.
Thanks Lori
Praying
The church was empty, the soles of Rose's slippers shushing across the stone floor as she moved up the centre aisle towards the altar. The whitewash walls and long oak pews were bathed in sweet candy wrapper light filtering in through the stained glass. As she neared the head of the nave she spotted a figure kneeling on the tuffet in the second row, a pop of scarlet curls peeking out from above the bench. Rose padded towards the crossing and stopped at the end of the pew, where the person was stooped, spotted rainbow gloves held in prayer against their painted white forehead.
Rose pulled her terry robe about herself and tightened the cord before sitting at the end of the row where the clown was knelt. He lowered his hands and placed them, palms to the ceiling as though he were about to receive the wounds of Christ, either side his brightly-coloured thighs, the lemon ruff about his neck whispering slightly as he moved. He turned to look at Rose, cherry mouth fixed straight across his face.
"sweet candy wrapper light" and a clown in a church! and "palms to the ceiling as though he were about to receive the wounds of Christ"...Now, Maxine, this piece can go anywhere! You've drawn us in with terrific, unusual details and great descriptions. I hope you keep going with this!
Thanks Kathy!
I was looking for one of my pieces and stumbled across this one of your's. Absolutely love your writing. This is gorgeous.
Thanks so much Nicole!
The wrestling match
The smell of sweaty bodies and infrequently washed clothes slapped me in the face when I opened the door of the Annex Gym. The partially-filled home stands held students standing vigil over their phones. A custodian fought a losing battle against concession stand contraband. Music blared from speakers set up by the door. "Look out, Mom." yelled my fourth grader, just in time to keep me from falling face first onto a rolled up mat. He had looked forward to attending this match for days and did not want me to have a reason to leave early. We sat on the visitors' side because I wanted to be Connor's mom that afternoon and not "Mrs. H."
I spotted two of my students warming up to compete, but I chose not to say hello. I knew better than to interrupt the pre-match ritual they discussed in class. Most of the gym floor was covered in blue mats to appease the basketball coaches. We looked to center court. Instead of NBA wannabes, two singlet-clad warriors faced off against each other; a referee hovered nearby to determine the eventual victor.
At the ref's cue, the boys approached each other, the larger one taking an early advantage judging from the crowd's response. I didn't speak their language-my days as a wrestling mom were five years away- but I could see that the smaller one looked tired. Suddenly, the referee smacked the mat and foisted the winner's arm in the air. Hands on knees, the loser worked to catch his breath before exiting the mat. The winner collapsed on the sidelines. The referee was the only thing keeping him upright at the end.
"That was so cool." Connor gushed after the match ended. "I am going to do that when I get to high school."
"Great." I said, hoping that wrestling would go the way of guitar lessons and Boy Scouts. It didn't.
Kim, I grew up fully immersed in wrestling. All my brothers wrestled. I was a cheerleader for our high school wrestling team. I get this piece so much. Your descriptions put me right there. I felt this mothers dismay that her time as a wrestling mom were far from over. Well done!
The school gym, the students keeping vigil over their phones, the mat you avoided tripping on—I was just at this place last week. 🙂 And her resignation resonates in the last line loud and clear.
If there's a pew, then it's a church. If there's a sofa, then it's a living room. Unless you're in the low country. We like to put sofas in our kitchens.
we do that so Mama has a place to set while she tells us how to devil our crabs
LOL!
transformation
I stand at the top of the hill, right foot forward, left foot back, marking the tree line at the end of the run. Malik stands next to me, his black feline paws aching to bound. We do this every day, run down the hill together, but today is different, today I am determined to join him, not lag behind. A warm thermal sweeps up the hill and my nose tingles with the pheromones of so many blooming plants.
Are you ready, he asks with his eyes, his nose an arrow into the wind. Following his lead, I push off with the balls of my feet and lift, the world spins, my arms extend into wings, his neck elongates, our feet sprout talons, his furred tail thickens into a scaled weapon and rudder, our bellies sensing the air’s velocity, moisture, direction, trees flash by, toothpicks with green heads waving. Searing power fills my veins where once there was blood. Birds flutter away, squirrels scatter and for seconds that could be days, we eat up the sky.
Too soon, we reach bottom, his four paws and my two feet land on the stubble of grass, the earth cool, the sky no longer distant blue but a friend.
Lovely! You create such a vivid and magical scene here, Vati. Love the description of the trees: "toothpicks with green heads waving." Great job describing movement and change. They both come down to earth, but now the sky is "no longer distant blue but a friend." Great job.
thanks. I so appreciate your feedback. It makes it easier to keep jumping in to the unknown and feeling comfortable putting it up for other people to read.
Challenging prompt Kathy. Fun as always though. I know there are copyright issues here, but for funsies, I figured it would be okay...
He drove the twenty featureless minutes to town. There was the saloon, just like always. He walked in, crunching his eyes down, dust wafting off of him, the pineboard floor complaining about the weight of him. Stale beer, cigarettes, sweat and manure; these were the aromas clinging to the dim. He saw her in the grey, swaying at the end of the bar, and strode to her, consciously sucking his belly toward his spine, as if that would help. A few Stetsons swiveled his way, eyes saucered. No one spoke. Drake crooned from the Wurlitzer about how ‘you used to call me on my cell phone, late night when you need my love.’
“I put that on,” she said when he got to her. “Reminds me of home.”
“You are home. Come back to the ranch. The boys need you.”
“Home is five hundred clicks that way,” and her thumb hitchhikes to the north. “There’s water there, and trees and even animals that aren’t just raised to be butchered. And men too.” Almost a sneer with this one. “Men who haven’t forgotten what it’s like to live.”
I know when that hotline bling
that can only mean one thing
He growled, his voice a menacing, quiet rasp. “It’s been a tough year. You know it. But. You. Will. Come. Now.” He stepped closer, almost within her, the extent of his belly forgotten. She turned away, swaying to the rhythm, stumbling from his encroachment. Exhaling, he peered about, gentled himself and said “you can play that music if you want.”
She nods, wipes the sweat from her brow and follows him out. The floorboards do not complain about her as she passes over them.
Nice scene, Geoff! Love how the lines from the song work as punctuation. He's trying to win her back with menace, realizes music works far better. Nice descriptions all through this. Now look at this scene again. What do you see, hear, smell that you wouldn't normally in this setting? How does that shift the story, even if only slightly?
Thx Kathy. I was thinking that he would come into the scene dancing and singing show tunes to win her back, but went with the admittedly much more tame detail of Drake playing in a dusty western saloon. I am timid!
But in making the choice you did, you created more tension between them. I’m still a little worried about her if she is in fact following him home. 😬
The Table
Somehow, the kitchen table ended up in the family room. No one knew how it got there the morning we found it. A full circle walk around it offered no explanation. It was just there, blocking the TV. We tried to move it back. One time, two times, eight times. But there it was again. Determined to be in this space. I suppose we could have kept trying to tame it back to its place. But there didn’t seem to be a point. We never sat there anyway. So instead, we moved the TV.
Haha! Sometimes it's just easier that way. I love this stubborn table that maybe just needs a change of pace. "We never sat there anyway." Maybe it felt neglected. Nicely done!
Kathy, Thank you!! That is just what I was going for. That it was “jealous” of all the attention the TV got, lol
Very funny—and great job keeping the focus on that darn table, lol… and who can’t relate to “so instead, we moved the TV”?
I’m now realizing how I’ve tested on certain patterns of adjectives for description and I’m going to start cutting them. Not sure I did this one well but here is a free write.
Park and Ride
In Central California, in a dusty old town on a hot summer day, I met a chocolate-eyed donkey in the town square. The square was faceless but for a patch of grass and a playground. The animal stood without shade by an empty merry-go-round that squeaked as it turned. The metal frame was too hot for anyone to touch but there was no one around anyway. A bad idea from start to finish, this lonely wheel that whipped thrill-seeking children around at ferocious speeds and ended in tears or burned hands or scraped knees or broken bones. Teens smoking cigarettes sat on it late at night with nothing to do and nowhere to go. You could hear the squeak of the wheel all the way up in the apartments overlooking the square. If you squint your ears it almost sounds like hee haw hee haw. That’s the sound I heard in my mind as I drove away, sad donkey eyes burrowing into me. On the highway, my eyes lit to the horizon. I wasn’t sure if there’d been a donkey at all.
Love that the square is described as "faceless" You set the scene quickly here. We talked about "liminal spaces" a few days back and this seems to fit that idea. The abandoned merry go round, the faceless square, devoid of children. But there's this donkey. It seems almost haunted, this place. Love "squint your ears"...love that this ends on her confusion. Did she see what she thought she saw? Well done.
Thank you Kathy!