Flash Fiction: Parallel

Although the bench at the bus stop was metal and quite cold, Liz barely reacted to it when she sat down. Her mind was full of the insanity that had been her work day. Even more maddening, today was merely a drop in the bucket of endless days. Just more of the same, over and over, until she felt so numb that even a frozen butt could not faze her.

With a small sigh for the sadness of it all, Liz leaned back against the frigid bench and snuggled as far into her coat as she could manage. The sun, an orange glow back-lighting the buildings across the street, had all but set. It would only get colder before her bus came.

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Flash Fiction: Smoothie Song

Prepping bananas had an excellent rhythm to it. Peel the banana in three quick strips, break the banana into three semi-equal pieces, break the next one off the bunch; then do it all again, and again, until the five gallon bucket had been filled to the top. Lori slipped into a song as she worked, enjoying the routine and the feeling of having some time to herself within an otherwise busy day.

Movement caught by the fringe of her peripheral vision caused her to fall abruptly silent. A man approached the counter, his gate slow but deliberate. His eyes were locked on the menu behind her; but they had a odd, glossy look to them that did not bode well.

Quick Status Update

Hello out there! Things are a little wild over here right now. My Scholar got a great job offer up in Portland a couple of weeks ago, and since then we’ve been scrambling to find a place to live there before this great opportunity disappears. One really good lead so far, but we haven’t heard back from them with a decision yet. Let me tell you, it is quite nerve wracking.

This weekend we will be out on the coast with in-laws and adorable nieces. It will definitely be a fun, and much needed, rest! ^-^

On the writing front, things are going a bit slowly.

Flash Fiction: Moonlight Shadow

She had a distinct feeling that the moonlight illuminating her way was unnecessary. Darkness would not have impeded her search in the slightest; her heart alone had drawn her to this place. Still, it did offer an excellent view as she made her way down into the valley.

A quaint cobblestone church sat just off the gravel road, nestled between the rolling slopes of two small mountains. Behind it, a lake shining and serene, crowned with the silhouette of pine trees. The full moon had given all of it a surreal quality, like a postcard washed in silver.

The Smallest Things

Flash fiction has been on my mind lately. Mostly in the form of, “I don’t know how to do that!” ^-^ However, recent forays into the box burial ground of my garage have unearthed some startling evidence which strongly contradicts that thought. Among the various articles of yesteryear, I have found my old writer’s club binder from high school. The nostalgia of handwritten sentence and paragraph tandem stories, and other fun games, has been pretty awesome. And, the more I flipped through the pencil-smudged leaflets from that time, the more I realized that pretty much every exercise we did was flash fiction.