Dimensions

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Source

I have waited years for this day.   My sister Val turns to me and grins.  She is the sun – bronze-brown skin glowing, a bright smile spread across her gorgeous face.  She indirectly got us the gig since she knows the guy that ran the annual air show that was held in our small city every spring.  We are going to get to perform five of our new songs near the entrance as people are milling about, waiting for the show to begin.

“Hi guys!” Val’s friend, Adam, approaches the stage as we’re setting up.  Val hugs him and thanks him for giving us a chance.

“Wait – what’s with all the equipment?” Adam asks.  “I thought you guys were like, you know, that old singing group Beyonce used to be in.  A bunch of singing and sexy dance moves.”

I look down at my flannel shirt, tank top and battered jeans.  Not very conducive to sexy dance moves.

“Val didn’t tell you?” I ask as I strap my guitar across my chest and shake my long braids out of my eyes.  “We’re rockers.”

I start warming up, breaking into my favorite guitar solo, as the entire park seems to pause for a moment and stare.

For Flash Fiction for the Purposeful Practitioner

Inspired by this news item.  While I agree that Prince was one-of-a-kind and there will never be another like him, I think there are many innovative, talented people from all walks of life who are waiting to shine, if we only give them a chance to be themselves.

 

Ex

A continuation of last week’s story.

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He was waiting for her when she got home, leaning against his car like the handsome male lead in some teen fantasy.  She averted her eyes, ignoring him as he began to follow her.

“Did you tell them I was with you?”

She turned, summoning all of her strength, her expression icy.  “Give my regards to your wife, Stephen.”

She left him on the step, his eyes as large as saucers, and went into her apartment alone.

 

The six sentence story prompt this week is Ex.

Thursday Thriller – Reunion

 

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Read Part 1 – Wallflower

Read Part 2 – Smoke

Read Part 3 – Fury 

Present Day

As I watch Cat and Charles, I think back to my escape from that burning house.  The violent pain in my leg, which I limped on painfully through the woods until I reached the main road.  Hitching to Alma’s house and grabbing the rest of my saved cash.  Starting over.

I keep drinking, thinking I need the liquid courage, but it only weakens my resolve.  I’m going to go home. I finally conclude.  Why am I even here?  I ask myself.  What’s done is done.  I have a good, if dull, life now.  Everyone’s moved on and it’s time I did too.

In the parking lot, I’m trying to decide if I’m good to drive or if I need to call someone, when a pair of powerful hands grabs me from behind.

I wake up in the trunk of a moving car.  My mouth is taped.  I’m not afraid, just angry and humiliated.  I’d been so foolish, thinking I was going to out all of them to the community, ruin their lives, make them suffer the way I had.

The car stops, and the trunk opens shortly after.  Cat’s face is the first one I see.  Meredith, Tommy, Laura, and Charles surround her.  Cat’s crying softly.  A gun gleams in the moonlight from Tommy’s hand.

“I never meant for any of this to happen, Casey.  I’m sorry.”  Cat tells me through her tears.  I look at her, making eye contact, and I nod.  I forgive her.  I forgive them all.  Why not?  I never really existed anyway.  None of it matters.  No one will look for me when I’m gone.

Charles looks at the ground as Meredith leans into the trunk, her lips snarled.  “You should have stayed away.  We won’t let you ruin everything we’ve all worked for.”

Tommy steps closer, until the gun is almost pressed against my temple.  I close my eyes, wanting it to be over, when I hear a scream.

“No!” Cat yells, knocking the gun from Tommy’s hand.  It goes off, grazing Meredith’s shoulder.  During the ensuing confusion, Cat pulls me from the trunk and we race deep into the woods as more gunshots sound in the distance.  I look at Cat, adrenaline churning through my veins, and, even though I have every reason not to, I smile.  No matter what happens, we are Cat-n-Casey once again.

 

 

Thursday Thriller – SCARLET

Thursday Thriller – SCARLET

She never looked down.  The trail was so familiar to her.  Her feet knew the path.  But she’d stumbled today, a change in the terrain catching her off guard. That hole hadn’t been there yesterday, she was certain of it.  She looked down into the mysterious crevice, only a foot in diameter.   There was something down there, something glowing bright green and effervescent.  She bent forward, picking it up, ignoring the fear clawing the back of her brain.  It was warm in her frigid palm.   She held it closer to her face.  Suddenly a cold wind ripped through her hair.  Her skin turned icy, she watched as a strand of the dark curly hair in her side braid turned a bright, scarlet red.  She could feel it coursing through her.  The new power, the invincibility, the strength.  She heard them laughing at her earlier today.  Her tormentors.  The same taunts she’d heard since she was five year old. Dark, blackie, tar baby, ugly, nerd, stuck-up.  But that changed today.  She turned around, re-tracing her steps, back to the school.  They were all there.  Gathered for the pep rally she’d decided to skip.  They’d never know what hit them.

In response to Sunday Photo Fiction!

Tequila

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This restaurant isn’t my style.  I would prefer someplace with peanut shells on the floor, a karaoke machine, shots of tequila lined up on the bar.  Dancing.  But there will be time for all of that later.  

Still, it’s sweet that Renee wants to take me to dinner to celebrate my college graduation.  We’ve been friends since we were five, when most of my friendships were determined by geography.  She’d been my next-door neighbor.  If we met today, I don’t know if we would even see each other, much less become best friends.

There’s a busboy clearing the table next to ours.  He notices my stare and winks at me.  Cheesy, I know, but I still blush.  Renee does not approve. “Joss, seriously?  You’re an educated woman now. Don’t sell yourself short.”

I watch as he carries something outside and follow him, mumbling an excuse to Renee. As I duck into the alley, he grabs me and pulls me close and I can’t think about anything else, other than the faint smell of tequila on his breath.

For Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers

Adopted

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It was Nelly’s last day.

“You’re just too old, Nelly,” Baby, the chihuahua across from her, taunted.  “Tough luck.”  Baby had a new sign plastered to the front of her cage.  She was all to happy to tell Nelly what it said.  “Adopted.”

Nelly heard footsteps in the dark corridor.  All the dogs, except Baby of course, stood and wagged their tails, ready to put on a show.

An unfamiliar human knelt in front of Nelly’s cage and smiled.

A new sign was placed on Nelly’s cage.  She didn’t need Baby to tell her what it said.  Adopted.

 

The Moral Mondays prompt this week is There’s No Place Like Home.

Liar Liar

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Have I waited long enough to text her?  Did I wait too long?  He’s nervous as he types a quick message to the woman he hasn’t be able to get out of his head since their perfect first date.

Her phone vibrates on the nightstand.  It’s 6 pm on a Sunday night.  Beauty night.  She has a mud mask on her face, separators between her freshly-painted toes and a stinky conditioning treatment in her hair.  A half-full bag of shredded cheddar cheese lies at her side.  Glamour.

She gingerly picks up the phone.  She expected him to text her back days ago.  What kind of game is this?

“What are you doing?” The text reads.

“I just poured a glass of wine and am about to watch a World War II documentary my friends recommended,” she types one-handed as she stuffs a handful of cheese in her mouth.  The Atlanta Hawks race across the court on the television screen.

“Nice.”  He types back.  She watches war documentaries?  I guess the playoff game I was going to suggest for our second date is out.  “Any plans Tuesday night?”

More cheese and a Kardashian marathon.  “I have a work thing but I can probably get out of it.”

“Great, I have tickets to that new exhibit at the museum.  Some paleontology thing.”  A paleontology thing?  Great, now she’ll really think I’m an idiot.

“That could be fun.”  As fun as watching grass grow.

“So, meet you there at 6?”

“K.  See you then.”

She drops her phone on the bed, her heart racing with excitement.

Hope this guy doesn’t turn out to be another liar.

 

For Sunday Photo Fiction

Prisoner

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Madison Woods

The story is out.  I wake up to countless unread messages and reporters and paparazzi parked outside my gates.  My publicist and manager are ringing the bell incessantly.  My assistant lets them in.  It isn’t their first time seeing me wild-haired in my pajamas.

“Don’t worry, we’ve got all this under control.”

“Tell us what you need.”

I pause. “I want to walk my dog to the beach.”

We look out the window at the chaos of shoving reporters and flashbulbs, knowing they’ll never be able to give me the one thing I crave – freedom.

For Friday Fictioneers