“Take your order,” the gum-popping waitress said impatiently, flipping her curly hair out of her eyes, a slight smile forming on her lips. Her table of young male customers looked at their beautiful server in awe, tongue-tied; they’d been planning to pull one of their classic pranks, dine-n-dash.

“Four waters, please,” said one of the boys, finally regaining his ability to speak. She rolled her eyes but dutifully brought the waters, keeping their glasses filled as she served her other tables over the next few hours. At the end of the night, they pooled their funds and managed to leave her the most generous tip she’d received all evening.

“Come back anytime,” she called after them with a wink as she put the cash in her pocket, thinking she’d splurge and treat herself to a nice dinner on her way home.


The Six Sentence Story prompt this week is Order.





She told her mother she was taking a walk.  She barely looked up as Rebecca walked out the door, busy with Rebecca’s father and brothers, homework questions, dinner prep, chores.  It was a loud, rowdy home.   Rebecca had no place there.  She served no purpose  besides being in the way.

She sat on a bench and looked out at the city skyline, her teeth chattering as a bracing, cold wind whipped around her.  Despite the temperature, she unzipped her baggy hoodie, desperate to see it.   Her secret.   She peeked at her belly, a round orb, pulsing with alien movement.  She had no way of knowing if her child would be male or female, but she imagined a little girl.  She and her daughter, holding hands, swapping secrets, living in their own shared world.  This was her purpose.

For Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers

New Girl


It didn’t take him very long to realize something wasn’t right.  The address she’d given him wasn’t for a restaurant, but a private home.  Anya answered the door almost immediately.

“Simon!  You made it!”  She was just as beautiful as her profile pic, if not more.  “Make yourself comfortable.”  She scurried back to the kitchen.

A framed photo caught his eye.  The chubby, sad girl behind the glass somehow familiar.  They’d gone to school together.  He reddened, remembering how he’d treated her.

“I figured you wouldn’t recognize me.” Anya stood in the doorway.

“Why have me come here?”

“Are you really asking that?”

Simon looked down at his shoes, high school memories rushing over him.

“I’m sorry, Anya.  I really am.”

She nodded.

“I have to go.”

Later, she  opened her high school yearbook and drew a dark line through Simon’s photo.

“Five down, five to go,” she whispered.


Written for the Miniature Writing Challenge

MWC-Emails from the Edge


Dear Jane,

I hate the suburbs.  All the people, wandering around with brainless smiles on their faces like they’ve been lobotomized.  I miss the anonymity of living in a big city.  I loved never knowing, or caring, who my neighbors were.  Here, people know you’ve closed on your house before you’ve even moved in, and are outside waiting with baskets of muffins as soon as the U-Haul pulls up. I feel like I’m slowly being driven insane.  Maybe this is some Truman Show-esque experiment?

Right now I’m lying on the floor of my generic but spotless master suite, drinking chardonnay straight out of the bottle.  How am I supposed to smile while I make vapid small talk with Muffy and Buffy or whatever-their-names-are this afternoon if I’m not a little  bit drunk?   Don’t judge me.  Anyway, gotta go.  Time to pick up the girls from school.

Miss you,


The prompt for the Miniature Writing Challenge this week is foreigner.



“Bubba….when it comes to six-month old Mahdisyn….you ARE NOT the father,” the talk show host declared on the television screen.

“Ha, I knew it,” Connie laughed, popping a handful of cheese curls in her mouth.

She heard the engine of the school bus idling outside, followed shortly by the squeak of the front door opening, her six-year-old son Kevin coming up the steps.

He entered her bedroom clutching a sheet of construction paper, wearing the same downtrodden expression he had since his father moved out of their home.

“Here, mommy, I drawed a picture of you today,” Kevin said, handing her a picture of a blubbery woman lying in bed holding an orange bag, the floor around her littered with garbage.

Connie stood from bed, turned off the TV and stretched, deciding it was time for a run.

The prompt for the six sentence story challenge this week was draw.



MWC – Eleven


Miniature Writing Challenge #29 – Every person has a favorite numberand it is significant to them for whatever reason. For this challenge, feature your favorite number in a short story, poem or haiku.

Naomi lay on the bare floor, staring up at the dress hanging on the side of her closet door.  It was more beautiful than words.   The color of champagne, with a high neck, sheer lace-overlay, cap sleeves and a flared skirt that hit her mid-thigh, it was the most gorgeous thing that had ever been in her home.  And by far her most extravagant purchase ever.  Or was it?  There was last month’s Dior one-shoulder black gown, and then the off shoulder ruffled maxi from Alice + Olivia from the month before that, but she couldn’t remember what she’d paid for those.  Besides, they weren’t shiny anymore.

She checked her account balance.  $11.00.  Her stomach grumbled as she headed to the grocery store.


MWC – Fair


The theme for the Miniature Writing Challenge this week is Fairness & Justice. Write a short story, poem or haiku that would express your interpretation of this theme.

“It’s not fair!”  The children shouted in unison, banging their fists on the desks and stamping their feet, filling the classroom with sounds of chaos.

“Why did Priscilla win 1st place for her project?” Bobby asked, standing up from his seat, crossing his arms over his chest defiantly.

“Sit down, Bobby!”  Ms. Vaughan commanded.   When he complied, she continued.  “I thought Priscilla’s project was the most creative and showed the most attention to detail.”

The last bell rang.  Once the classroom was empty, Ms. Vaughan slipped off her shoes and put her feet up on the desk.  Bobby’s project really was better than Priscilla’s.  But he was a little smart-mouthed brat, always giving her a hard time.  Until he adjusted his attitude, he wouldn’t be getting any prizes from her.  Priscilla made her job easier.  She unwrapped a chocolate from her secret stash, looked out the window, and counted the days until summer.

MWC – Tree


Miniature Writing Challenge – Today’s challenge is a tribute to childhood. Write a short story, poem or haiku about children, for children or about a childhood memory.

He kissed me for the first time under a tree that smelled of summer.  We were both ten.  It lasted a second, if that long, and we parted, white and pink petals raining down around us.  I was thrilled and embarrassed and flushed red, letting out a tiny giggle as I turned and ran down the hill to my house.  The next day, nothing had changed.  He was still my best bud and I was his.

But today, as I watch my best bud marry his bride, a girl nothing like me, posh and upper-class, gracious and well-educated, under that same tree, our tree, I realize everything changed that day.  But it’s too late.  After the ceremony, I give him a kiss on the cheek and tell him I love him.  He pats me on the back and says he loves me too, but I’m sure he doesn’t know what I mean.   I skip the reception, and walk slowly down the hill again, reassured by the smell of summer in the air.



The phone vibrated in her purse.  Another notification.  Celia had posted a gallery of photos on Facebook from her London trip.  Nora scrolled through the pictures, trying to smile, but it still stung, that she hadn’t been asked to come.  True, she probably would have turned them down- the expense, the crowds, the cold, it was all too much.  In fact, she usually turned them down, but the truth was, though she’d never admit it, was that she liked to be invited.  Why couldn’t they ever do something she could do?  Something quiet and peaceful, affordable, less chaotic.  Her friends were slipping away.

Nora crawled into bed, her phone still in hand.  She commented under a photo of the Shard, London’s tallest building – Gorgeous!  Glad you guys had fun!  Lunch tomorrow?   She put the phone on the pillow next to her and hoped for a response by morning.

For Sunday Photo Fiction 

MWC – Breakup



Miniature Writing Challenge #26 is hosted by An Artist at Heart.  Find the challenge rules here.

Music surrounds us wherever we go. It reflects our emotions or elicits feelings from deep within our souls. Write a short story, poem or haiku about a music-induced experience.

“Work!  Work!  Work!”  Britney sang over the loudspeakers.   It was a song to which Callie loved to sing along in her car on the way to work, but during a spin class, she found it quite obnoxious.

“You want a hot body?  You better work!”  Britney ordered.  Callie trudged along, knowing her melting legs didn’t have another 50 minutes in them.  And to think she was here because of a boy.  She’d begged Adam to be honest.  “Tell me the truth. I can handle it.”

He looked away.  “It’s just…I like girls who are…you know…athletic…fit…”

“I get it,” she said.  But she’d been devastated.

Now, however, she realized she didn’t care what Adam thought of her or her body.  He didn’t matter.  She liked the effects working out had on her health, but she detested spin class.  She left her bike and never looked back.

Maybe she’d try Pilates.