Use the photograph above as the inspiration for your flash fiction story. Write whatever comes to mind (no sexual, political, or religious stories, jokes, or commentary, please) and after you PROOFREAD it, submit it as your entry in the comments section below. There will be no written prompt.
Welcome to the Indies Unlimited Flash Fiction Challenge. In 250 words or less, write a story incorporating the elements in the picture at left. The 250 word limit will be strictly enforced.
Please keep language and subject matter to a PG-13 level.
Use the comment section below to submit your entry. Entries will be accepted until Tuesday at 5:00 PM Pacific Time. No political or religious entries, please. Need help getting started? Read this article on how to write flash fiction.
On Wednesday, we will open voting to the public with an online poll so they may choose the winner. Voting will be open until 5:00 PM Thursday. On Saturday morning, the winner will be recognized as we post the winning entry along with the picture as a feature.
Once a month, the admins will announce the Editors’ Choice winners. Those stories will be featured in an anthology like this one. Best of luck to you all in your writing!
Entries only in the comment section. Other comments will be deleted. See HERE for additional information and terms. Please note the rule changes for 2016.
Tidal Dreams
By Annette Rey
I must have just missed them. Evidence of their presence is engraved in the virgin sand left like a clean slate by the outgoing tide. Once this had been our ritual, walking as one, entwined in body and soul. I couldn’t take a breath lest he did. And then we’d find a snuggle-spot, away from the surf, a secluded area, and revel in our love. Exhausted, yet refreshed, we’d head toward the sea and romp with abandon like children, cavorting, splashing, laughing, embracing even then. And before we’d travel onward, he would leave a final loving gesture in the sand that would almost steal my breath with the beauty of it.
Now alone, I have collapsed on the beach, bearing witness to a new testimony that leaves me raw, mauled as if by lions’ curved and razor claws and eaten inside by raging termites and fire ants. The pain incinerates and obliterates the ecstasy of love that once encircled me.
Why don’t I bend in anger and rage and erase this public affirmation? Paralysis has overcome me. I am tossed aside, and without energy to even exact impotent revenge.
And so, I’ll sit until evening tide, when the power of the sea returns to this place, and washes away this flesh-eating message that once boasted my name. The magic of time will work in me. Infinitesimally, I will heal as I wait for consuming waves to destroy all trace of the words encased by a heart, Matthew loves Mary.
ANTICIPATION
They’d been married for forty years now. It had been a good life: no children, but they had each other.
Marvin and Marilyn had been coming to Armand’s every week for years. A secluded bistro overlooking Bourbon Street, it provided a welcome change of scenery, good food and quiet time to discuss the week’s events. That is until recently. Marvin’s health had been failing, limiting their activities. Now they only visited on special occasions. Like today, their anniversary.
Sipping his aperitif of Pernod, Marvin turned to her: “Cher, I need to use the men’s room. Will you wait for me?”
“You silly old man. Didn’t I wait for you when you joined the army? Didn’t I wait for you when you worked on the offshore oil rigs?
“Well yes, Cher.”
“Then I suppose that I can wait for you NOW!”
Fifteen minutes went by. Then thirty.
“What in the world…?” Marilyn asked the waiter to check on her husband.
Pierre found the body on the restroom floor.
At the graveside she asked him out loud: “Marvin will you wait for me?”
The distinguished gentleman seated behind the heavy oak desk was nattily dressed in a black pinstripe suit, light blue shirt, and red and black stripped tie. A red silk handkerchief blossomed from his suit jacket’s left-front pocket. From all appearances—including his white hair and thick-lensed, horned-rimmed glasses—he was George Burns incarnate. A wisp of smoke curled upwards from the half-smoked cigar that lay in the dark brown glass ashtray before him. The cigar band read Sigaro Toscano.
“So,” stated the detective, “we’ve been waiting an hour for you to tell us something that might help us understand how Louie ‘The Lip’ D’Angelo ended up in the East River last night. You haven’t answered even one of our questions!”
The Godfather picked up his cigar, which had gone out, pulled a butane torch lighter from his vest pocket, snapped the ignition button, and with the cigar held down at an angle to the flame, turned the cigar in his fingers while he inhaled using short puffs for about 15 seconds until the end glowed cherry red. Then he took the cigar out of his mouth, coughed—a deep, congested smoker’s cough—and turning the cigar around, gently blew on the glowing end to ensure it had been evenly lit. Returning the lighter to his vest pocket, he sat back, blew a cloud of blue-gray smoke toward the ceiling, and chuckled. “I suspect, but of course can’t be sure, there had been a slight disagreement between two ‘families.’ ”
As soon as Sue stepped off the gang-plank, she ditched her husband, to be with Jim for a few quiet drinks. They found this quaint little bistro, one floor above the tourist filled street of Martinique. They ordered Pina Coladas. However, Sue now sat there alone wondering when he was going to return from paying the tab.
A smiling waitress came by and placed their bill next to She’s empty glass. Sue sat there staring at it, she asked herself, “Why did I trust him, only to be betrayed, again?”
She reached into her pocket and discovered her wallet with her credit cards in it were missing. Fortunately, she had some cash in her purse. On her way back to the cruise ship, she spotted him smoozing another female passenger, “Excuse me Jim! May I have a word with you?”
Smiling, he turned and stopped in mid sentence, “Not now, can’t you see…” He spied her hand on a gun in her purse; together, they stepped down a side alley.
Sue flashed her ID, then she stuffed it into her wallet as she boarded the ship. She saw her hubby by the stern, they kissed, “Oh, what a long day I had, I would kill for a drink, please get me one?”
As her husband left the railing, the cruise ship pulled away from the pier. Smiling, Sue quickly slipped the still warm revolver out of her purse, and dropped the gun into the sea, unnoticed.
It had been three hours already. She could understand one, maybe even two. Planes could be delayed, traffic heavy. But three hours? They had agreed to meet at 1:00 p.m. And now it was almost four. His English wasn’t that good, but he was Nigerian, so what could you expect? She had sent him the money, more than any of the others had asked for, so everything should be all right. She expected to see him sprinting up the outside staircase any minute now, eager to meet his red-haired beauty. That is what he called her, his red-haired beauty. He told her how he yearned to hold her close and stroke her hair. This would be their first face-to-face meeting. She knew him only from his pictures – dark, smiling, tall, and handsome. She shivered just thinking of the romantic times they would have. If only he would show up!
She hoped nothing horrible had happened. Nigeria was probably a terrible country, at least that was what she had gleaned from what the others before him had said. Each wanted to get out, and each swore she was a dream come true, a kind-hearted woman to love forever. But after she sent thousands of dollars, enough surely to get to America, each disappeared without a trace, Facebook gone and e-mails unanswered. This only heightened her resolve.
After seven hours the cafe’s proprietor asked her politely to leave. The cafe was closing.
The perfect table, by the door, elevated and, vacant. Oh surely he would see her. It was “their” table after all. It hadn’t been too many years, had it?
Maybe, so many years ago. She was young and he was much younger. More than twelve years, but “a love like ours will last forever. Age means nothing.” Of course he was right, she thought as she smoothed her blouse. Re-fixing her head covering she thought of the surprise and pleasure when she had heard from him again. Yes they should meet. Same place, same table and here she was.
A couple came down the street. It was him, she raised her hand to wave.
The couple walked by.
“Honey, did you know her?”
“No”, he laughed, “that’s an old lady, no one I know.”
They passed her by, not noticing the tear upon her cheek.
She sat watching from the bar’s patio wondering if she could pick him out of the shoppers cruising Duval Street. The warm ocean breezes caressed Key West’s pastel-colored houses nestled like beached conch shells.
“Sorry I’m late,” he called out as he approached. “Had to straighten out this guy who thought Hemingway’s place was Tennessee Williams’ hideaway. Want another beer?” He sat facing her, fanning himself with his tattered Panama.
She knew him from the red carnation pinned to his stained shirt. “I’ll get right to the point,” she said. “Five thousand. Not a penny more. I don’t care how you get rid of him, just do it! Here’s twenty-five hundred cash. You’ll ge the rest when it’s done,”” She reached into her carryall and handed him a picture, then got up and hurried away.
Next afternoon, he watched as his target surfaced from snorkeling the coral reefs. “Hey, fella. Got a proposition for ya.”
They found a booth at the back of the cantina. After two cold beers, they stood and shook hands.
“Don’t forget. Ten thousand. Half now, half when done. Bring cash tomorrow. Noon.”
Pocketing the envelopes of money, he drove the rented car to the mailbox, dropped in a small package, and headed for his sloop. The police will be thrilled to get his recordings of the attempted murders and take immediate action.
The End, he visualized..
Only ninety miles to Cuba. Hoisting the sail, he began plotting how to finance his next novel.
TO ERR IS HUMAN
W endy sits at an outside table,
A waiting the arrival of her date.
IT ’s not like she’s been stood up before,
I t’s just he’d always call if he would be delayed.
N ow it’s been two hours and not a word from him.
G rowing impatient Wendy calls him, only to find out
her date is for tomorrow and not today. Mistakes are
these are getting for more frequent for her, probably
due to the beginning stages of the Alzheimer she’s
suffering with. Given this she must be forgiven,
because to err is human, to forgive devine.
Notice the prompt of WAITING has formed an acrostic for this endeavor.
Two friends, traveling different paths, ended up in the same place. Sophia was attending a conference in France while Paula was visiting family in Germany. Sophia often traveled to France and loved to visit a small town called Albi. This was Paula’s first time in Europe and, after hearing Sophia’s stories, the pair decided to take advantage of the overlapping days and spend them visiting one of Sophia’s favorite locations.
Paula would travel by rail from Germany to meet Sophia at Le Tertre, a small bistro near the station. Sophia would arrive via rental car.
Paula arrived first. The day was warm but overcast. She chose a table next to the patio. She could watch the passers-by and enjoy the fresh air and not worry if a few raindrops fell. She saw Sophia arriving and, after a warm greeting, Paula ordered their beverages while Sophia scurried to the toilette.
Paula sat in the doorway, mesmerized by the scene unfolding before her eyes. She was living a dream and she inhaled deeply, trying to absorb as much of the ambience as she could. She sipped her espresso and was surprised when she finished it. Where was Sophia?
Paula went toward the restrooms and her foot kicked a doorknob outside the ladies’ room. “How odd,” she said aloud. “I wonder where the other half is?”
“In here,” Sophia called, pounding on the door. “The latch got stuck and then the doorknob separated. Get me out of here!”
Marian feels like she’s spent her whole life waiting for Jeff. Waiting at the courthouse when they were both just teenagers. Waiting at the hospital when their babies were born. So often during their marriage, waiting for him – to come home from the bar, to find another job, to leave his latest mistress.
She waited for the kids to grow up and leave home. Then she waited at the lawyer’s office for the divorce documents to be drawn up.
Now she waits at the sandwich shop for him to arrive and sign the final papers. As usual, he is late. She eats lunch and drinks several cups of coffee. She believes that if she waits long enough, he will eventually show up. And then she will be able to stop waiting and begin living her life.
While she scans the street for his car, her cell phone buzzes. She sighs. Jeff will apologize, as he always does, for running late. He will promise to be there soon.
But the number on her cell is not Jeff’s. It is a nearby hospital. When she answers, a male voice says, “Mrs. Jackson, I’m sorry to inform you that there’s been an accident. Your husband has been hospitalized and is in a coma. Please come right away.”
After she clicks off the phone, she leans back to finish her coffee. She knows she will now have to endure even more waiting.
NEW LEAF
.
The ice cubes in her tea had melted a while ago, but she wouldn’t allow the waitress to refresh her drink. Carol wanted it to be clear that she had been waiting for a long time. Textbook passive-aggression, she thought. Her therapist would not be proud.
.
As she forced the slice of lemon to the bottom of her drink with her straw she thought of herself drowning. Carol knew that feeling all too well. Today was supposed to be her triumphant rise to the surface. Today was to be a lifesaving breath. Instead, her breath was a painful sigh and her stomach launched another flock of butterflies. Maybe this was a sign. Maybe this was God’s way of telling her she was doing something horribly wrong. Realizing a chewed straw and a shredded lemon clearly showed she was a nervous wreck, Carol motioned for the waitress to bring her a new iced tea.
.
A child sped by on a bicycle and rang the shrill bell for no apparent reason. Carol thought of her own boys. Children are so resilient. Thank God. They knew the divorce would make Mommy and Daddy happier, and liked the idea of having two homes and two neighborhoods. More importantly, they knew the fighting would stop.
.
The sun appeared over the building across the street as a yellow taxi pulled up in front of the coffee shop. Debbie stepped out. The butterflies landed and the lemon looked perfect.
“Love the decor,” Bernie said sipping a cappuccino uncomfortably.
“Anything for you,” I replied. I called in all my favors for the VR realism on this session. Everything would be perfect for our tenth anniversary, even though we’d be apart.
“This French café is nice, but isn’t the rain and non-interactive a bit much?” Bernie asked.
“Maybe,” I answered, “ but they say Paris is beautiful in the rain.”
“Hmmm. But, that’s not us, is it?”
“No, but…”
“Listen,”she said gently touching my hand, “I’ve met someone, and…”
“And?”
Bernie pulled back and looked back, one eyebrow raised.
“Sorry,” I said trying to avoid eye contact, “It’s just…I only get to see you here in the VR messenger with…”
“Look, I love you. I always will love you. I just can’t do this anymore. I don’t know when you’re getting parole. You said it won’t be much longer, but I’m just tired of waiting.”
With that, she fizzled out leaving lukewarm cappuccino on the table. I turned and stared out at the rain in the street. Paris really is beautiful in the rain. The woman on the veranda slowly turned revealing a very odd drag queen version of my cell block lead-guard, Bill.
“You win some, you lose some,” he recited from some virtual space hanging just over our heads. I just smirked and sighed.