Flash Fiction: Beloved

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Photo Credit: Elijah Macleod

The man in the leather jacket was on the evening news. The helicopter camera got a good picture of him, standing on the fenced walkway, firing arrow after arrow from a recurve bow into traffic below.

“Ed,” he said, when police handcuffed him, and asked his name. “Just Ed. Y’know, like Madonna.”

No one went to the hospital reporting an arrow injury that day, but there were a lot of marriage proposals in the weeks to come. And when police opened Ed’s cell the next morning, all they found was a giant heart drawn on the cell wall in sharpie.

~100 words

via Bikurgurl — 100 Word Wednesday Week 58

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Flash Fiction: It Finally Came

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An envelope came with the post. It was sealed with wax, and stamped with a coat of arms seal. Jonathan took it inside his flat and ripped the top with a letter opener.

“Saint Flareous’ Academy of Sorcery…” he read aloud, and as he continued reading, his lips mouthed the words.

“Son of a bitch,” he concluded, his eyes saucer wide.

Jonathan plopped down in his armchair, knocking his copy of The Goblet of Fire off the armrest. For a long time, he stared at nothing.

The letter must’ve gotten lost in the post. It was Jonathan’s forty-seventh birthday.

~99 words

via Daily Prompt: Enroll

Flash Fiction: The Order

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In the sacred grove, the nuns of the Order of Pure Reason gathered around the basket, set on a tree stump.

“It is decided,” said the Archmatron. “We will take the infant to the monastery, there to be raised by the Brotherhood of Iron. Who will go?”

Sister Constance raised her quivering hand.

“If the boy cannot stay here,” she said, “I will take him.”

“You know as well as I do,” said the Archmatron, “the Codex is clear on this point.”

“Yes,” agreed Constance, picking up the basket that held her infant son, “the Codex is clear, Archmatron.”

~99 words

via Carrot Ranch Flash Fiction Challenge: Black & White

Flash Fiction: Rain

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Image by Matthew Henry

It used to rain like this when my Grandma would take me for walks downtown. It was never my Grandma who’d say “you’ll catch your death of cold.” That was my Mom. And she was right, for Grandma at least. Only, it was pneumonia.

I pick up my umbrella and step out onto the avenue. I catch sight of my reflection in a puddle as I pass. The ripples make my face look much older, much more wrinkled. And, somehow, much happier. The rain is warm, and so is my Grandmother’s smile.

I smile, shake my head and walk on.

~100 words

via Bikergurl — 100 Word Wednesday Week 56

Flash Fiction: Wish

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Photo Credit: Stacy Wyss

“All of these people come here everyday,” said Michel. “They pour their emotions into the art. They love, or they hate, or they are overcome with nostalgia. Do you think those emotions just vanish when they are released? Where do you think they go?”

Michel had been trying to convince me for over an hour that the glass pyramid was a lens for emotional energy, and could focus and channel it into whatever wish your heart desires.

“Fine,” I said, trying to think of the most unlikely thing I could wish for. “Then I wish it to snow in July.”

~100 words

Via Bikergurl — 100 Word Wednesday Week 52

Flash Fiction: Dungeon Master

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Photo by Aldric Rivat

The die rolled across the gaming table, bounced off miniature mountains and temples, and ricocheted off a figurine of a hero bearing a shield and spear. It bounded down the stairs and the players chased it into the dungeon below.

“Damn it, Zeus, how many times have I said, ‘roll in the tray, not on the table’?” said Athena.

The die at the foot of the stairs showed a single skull, and the heavens shook with thunder.

“Doesn’t count,” said Zeus. “Wasn’t on the table.”

Hades grinned. “A Critical Failure on a saving throw. The Gorgon has petrified your character.”

~100 words

via Bikergurl — 100 Word Wednesday: Week 51

Flash Fiction: And to All a Good Night

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Photo by Brooke Lark

“Merry Christmas to all,” said Jonathan, drunkenly raising his glass.

The party erupted in laughter as he set it back down and promptly passed out. His cheek fell on my shoulder, and he did not stir when I shoved him to the other side of the sofa.

It was a game, and a bet, and a dare. We were all playing. Each of us had a colorful drink in hand, and when someone took a sip, we toasted their health. Fourteen of the twenty-one glasses were safe, but the poison was odorless, colorless, tasteless.

And now it was my turn.

~100 words

via Bikergurl — 100 Word Wednesday Week 50