tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17040756.post4748725821279547866..comments2024-03-18T09:09:59.625-04:00Comments on Janet Reid, Literary Agent: Triple play flash fiction contest!Janet Reidhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00615380335938685231noreply@blogger.comBlogger59125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17040756.post-79469804284711906522017-02-12T08:40:04.249-05:002017-02-12T08:40:04.249-05:00After a long run in the woods, Brewster heads up h...After a long run in the woods, Brewster heads up his driveway, invigorated and content. Reaching the crest, he glances over at the neighbor’s yard. His shoulders sag as he spots poor old Red. Miserable and pacing. Back and forth, back and forth. A prisoner. No freedom to romp, explore, dig, and sniff. A death sentence, really. Heart wrenching.<br /><br />Red sees him. “Hey, Brewster,” he calls and offers a feeble wave.<br /><br />“Woof!” Brewster responds wagging his tail. “Arf!” he adds in a show of friendship. <br /><br />“RED!” Alice hollers from the porch. “Quit lollygaggin’! Them leaves ain’t gonna rake themselves.” <br />Melanie Sue Bowleshttps://www.blogger.com/profile/11820711791019410116noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17040756.post-2219886759482416442017-02-12T08:06:44.423-05:002017-02-12T08:06:44.423-05:00Death preferred whispers to gut-wrenching screams,...Death preferred whispers to gut-wrenching screams, and so that once, he caught Life unaware as she streaked across his kingdom, a white light too fast to catch. He set his trap, hiding in the shadows.<br /><br /> Life found that momentary union akin to gas and wood igniting into flame. That macabre wail she made as he pounced on her, sending black birds scattering to the sky. To her credit, Life played her role exquisitely as she took Death’s kingdom in that one embrace. <br /><br />By Spring, black and white kittens ruled house and barn, Life their queen and Death a mere curiosity.<br />E.M. Goldsmithhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/18387494005655553037noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17040756.post-65176981939059712122017-02-12T07:31:45.770-05:002017-02-12T07:31:45.770-05:00They met deep in the shadow of Wren’s masterpiece....They met deep in the shadow of Wren’s masterpiece.<br /><br />His master.<br /><br />Nicholas smiled at the irony of it, whispered ‘It was Cain who built the first City’ to the Friar<br /><br />From deep within his robes, the Friar removed a bundle of herbs.<br /><br />‘These reflect the exact nature of his humours. You remember how to prepare the brewage?’<br /><br />‘You’re sure that death will come?’<br /><br />‘Death will come’ Mr Hawksmoor, ‘Then you must bury the body in cursed ground.’<br /><br />‘Yes. In the Hookland plague pit. I will dig the grave and piss on him myself.’<br /><br /> Today would be a red day.<br />Anonymousnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17040756.post-44687524208810512242017-02-12T06:18:03.980-05:002017-02-12T06:18:03.980-05:00Mom calls me down for breakfast her face a split p...Mom calls me down for breakfast her face a split page in a flap book. On top, eyes red-rimmed with crying. Below, mouth stretched in a too wide smile.<br /><br />I've been awake a while thinking of Lucy's funeral. Dad had to dig a rabbit-sized hole; death smelled like wet soil. She felt wrenched from my <br />arms and her absence was heavy.<br /><br />The aroma of brewed coffee fills the kitchen with Dad while the empty chair speaks of waiting rooms and goodbyes.<br /><br />Mom pours out two coffees then flusters.<br />One for her and one for the drain. <br /><br />Marie McKayhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/11405271051226910312noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17040756.post-89812199638835758552017-02-12T06:17:33.933-05:002017-02-12T06:17:33.933-05:00“Keep digging,” Finch muttered.
The hole wasn’t a...“Keep digging,” Finch muttered.<br /><br />The hole wasn’t a grave, but there would be death at the bottom. A band of red at the horizon quickened their work better than any brew. Wren looked over her shoulder. Were they really the first? <br /><br />“I see it!”<br /><br />There, writhing in the loam, eyeless face probing the unexpected air, mucus glinting in a mix of moon and sunlight.<br /><br />Finch acted quickly, pulling it like a reluctant cord from its placental earth. It disappeared into his sharp, wide mouth, wriggling still.<br /><br />Robin appeared. “Am I late?”<br /><br />“The early bird gets the worm!” Wren trilled.Kimberhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/15022839403054954228noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17040756.post-9402458304752856732017-02-12T03:06:33.151-05:002017-02-12T03:06:33.151-05:00When his girlfriend breaks up with him,
You wonder...When his girlfriend breaks up with him,<br />You wonder why.<br />And when you score tickets<br />But he fails to show,<br />Or call or text,<br />You swallow your indignation<br />And drive, <br />Past the Hebrew school<br />And the arcade at Henderson Square,<br />Down the gravel path<br />And you wrench yourself out of the car,<br />Into his house,<br />Where the music is overly loud,<br />The television mute,<br />And a bottle of Jack Daniels reclines, soberly, on the bare floor.<br />You find your son slumped on the sofa,<br />The needle glistening against his skin,<br />And you wonder, <br />WHY?<br />Just Janhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/12546035917149403735noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17040756.post-60355835113067106742017-02-12T02:16:59.019-05:002017-02-12T02:16:59.019-05:00Whiskered postal worker reads the label on the pac...Whiskered postal worker reads the label on the package. Looks up. You get this a lot.<br /><br />“Your name is …”<br /><br />“Death. Rhymes with teeth.”<br /><br />Whiskers nods. Indignant. “’Course it does. Noel. Rhymes with asshole.”<br /><br />You don’t argue. He’s accurate.<br /><br />“If I can just get my package…”<br /><br />He shakes his head. And the box. “Sorry.”<br /><br />Noel does rhyme with – you stop yourself. <br /><br />“Says there’s a bomb inside.”<br /><br />“Excuse me?” Category 5 headache begins brewing.<br /><br />“Right here.” He points at <i>lip balm</i>.<br /><br />You begin to understand the idiom <i>going postal</i>. You leave. Find Wren at home. Tell her, “We’re joining Amazon Prime.”<br />John Davis Frainhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/18020019400599228492noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17040756.post-9550544841544335562017-02-12T01:11:14.418-05:002017-02-12T01:11:14.418-05:00Down to the wire. A merger three years in the maki...Down to the wire. A merger three years in the making. An overdue vacation planned (I could feel Bermuda's sands between my toes). In 48 hours I'd be a free man.<br /><br />The <b>death</b> jeopardized everything. The signs were <b>brew</b>ing for months: the headaches, the shaking, the slurring. But Bob <b>Wren</b> just couldn't make it two more days. Now, I'm screwed. <br /><br />The target doesn't know, but their lawyers were clear: Drive us deep into the <b>red</b>, but no Bob, no merger. <br /><br />Bob must be present. <br /><br />“Did anyone specify <i>alive</i>?”<br /><br />New plan: <b>dig</b> up the boss, <i>Weekend at Bernie's</i> style.Anonymousnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17040756.post-38542598056599612752017-02-12T01:00:08.219-05:002017-02-12T01:00:08.219-05:00"Red Dog's famous 'round heah," ..."Red Dog's famous 'round heah," said the drover as he sipped his brew. <br /><br />"Around Djangemup?" the explorer asked.<br /><br />"Nah. All 'Straya." He sighed. "When death wrenched his life from him, wrenched all our hearts as well."<br /><br />A chill spidered in the explorer's guts. Surely this isn't what wiped out an entire continent?<br /><br />Explained the now-empty pub.<br />Her Grace, Heidi, the Duchess of Knealehttps://www.blogger.com/profile/17818060864422019573noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17040756.post-11130982241444024742017-02-12T00:10:19.215-05:002017-02-12T00:10:19.215-05:00“You scared me to death!” snapped the raven-haired...“You scared me to death!” snapped the raven-haired witch, who had been admiring her reflection in the potion. “You could have at least cleared your throat.”<br /><br />She wrenched the toothbrush of a virgin born in June from the old crone’s hands crabbed hands and tossed it into the cauldron. The last ingredient. She crept close to admire the plume of violet steam that arose like a belly dancer who gets paid by the gyration.<br /><br />The crone (stronger than she looked) tipped the witch into the pot.<br /><br />Took ten minutes for the brew to digest her.<br /><br />Took one to drink it.<br />Gypmarhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/10023108950501721303noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17040756.post-23830711778065262012017-02-11T23:44:08.666-05:002017-02-11T23:44:08.666-05:00We stood at the alter and my heart wrenched as I w...We stood at the alter and my heart wrenched as I watched her walk down the aisle. <br /><br />I’ve loved her since we were five, next door neighbors digging in the sandbox. <br /><br />I loved her in high school, talking on the phone late at night until mom poked her head in my room and gave me the death-stare.<br /><br />I loved her in college, bar hopping, drinking brews and throwing darts until last call.<br /><br />The reverend turned to me. “The rings, please.”<br /><br />My face reddened as I dug the symbols of faithfulness out of my pocket and gave them to my brother. Scott Ghttps://www.blogger.com/profile/00293362485142152780noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17040756.post-6413283379367531412017-02-11T22:10:01.493-05:002017-02-11T22:10:01.493-05:00Death and his cat, Brewster, walked in the red oak...Death and his cat, Brewster, walked in the red oak forest.<br />“Did you dig her up?”<br /><br />Before him a pretty little wren lay uncovered in a shallow grave.<br />The cat shrugged and gave an innocent eye blink. A rear paw suddenly needed cleaning.<br /><br />The tall man bent down. <br /><br />In his palm the wren shuddered. He blew a soft warm breath. Felt a tiny heart beat. Saw a bright eye.<br /><br />Light shimmered and chirped. Wings spread.<br /><br />Fly away.<br /><br />Death smiled.<br />Sharyn Ekberghhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/11987304898246173619noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17040756.post-28017991824512629372017-02-11T18:28:52.403-05:002017-02-11T18:28:52.403-05:00“Who are you?” She clutched her doll to her chest....“Who are you?” She clutched her doll to her chest.<br /> <br />“I’m Lawrence.” His body creaked as he lowered himself onto the seat beside her hospital bed. “I visit here sometimes.”<br /><br />Hand trembling, he held out a bundle of soft pink wool.<br /><br />She snatched it from him. Showed her doll. Draped it over her shoulders and broke into delighted song—the cardigan a drab reward for someone who made a theatre of divas sound like amateurs.<br /><br />He remembered.<br />She didn't. <br />AJ Blythehttps://www.blogger.com/profile/04529233142099749005noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17040756.post-59575515096734706962017-02-11T18:13:17.202-05:002017-02-11T18:13:17.202-05:00Death brewed.
Wren continued to dig through the ...Death brewed. <br /><br />Wren continued to dig through the compost. Eisenia, bristling red in fear, stretched deep for cover. <br /><br />Gotcha! Alas, to no avail.<br />Susan W Bosscawenhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/04754313227756080340noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17040756.post-25373726237541601332017-02-11T18:03:32.706-05:002017-02-11T18:03:32.706-05:00Mary knew it was true. The evidence before her sai...Mary knew it was true. The evidence before her said it all—his blood red fingerprint on the wrench. The investigators missed it on their first pass. She’d come out to the shed on a whim. Had just brewed a fresh pot of coffee, but left it sitting in the kitchen while she put her mind at ease. Had hoped to anyway. Now it was too late. The investigators would return. She’d have to bury the tool. She’d dig a hole somewhere. Put an end to the spotlight on her husband. She could only survive one death in the family. Anonymoushttps://www.blogger.com/profile/13054888856964461394noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17040756.post-53708179544328413072017-02-11T17:51:58.481-05:002017-02-11T17:51:58.481-05:00Rachel brewed more than anger and coffee when she ...<br /><br /><br />Rachel brewed more than anger and coffee when she caught sight of him at the entrance of her shop. <br /><br />The years had been kind to Tom. He still had his hair and boyish good looks. Rachel wouldn't be as nice as nature. <br /><br />A decade ago, he has disappeared, leaving her heartbroken and bankrupt. Now he was back, no doubt to throw another wrench in her plans again.<br /><br />"Rachel!" He startled, choking on his half-digested scone. "You work here?"<br /><br />She smiled. "Own it, darling. Won the lottery." Then she delivered a blow worse than death to Tom: a restraining order. <br />Mallory Lovehttps://www.blogger.com/profile/16282261391938135052noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17040756.post-55956146683304174622017-02-11T17:26:42.511-05:002017-02-11T17:26:42.511-05:00“Think she’d eat here again?”
“There was glass in...“Think she’d eat here again?”<br /><br />“There was glass in her salad.”<br /><br />“I got it out.”<br /><br />“You used her fingers!”<br /><br />“Mine were dirty.”<br /><br />“What about the soup?”<br /><br />“What about it?”<br /><br />“You poured it in her lap.”<br /><br />“She asked for it to go!”<br /><br />“She asked you to call 911.”<br /><br />“Which someone did.”<br /><br />“After you waved your gun!”<br /><br />“That 22 calibre would impress anyone.”<br /><br />“And shooting the place--you thought she’d ignore that?”<br /><br />“She wasn’t talking.”<br /><br />“The shattered window rendered her speechless!”<br /><br />“An impressed speechless.”<br /><br />“This is seriously how you’re spending your phone call?!” <br /><br />“Well, you didn’t answer. Think she’d eat here again?”<br />Anonymousnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17040756.post-338303374716097882017-02-11T17:06:44.194-05:002017-02-11T17:06:44.194-05:00Brewster shuffles along the shore, alone. Always a...<br />Brewster shuffles along the shore, alone. Always alone. At his feet, flayed fish bare their bones. A rheumy red sun watches blearily from a skull-colored sky. The known world is gone, leaving only Brewster to mourn its death.<br /><br />But something hulks beneath the waves, alive.<br /><br />Brewster digs his toes into the sand, rooting himself. He won't run. Not this time. The sea, a slave to its new master, won't pass up what Brewster is offering.<br /><br />Slick foam hands slide over his shins. Fingers of kelp wrench him away.<br /><br />Soon, his bones, and his soul, are scraped clean. <br /><br />Madeline Mora-Summontehttps://www.blogger.com/profile/05529397293165046430noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17040756.post-36662192838220835912017-02-11T16:55:16.151-05:002017-02-11T16:55:16.151-05:00“I can’t stay here no more, yet leaving…it’s like ...“I can’t stay here no more, yet leaving…it’s like a <b>death</b> knell,” she whispe<b>red</b> to her husband.<br /><br />Agitated, she rose on legs spindly as a fledgling <b>wren</b>’s, cane tapping as she made her way towards the man who waited.<br /><br />She paused, stared out the window at the tumble of leaves the wind <b>brew</b>ed up.<br /><br />“I won’t be back, but, I’ll always love you,” her words broke the persistent silence.<br /> <br /><b>Dig</b>ging in her purse, she handed the key over, looking around once more.<br /><br />“Had him fifty-nine of sixty years here.”<br /><br />“Yes ma’am.”<br /><br />A For Sale sign rattled in the front yard.<br />Donnaevehttps://www.blogger.com/profile/09026536210749494257noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17040756.post-38754393193998052232017-02-11T16:25:49.025-05:002017-02-11T16:25:49.025-05:00Clues: Large plastic Homer Simpson head with Duff ...Clues: Large plastic Homer Simpson head with Duff <b>brew</b> T-shirt, pipe <b>wren</b>ch, in<b>dig</b>enous spear, acc<b>red</b>itation reports. <b>Death</b>ly body smell.<br /><br />She’d cheated, no question. After she’d married me for my money, no less.<br /><br />I gathered the necessary weapons to bash in her pretty face. <br /><br />Taken to the cleaners in court, chewed up, spit out. <br /><br />Tarnished pride unpolishable. <br /><br />Alimony…Drug abuse…Frail bones…Starvation. <br /><br />Muddy tent with only a few remaining possessions. <br /><br />Homelessness.<br /><br />Clues: Large plastic Homer Simpson head with Duff brew T-shirt, pipe wrench, indigenous spear, accreditation reports. Deathly body smell.<br />Karen McCoyhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/02640324898284007337noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17040756.post-769237855042755452017-02-11T16:09:29.475-05:002017-02-11T16:09:29.475-05:00Washing machine came on again—the TV told it to.
...Washing machine came on again—the TV told it to. <br />I’m sure of it.<br /><br />My phone brewed a pot of coffee at three a.m. and a Sousa march on repetitive loop kept me awake. I punch the digital display on the furnace but it remains frozen at sixty. As do I.<br /><br />The appliances are taking over.<br />Can’t unplug them—they’re hard-wired. <br /><br />Technology now renders us obsolete.<br /><br />They said it would advance us, and it did for a while, but it has surpassed us and will cause the death of the human race.<br /><br />I’m sure of it.<br />RosannaMhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/06399732751877180737noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17040756.post-67932699702337914132017-02-11T16:00:43.759-05:002017-02-11T16:00:43.759-05:00"Today is a red day," said Wren, and exp..."Today is a red day," said Wren, and expired upon the ground.<br /><br />The forest creatures gathered round, too shocked for words.<br /><br />"Fly, you fools!" said Owl, who was never too shocked for words. But he could not out-fly death.<br /><br />Bear hurried home, worried for her cubs, but the noisome brew went before her, and she drowned herself in the water.<br /><br />The ants in the earth kept digging, too simple to know anything was amiss, until they, too, perished.<br /><br />Then all was still, in the forest and above and below it.<br /><br />"Today we are ascendant," said Virus, "but what about tomorrow?"RKeelanhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/16761835094251669865noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17040756.post-58986156656593223742017-02-11T15:17:56.337-05:002017-02-11T15:17:56.337-05:00Homebrew is a package manager for installing softw...Homebrew is a package manager for installing software on Apple's macOS. My operating system needs a Homebrew:<br /><br /><b>brew</b> install memory<br /><br />I <b>dig</b> around and remember three daughters and two sons. Where are they? Their world is not limited to their mother.<br /><br />I'm proud of my children. I tell each one about the successes of the others until they say goodbye, and close the door, or hang up the phone. Leaving me has never been a <b>wren</b>ch for them.<br /><br />Who is this bo<b>red</b> old woman? Not the woman I once left behind. The i<b>dea th</b>at I've been left again hurts.Tonihttps://www.blogger.com/profile/05880848390727688406noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17040756.post-35102403896704358882017-02-11T15:13:29.279-05:002017-02-11T15:13:29.279-05:00Mama said, don't play in the graveyard, Jenny-...Mama said, don't play in the graveyard, Jenny-Wren, you'll catch your death.<br /><br />Mama said, mind your beeswax, ain't no business of yours where I've been. Be seen, not heard.<br /><br />(Dada said, when trouble brews, dig yerself a shelter.)<br /><br />Mama said, don't fret for your father, he'll be home once he's tired of her.<br /><br />So I minded my beeswax, and I wasn't seen, wasn't heard, and like a ghost I haunted the graveyard till I found the shelter she'd dug for Dada.<br />Rakiehttps://www.blogger.com/profile/03787205403166404103noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17040756.post-11955735237092200422017-02-11T15:13:10.650-05:002017-02-11T15:13:10.650-05:00Digging in Joe's drawer for his utility knife ...Digging in Joe's drawer for his utility knife I find diamond earrings. They look expensive and they aren't mine - my tastes run fake and ironic. I put them in my ears anyway because I'm not stupid; they might be useful where we're going. The storm's still brewing when I run out and I smell death, animal or marital, rising in the yard. Wren promised she'd fit me in the car but she takes one look at me and locks the doors. "Can't take you no more, Freddie, those are my earrings and you know it."<br />katiehttps://www.blogger.com/profile/05167978830347777260noreply@blogger.com