tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17040756.post6296440548481278858..comments2024-03-18T09:09:59.625-04:00Comments on Janet Reid, Literary Agent: Feline Flash Fiction writing contest--purrfect for your weekendJanet Reidhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00615380335938685231noreply@blogger.comBlogger39125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17040756.post-20565546861899867632019-08-04T07:58:35.962-04:002019-08-04T07:58:35.962-04:00Thursday:
Ms. Pesterly’s arms were crossed. Again....Thursday:<br />Ms. Pesterly’s arms were crossed. Again.<br />“Your quiz, Lonny. Now. You’ve had enough time.”<br /><br />Friday:<br />She greeted him as she often did: “See me before lunch.”<br />It wasn’t only hunger that had Lonny’s stomach turning as he approached her desk.<br />“Read Meredith’s answer to number five.”<br />“Stop. Drop. Roll.”<br />“Now yours.”<br />“Li on de grownd and rol. Herl rocks at scary villin til he falls. Pri de gas can away. Giv him a kick in groyn.”<br />“Unacceptable.”<br /><br />Thirty years later:<br />The boy across the table smiled as he read the inscription: “To: Ricky—Never be discouraged. Lon Hunter.”<br />Amy Johnsonhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/05324408700941398495noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17040756.post-83823884332658555502019-08-04T02:18:56.495-04:002019-08-04T02:18:56.495-04:00We go early, walking up Montgomery with cars on 26...We go early, walking up Montgomery with cars on 26 roaring below. Lionel sees the bloody foot first and lunges to sniff it but I manage to keep him back. Everyone up here has cameras but the closest house is being remodeled and I can see scaffolding blocks the view. "We'll alert someone," I tell Lionel. He twitches his scarred ears and I feel pride and shame. At home, Lionel alerts the sage bush by peeing on it and I think that's close enough for now. I get a tea and Lionel gets a bone from the good-boy crock. katiehttps://www.blogger.com/profile/05167978830347777260noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17040756.post-64786754002474779922019-08-04T01:56:21.273-04:002019-08-04T01:56:21.273-04:00Sarah hurled rocks at the scarecrow standing watch...Sarah hurled rocks at the scarecrow standing watch in its fallow field spotted with dandelions. Each miss a blow to her pride.<br /><br />Her throws became more accurate. Through the fall. Into the winter. Always in threes: father, sister, brother. If she could only hit that fucking face, with its expression of demented serenity, knock its straw brains right out, maybe she could accomplish something meaningful.<br /><br />Sarah picked up a stone. Felt its weight. Knew her aim would be true. And dropped it. Her mother needed her at home, and she’d been gone far too long already.CEDhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/10411394450673673225noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17040756.post-75650179008247333152019-08-04T00:03:02.376-04:002019-08-04T00:03:02.376-04:00Eve glanced at a newsstand as she sauntered down K...Eve glanced at a newsstand as she sauntered down King Street. The words “Serial Killer” graced multiple covers. She swallowed fear and pride as an older Buick rolled up. Rock music flowed out as she bent.<br /><br />"Looking for a good time?" the familiar man asked.<br /><br />The scar along her jaw pulsed. Was she? A demented serenity settled upon her as she decided. <br /><br />"Condom?" he asked as he pawed at her moments later. <br /><br />She paused. A lioness fixed upon prey before she struck. With a squeal he reached for his bloody neck but quickly fell silent.<br /><br />Four down. Eleven to go.Angel Lhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/14332045281558509974noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17040756.post-68857744006954424122019-08-03T23:44:42.742-04:002019-08-03T23:44:42.742-04:00The new oven winked lasciviously from its stainles...The new oven winked lasciviously from its stainless steel cocoon. No more Crockpot dinners for you, baby, it seemed to say. I’m cooking tonight.<br /> <br />She gussied herself up, coaxed her hair into a French twist, and soon the sweet smell of garlic filled the air. Escargot and pots de crème. His ganglions would be standing at attention.<br /><br />Both the butter and her mood had congealed by the time he staggered in. Pride derailed, she shoved his dinner back in the oven and blew out the pilot light. Time to show him what her new oven could do.Just Janhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/12546035917149403735noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17040756.post-43920334527266789292019-08-03T21:58:21.856-04:002019-08-03T21:58:21.856-04:00I used to think that red was real and its shades w...I used to think that red was real and its shades were fake, but vermillion is a pigment you can hold in your hand and scarlet is the colour of a cardinal.<br /><br />What's red other than a label?<br /><br />#<br /><br />People say that blood doesn't wash out, but that's a crock of shit. I've removed great, shocking gouts of blood from even of my whitest whites.<br /><br />#<br /><br />I always prided myself on never doing a thing I'd regret on my deathbed, but now that I'm here, I most regret letting the brief, morbid end outweigh the long, vibrant middle.<br />RKeelanhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/16761835094251669865noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17040756.post-63757192457989270882019-08-03T21:31:20.407-04:002019-08-03T21:31:20.407-04:00Demented Serenity-a benign St. Eve’s bungalow in t...Demented Serenity-a benign St. Eve’s bungalow in the Forti’s.<br /><br />Why does anyone name a house anyway?<br /><br />I blame Chip and Joanna Gaines. Or House Hunters.<br /><br />And when did non-English speaking writers start working for HGTV?<br /><br />Should anyone call a fifth-story Philadelphia walkup—Rocky’s Pride?<br /><br />Yes, English is hard, but a basement apartment shouldn’t be listed as Virgin’s Hole or a flat in Queensland as Scarborough’s Fairies.<br /><br />I agree a named home should reflect an owner’s neuroses...I...I mean personality, thus skipping Knotty Pine, and anyplace called Bloody King’s Vista;<br /><br />I named my place Lioness Bastard.<br /><br />On tonight’s menu...my tenth spouse.<br />Kreggerhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/07229620504046221727noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17040756.post-13159432548677015902019-08-03T19:35:23.678-04:002019-08-03T19:35:23.678-04:00Broccoli on her plate and napkin gathered neatly i...Broccoli on her plate and napkin gathered neatly in her lap, she wondered vaguely if the knight still felt the prenup rider was worth the gold disc armor and twenty roc knaves he now theoretically owed her.<br /><br />She wouldn’t have agreed to the rider at all, but she’d found him bold, pure-hearted, and eloquent, with an unflagging optimism about reformation that could have put even a mother to shame. In short, she murmured fondly, he is absolutely everything a knight ought to be.<br /><br />[burp of smoke]<br /><br />Er, “ought to have been.”flashfridayhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/06204676781876215647noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17040756.post-55088944215033310802019-08-03T18:47:39.930-04:002019-08-03T18:47:39.930-04:00“I’m not scared.” They can’t see his thumbs shakin...“I’m not scared.” They can’t see his thumbs shaking as he works the latch. Must be a trick to it. <br /><br />Click. It gives way. <br /><br />In the ancient house, green eyes shape the dark. I dare you, they say. He steps in.<br /><br />Her mind seeks the latch. There’s a trick to it...<br /><br />Click. Snatch. She feels the silky rush of freedom as she slips inside, then out.<br /><br />Sneakers rocket past the old man bent in the dirt, send two Duchess blooms to their deaths. Pride of his garden, ruined. “Hellions,” he spits.<br /><br />In the dark, the boy yowls. Trapped. Fur-bound. Waiting.Fearless Reiderhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/14380936599156619260noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17040756.post-25380675921565651642019-08-03T18:29:17.942-04:002019-08-03T18:29:17.942-04:00The ugliest scar was the easiest to hide, behind h...The ugliest scar was the easiest to hide, behind her bangs. She’d always prided herself on her hair. It offered her a demented sense of security; he used it to yank her across the kitchen tile. It was her idea to take a hike up in the White Mountains, when they released her from the hospital that last time. “What a rocking view,” he said. She asked him to pose for a photo by the edge. His own hair looked like a lion’s mane as he fell through the air.Anonymoushttps://www.blogger.com/profile/16363836061156979323noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17040756.post-34317169834991081212019-08-03T17:33:28.994-04:002019-08-03T17:33:28.994-04:00"Rock, paper, scissors" is usually nonvi..."Rock, paper, scissors" is usually nonviolent, but not the way Derek plays the game. Real scissors, actual rocks and a swinging bundle of newspapers. He's a f--king psycho; I have the scars to prove it. He enjoys it too; all calm like; a sort of demented serenity.<br /><br />I have been avoiding him for weeks. But today's the day. I gotta take the Lollipop Ride. He's gonna see me. But I made a deal with Matilda. If Derek comes at me, Matilda will step up. She's big; she'll blow him away like dandelion fluff. Today's gonna be a good day.Uncomplianthttps://www.blogger.com/profile/16238579662655317616noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17040756.post-89346117695825264602019-08-03T16:49:41.298-04:002019-08-03T16:49:41.298-04:00Leona spied the shoes beside the door. The shower ...Leona spied the shoes beside the door. The shower was running. Fingers to lips, she pointed—sofa, la-z-boy, curtains, credenza.<br />His family hid. <br />Oscar, his new boss, whispered, “Birthday and a promotion? Glad I gave him the afternoon off.” <br />She forced a smile. “Me too,” and stashed him behind the door.<br />She hung the banner—U. ROCK!—and let loose the balloons.<br />The shower cut off. Was she making a mistake? No. A lioness had pride.<br />Footsteps <br />Hushed giggles <br />“SURPRISE!”<br />Her husband yelped. The intern screamed and clutched her towel.<br />Leona smiled with demented serenity and whispered, “Fool me twice.”Luraleehttps://www.blogger.com/profile/09652379287628042507noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17040756.post-53360711780990457712019-08-03T16:37:39.709-04:002019-08-03T16:37:39.709-04:00Holly’s scars clung to her like a beat-up Honda.
...Holly’s scars clung to her like a beat-up Honda.<br /><br />She stopped in a boutique and mulled over a scarf. <br />“It doesn’t quite have that <i>je ne sais quoi</i>.” <br />She gave it back to the attendant. Was she impressed with Holly’s French, make-up, stylish clothes? <br /><br />At the outdoor café table, shouldn’t the waiter have held her chair? Her pride flailing, she glanced around, her napkin gravitating toward the floor. <br /><br />What a huge lapis lazuli on… Denise Vasi! Holly’s stomach rocketed! Hadn’t she played a hooker who reformed on that soap opera?<br /><br />Demented serenity!<br /><br />Holly ordered lunch. With champagne.Lisa Bodenheimhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/17809067722921953857noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17040756.post-36535058835049673602019-08-03T16:02:16.115-04:002019-08-03T16:02:16.115-04:00Despite the heat, the crowd thickened. Timmy was r...Despite the heat, the crowd thickened. Timmy was right beside me, until he wasn't. "My God," someone screamed. I realized it was me. Timmy, intent on playing, had climbed the fence. Seconds before he jumped, I saw a man's forearm, unhampered by its long scar, grab my boy's belt. Gasping for breath, I embraced them both. "You're a hero!" <br /><br />The man beamed with pride, literally rocking my world. "Fred King, ma'am. At your service." <br /><br />That's how we met. Timmy's grown, but it's why, every one of the 50 years since, we've celebrated our anniversary right there by the zoo's lions.Laura Stegmanhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/00485244556776415608noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17040756.post-72372387143216601402019-08-03T15:11:19.276-04:002019-08-03T15:11:19.276-04:00The swelling on her neck had increased, an ugly ga...The swelling on her neck had increased, an ugly gang<b>lion</b> hiding angry nerves.<br /><br />De<b>frock</b> a priest, literally, and they think they own you.<br /><br />Hands sha<b>king</b>, she rolled out the pastry, <b>pride</b> preventing her from scrapping the meal, starting again.<br /><br />They come in here, drink <i>your</i> wine, feed <i>your</i> steak to <i>their</i> dog. What did he expect them to eat?<br /><br /><i>Oh, I’m sure you’ll think of something, darling.</i><br /><br />She hacked at the replacement meat, <b>scar</b>ring the surface beneath.<br /><br /><i>Darling.</i><br /><br />Well, the only thing you’re going to fill tonight, <i>darling</i>, is my oven.<br /><br />Dinner a deux had become a meal for one.Steph Ellishttps://www.blogger.com/profile/02353775819602714643noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17040756.post-54864812109390027802019-08-03T14:39:59.589-04:002019-08-03T14:39:59.589-04:00
“Boom! Yo pimp ride’s here, Antwone,” I said.
Ch...<br />“Boom! Yo pimp ride’s here, Antwone,” I said. <br />Chains rocked on my chest as we approached the Lambo.<br />Antwone guffawed, clapped my shoulder.<br />“Da fuck in Godzilla’s hell you source dis shit, DeMarcus?<br />Took me weeks to catch his attention, months to earn his trust. <br />Sports cars, I learned, float his boat. <br />Same boat he loads with cocaine, with bodies.<br />“Antwone, my man, I is got this special skill.”<br />“I, on the other hand,” he hissed, “is got suspicions.”<br />He fired. <br />I fell.<br />“Boom, mothafucka,” Atwone spat, drove away.<br />I lay still, eyes closed. <br />Counted to twenty.<br />I smiled.<br />Boom.<br />Cecilia Ortiz Lunahttps://www.blogger.com/profile/10799056302050264129noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17040756.post-30422917945514286962019-08-03T13:54:42.246-04:002019-08-03T13:54:42.246-04:00He felt pride as he brushed the scar that graced h...He felt pride as he brushed the scar that graced his rock-chiseled features. That lion may have been the king of the jungle, he mused, but it had underestimated his demented serenity. The beast had paid for that miscalculation with its life.htb7792https://www.blogger.com/profile/13702778726854917831noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17040756.post-84037904823506493042019-08-03T13:42:43.890-04:002019-08-03T13:42:43.890-04:00The scar of him was heavy. It felt like more than ...The scar of him was heavy. It felt like more than wounded pride. <br /><br />When he left her, he had left her with a gaping hole. A space devoid of what was, what could be. It was a sort of demented serenity.<br /><br />Capitalism made him a king.<br /><br />It had also taken him away.<br /><br />She pressed her hand against the cold, hard rock that was his headstone.<br /><br />Her lion should have never accepted that promotion.*WinterOnehttps://www.blogger.com/profile/17174678050308239898noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17040756.post-90214901992988805122019-08-03T13:17:12.356-04:002019-08-03T13:17:12.356-04:00Annie is sulking in the corner, pride wounded, emo...Annie is sulking in the corner, pride wounded, emotional scars mushrooming. Around us, the others are ebullient. Hugging, weeping, happy tears. A few break into song.<br /><br />“Cheer up, honey. You rocked!”<br /><br />“That so, Nelli? On a scale of one to ten?<br /><br /><i>Two. Maybe.</i><br /><br />“Six, easily. No, better. Seven. A solid seven.”<br /><br />“Simon said I screeched like a wounded cat.”<br /><br />“Simon’s always mean, Annie. That’s his schtick.”<br /><br />“Howie literally put his hands over his ears!”<br /><br />“Howie’s an asshat, Annie. They’re all asshats.”<br /><br />“Those asshats just destroyed my dream!” Her face crumples.<br /><br />America may have talent, but my poor grandbaby doesn’t.<br />Richelle Elberghttps://www.blogger.com/profile/11323766317305564428noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17040756.post-59301689536323766472019-08-03T12:19:20.851-04:002019-08-03T12:19:20.851-04:00My hand rested on the lion’s bushy mane as I poppe...My hand rested on the lion’s bushy mane as I popped his eye into place. I had finally done it. I was the one to finish the puzzle!<br /><br />My older brother stood by, still claiming it would be his victory. How?<br /><br />He pointed to a blank. The beast stood on an incomplete rock. There was black scar where the underlying table shone through the image.<br /><br />I looked around. Was there a lost piece? <br />No. <br />He pulled the last puzzle piece from deep inside his pocket.<br />Treachery. <br />He snapped the piece into place with pride, king of the puzzle yet again.T Arnoldhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/08575790841000538998noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17040756.post-25755054713911370022019-08-03T12:10:43.326-04:002019-08-03T12:10:43.326-04:00PS: I also ran a 5K today for ovarian cancer (OROC...PS: I also ran a 5K today for ovarian cancer (OROC) and placed 11th in my age group (old guys) and 317th overall., Michael Seesehttps://www.blogger.com/profile/03694187657718931214noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17040756.post-64513115246893061992019-08-03T12:09:09.133-04:002019-08-03T12:09:09.133-04:00I knew, more or less, what I'd find when I got...I knew, more or less, what I'd find when I got there.<br /><br />The heat up "way too high," Dad’s <i>de rigueur</i> kvetch.<br /><br />Lester Holt, talking to an empty couch.<br /><br />The dining room table, once host to countless Sunday dinners, now a bed-sheeted ghost.<br /><br />An unwashed crockpot sullying the sink, evidence of Dad's oft-stated hatred of scrubbing.<br /><br />Finally, the two of them in his car, hands clasped, dashboard lights glinting off the scratched—but never tarnished—annuli on their fingers. Dad remained bravely beside his "pride and joy," even through her demented serenity.<br /><br />I turned off the ignition, and dialed 911.<br /><br />Michael Seesehttps://www.blogger.com/profile/03694187657718931214noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17040756.post-14584863614561016812019-08-03T12:08:03.675-04:002019-08-03T12:08:03.675-04:00
Stalingrad was rubble and frozen shadows. Olesva ...<br />Stalingrad was rubble and frozen shadows. Olesva was sitting on a rock, looking at her meager offering, a battered set of nested dolls that housed twelve matches.<br /><br /> “Come back with a piece of horse tongue for soup. We are counting on you Olesva,” echoed in her head.<br /><br />Above, a German Heinkel HE-111 from 7th Battalion was carrying wounded on a last gasp ride home. <br /><br />She didn’t know why she lit the first match, probably freezing fingers. <br />After the eighth match her numbness subsided. <br /><br />They found her the next morning, matchless and frozen with an expression of demented serenity staring skyward.<br />french sojournhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/14262858704848580714noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17040756.post-63751703953386681142019-08-03T11:40:03.822-04:002019-08-03T11:40:03.822-04:00Judge promised me serenity. All I had to do was gi...Judge promised me serenity. All I had to do was give him up.<br /><br />Theodore Alouicious Fealty, father of my kid. Owner of the county circus, ower of a million dreams. Went hard with the bottle, his careful pride numbed by Sambuca and Gin. Soon he fell in with the mob, got handy with his fists. <br /><br />So I stayed up late, sewing tassels for my frock. Tucking them under so they wouldn’t snag the highwire. Making things perfect. Only thing left? A double-dose of Dutch courage:<br /><br />“C'mon. Or you gonna be one of those side men, Ted?”<br /><br />Serenity, my ass.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br />Timothy Lowehttps://www.blogger.com/profile/07514224628760035696noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17040756.post-25344319836902702232019-08-03T11:26:36.317-04:002019-08-03T11:26:36.317-04:00The feral tomcat's kennel was empty.
I rocked...The feral tomcat's kennel was empty.<br /><br />I rocked back on my heels, peering above, stalking my prey with lion-like precision. The cacophony of meows around us hypnotized me into a demented serenity. I was in for a madcap ride; the twenty-pound behemoth had one ear and a face full of scars.<br /><br />I pounced, but the bugger was more agile than he had any right to be.<br /><br />He tore around the room, evading me at every turn, but never saw my real trap coming: the barricade of trashcans forced him right into his open kennel. I slammed the gate in victory.MackAttackhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/14933997983064274621noreply@blogger.com