Flash Fiction 2nd May Challenge: Missing

The Second Challenge for May is using the topic "Missing" and must use a Redbubble artwork as the focal point. As always, the piece must be 150 words or less.

Photo by Beast. Uploaded to RedBubble.

Clarity Lost

The chaos of the moment overwhelms me, as my eyes take in the stark contrast of light and shadow. Where has the color gone? The hues and tones of my existence, faded to shades of gray. All that is left is this sense of emptiness and a world nondescript and void.

I am missing something and it haunts me; following me around this house, tugging at the hem of my soul, telling me that I am leaving something behind. Sinking into a chair, I allow myself to wonder at the ever decreasing clarity of my thoughts and my vision.

Why can’t I see it? Why can I not find what I have lost? Revelation strikes at my heart when I look toward our picture. Grasping at freedom, I take up what I had lost…my glasses! Lucidity returns: my existence refreshed with the colors of life and living.

Silent Witness

My entry into the first challenge in May for the
Flash Fiction group over at RedBubble.
The theme/inspiration was: Witness

Silent Witness

My mind struggles violently against itself. The good part, ever vigilant to what is correct, screams at me to do the right thing. However, the evil, always lurking in shadow, shows its face sporadically, beckoning me to a dark corner where morality and ethics fear to venture.

My eyes look about me, determining if anyone is about to see what I do. My hand shakes as I reach out and pick it up. Its texture and fine appearance make it evident this belongs to someone with means. Looking within, I see my assumption is correct. How easy it would be to walk away now, free from repercussions. But that voice of reason screams louder with every second – nearly deafening me with its shrillness. What is this, which makes my soul shudder, and return the wallet to its rightful owner?

It is conscience, the silent witness that watches over us all.
_________________________________________________________

There is no witness so terrible, no accuser so powerful as conscience which dwells within us. - Sophocles

Crossover #1

I am not in the habit of cross posting between my blogs. However this weeks Booking Through Thursday was a writing challenge:

Pick up the nearest book.
Turn to page 123.
What is the first sentence on the page?
The last sentence on the page?
Now . . . connect them together….
(And no, you may not transcribe the entire page of the book–that’s cheating!)

The book I had closest at hand was this one: Dreaming in Cuban by Cristina García.

I have placed each sentence in bold as I found that I needed to added a sentence in order to make the passage more complete.

***

We folded and refolded our clothes and waited for escape.

Told to be ready at nine o’clock, we each took our places, and waited. As none of us possessed a watch, we were forced to rely on the shadows, which slowly stretched across the room with each passing hour. When they had finally merged, encompassing the room in near darkness, we knew the time had come.

Grasping my knapsack to my chest, I turned to take one last look at the place I once called home. Memories instantly overcame me, my emotions so raw that if anyone had spoken a word, I would have crumbled right then into a screaming ball of hysteria. Instead, I closed my eyes as tightly as I could, making sure that the tears that were about to come, were crushed back into nothingness. Reopening them to the gloom around me, I allowed the memories of my childhood to incorporate themselves into the corners of the room thus banishing them forever into shadow.

Our father’s room, formerly a servant’s, had a single window that looked out over an alley where mongrels fought. It was through this window that we escaped one life and entered another.

***

Cross posted here.

RedBubble April Challenge #1

I am really having some fun over at RedBubble in their Flash Fiction group. And not just because I won last month's March Challenge #2. (See the winning entry here or here.)

This months first challenge:
A chance meeting in a supermarket.
Entry not to exceed 150 words.
Closing date – Tuesday 15 April.

Ambush on Aisle 9

Trying to act nonchalant, I head to the back of the store, hoping to avoid the inevitable confrontation. I knew the moment our eyes locked, there would be trouble. The glint in her eyes was unmistakable; she had me in her sights and wasn’t about to let me off that easy.

Distracted, I nearly took out the end cap containing this week’s specials. Take it easy, I told myself, it’s probably not as bad as it seems. Maybe I should cut her some slack; after all, she’s never done anything to hurt me. At least not deliberately. That incident with the food poisoning could’ve happened to anyone. Looking back at the aisle I’d just left, I didn’t notice a small figure approaching me from the opposite direction.

“Sample?”

“Oh…no…”

“It’s okay. After last week’s ‘problems’ with the smoked salmon, we decided to play it safe. Cookie?”

RedBubble March Challenge #2

I discovered RedBubble after reading DBA Lehane's blog entry A Fairy Telling Wedding. Within this site I found a group dedicated to Flash Fiction. Sounded like fun and something I really wanted to try. This is my first entry for one of their challenges, which is as follows:

In no more than 150 words, write a flash fiction piece using ALL of the following words: Fool, Chocolate, Nail Gun, Face, Probable, Humor, Xenophobic, Charges, Soap, Ungulate

Xenophobic? Ungulate? Hmmmm. Okay. I'm game.

Home Schooled by J.C. Montgomery

Holding the nail gun made her feel powerful. Four charges of air later, her humor had improved. This was in contrast to the way she felt earlier; a fool for believing he could ever change. Completing her work, she showered with her favorite soap, the smell of which reminded her of strawberries and chocolate. How sweet those memories were, but tonight, she hoped to make them sweeter.

Soon, she heard Lenny returning from the garage. Like an ungulate on concrete he clod into the room and stopped when he saw her on the couch. Seeing her there, in her newly purchased negligee, he gulped, his xenophobic face betraying his feelings. It was as if he was staring at a complete stranger. This was the probable outcome she had hoped for as she knew his night out with the boys wasn’t going to happen. Not with four flat tires.

Sunday Scribblings No. 96: Foul

Per its originators, "Sunday Scribblings was set up to provide inspiration and motivation for anyone who enjoys writing and would like a weekly challenge." To find out more, please click on the above logo. Thanks to Laini and Megg for hosting this.

This week is number ninety-six: Foul

***
Nature's Game

Looking outside I can see the weather threatening the day; its foul temperament railing against the mountains surrounding the ranch, stifling its progression towards the valley.

The temperature drops quickly. The pasture empties as the cattle sense the battle about to be lost. Like nature’s version of roshambo, the solid stone of the Sierras is no match for the storm front assailing its hillsides. I watch as a swirling mass of thick mist enfolds the summit, clearly demonstrating how paper always beats rock.

Walking with deliberate intention, the herd heads toward the northwest side of the property where they know the natural windbreak will protect them from the oncoming blizzard. I turn from the window, my mood lightening. As foul as the day may be outside, here inside, the smell of fresh coffee and chocolate brownies envelopes my senses. It dulls the encroaching darkness; cutting like scissors through the heaviness.

Paper beats rock. Scissors beat paper.

The day is not lost; it has only retreated into my kitchen to share my refreshment.

Let the foulness approach.