Tag Archives: Fiction Friday

Fiction Friday >> Don’t breathe

[Fiction] Friday

“When Gregor Samsa woke up one morning from unsettling dreams, he found himself changed in his bed into a monstrous vermin.” What has your character turned into?

I woke up, moving from sleeping to wide awake in a fraction of a second. I didn’t, however, open my eyes. I admit it, I was afraid. Afraid? No, scared shitless. Every day of my life has been like that, as long as I can remember. Even as a child, every time I awoke, it was to full consciousness in a blink, then that terror would swamp over me and keep my eyes tightly shut for as long as I could.

But it was never very long. With terror would come curiosity, a curiosity so overwhelming I had, simply had to open my eyes. And see who I had become while I was sleeping.

Today was no exception. Sweat poured over my body but I had to open my eyes. So I did. I was prepared. After all this time, I’ve been prepared for every eventuality. I’ve transformed into any type of animal I could think of, and each of them has a different need. Try to become an elephant in a two-bedroom apartment. I now live on the ground floor.

I opened my eyes and stared in horror as I started to choke. There was one eventuality I hadn’t expected, hadn’t planned for. As I watched sunlight dance on my scales, air entered my gills, and I began to die.

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Fiction Friday — “Sorry”

[Fiction] Friday Challenge #144 for 26th February, 2010

The bag was empty except for a smudged, slip of paper which said, “Sorry.”

The bag was empty except for a smudged, slip of paper, which said, “Sorry.” Jeannie hadn’t touched the precious artifact yet but she could clearly see the letters, crudely written with what she hoped might be what the old ones used to call a ball pen since the word was a faded blue. She wondered at the person who had written that conciliatory word and why the slip had been left in this near-fossilized leather bag.

How could the paper have survived after all these centuries? The word, this single word seemed pathetic, as if its owner had wanted to apologize for all the wrongs humanity had inflicted on itself, nearly destroying its planet in the process.

Jeannie examined the paper, the word, still without touching it. The meaning behind the word was fathomless and full of possibilities.

Six hundred years before

Lisa looked at the single word, “Sorry,” on a torn piece of paper Pete had passed her across the desk in Mrs. Benson’s arithmetic class. Yeah, he’d better be sorry for having broken her favorite pencil, the wretch. With a shrug and a glare at Pete, she stuffed the note into her bag. They’d discuss replacement at recess.

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Fiction Friday>> Nine Lives

[Fiction] Friday Challenge for June 5th, 2009:

“Don’t sit there,” she commanded. “That’s the cat’s chair.”

“Let’s talk about this,” I said. “We’ll sit down, reason it out.” I backed slowly toward the living room, my eyes glued to hers, my hands away from my body to show I didn’t mean any harm. I could see her entire body trembling, in fear or anger I wasn’t sure. She’d bitten her lower lip so hard it was bleeding.

She followed me, the gun in her hand wobbling so hard there was no way could she shoot straight. I saw that as my only chance. In the living room, I made to sit down.

“Don’t sit there, she commanded, her voice tremulous. “That’s the cat’s chair.” She gestured at the fireplace with the gun. “Go stand there.”

I obeyed, still keeping my eyes on her. Something crinkled under my feet. I looked down. A large plastic sheet -industrial grade-lay on the floor. My head rose to her face so fast I nearly got whiplash.

Her eyes were clear, she had a slight smile on her face. Her hand was steady as she pointed the gun at my chest. “Vulnerability is such a nifty tool,” she murmured.

Oh, shit, I thought, just before she pulled the trigger.

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Fiction Friday>>Time out

[Fiction] Friday Challenge for May 29th, 2009:

Choose one of the following (or both!)

Put this into your story – “Time out! Time out! We can call that, right?”

OR: write a poem from this image – A fallen star.

“Time out! Time out! We can call that, right?”

“For Christ’s sake, Shirley, get serious.”

“I am being serious. We’ve always dealt with Junior with time outs before. Why wouldn’t it work now?”

“Because what he did warrants more than a few minutes alone in his room.”

“We don’t know that he did it. We suspect that he did it.”

Hank sent his wife a pitying look. “How long are you going to play the mother hen? How long are you going to protect him? Look at him! He doesn’t even look like he regrets what he’s done.”

“You don’t know he did it!”

Hank winced at the shrill sound of his wife. “Why send him in time out, then?”

“Well, he was in with bad company. He ought to reflect on that.”

“Bad company?” Hank couldn’t believe his ears. He felt like his eyes would pop out of his head any minute. “Bad company? Shirley, you are the dumbest woman on this side of the Atlantic. The kid is drenched in blood, and it’s not his. He killed a man, Shirley. He killed him with an axe for the twenty bucks in his wallet and the ten year old TV is his living room. I’d say that warrants more than a time out.”

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Fiction Friday>> Unrequited Love

[Fiction] Friday Challenge for May 22, 2009: A high-priced prostitute suspects that one of her best customers is falling in love with her.

She looked at Daddy across the table and suppressed a smile. He had fallen for her, hook, line and sinker, she was almost sure. Why else the expensive restaurant, the champagne, the personal limo instead of the one usually provided by her escort firm? Why else was he looking at her with moony eyes, a silly grin on his face?

Arthur, who wanted to be called Daddy when she was with him, was the big fish she’d worked hard to land, and the work wasn’t over. She nearly grimaced thinking of the night ahead but, in the end, who cared? She’d better buck up because she’d have to live with it -with him-every night if her plan worked.

Oh, there he was, taking her hand, making his moony eyes at her again. She suppressed a shudder when he wet his thick, red lips, leaving a film of saliva that reminded her of the slime of a snail. He sniffled, a nervous tic that always made her want to give him a tissue. His hand was pudgy and its skin flaky from eczema, the nails bitten to the quick. It didn’t matter. The man was filthy rich, and that was all that mattered.

Sex was a great lure, an addiction she was able to feed. Nothing was taboo for her, although her ability to shut down her brain came handy most of the time. She’d had to do a brain dump often with Daddy Arthur. Now she would get the reward she deserved for all those nights… well. She’d rather not think about them.

Daddy leaned toward her across the table. She did the same. He whispered in her ear. Startled, she leaned back. Felt herself blanch. Oh, God, how could she have been so wrong?

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