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Welcome to FLASH-N FRIDAY’S. In case your mind is in the gutter, you won’t find any naughty pictures in this segment. Just down and dirty flash fiction writing.

I’ve said it before, but it bears repeating: The art of Short Fiction is severely under-rated. If writer’s, and readers, stop to think about it for one minute, they would see that not only is writing a complete story with few words very hard to do, but it also can be used to hone a writer’s skill. In flash fiction you’re working with limited real estate, and each word chosen must work overtime.

 ** Maximum word count is 300. I’m not even limiting it to genres. (well, maybe erotic is out, but everything else goes Also, I have found that a great way to jump-start these little flash sessions is to browse for inspiring images like the one posted below the story. *******

Recycled

 “I don’t think I understand.” I brushed the bagel crumbs aside and memorized how the sun reflected off my small, hopeful, diamond ring. He circled the kitchen, one eye on me. Vulture.

“Are you even listening to me?” He stared at me with a blank face, like I was not anyone he cared about at all.

“I always listen to you.” I hated when he did that. Like he was trying to find words that my simple brain could comprehend. Like I was a child. Like I was beneath him.

Of course, I had been beneath him. I had been on top of him. I had been beside him. Through it all– his divorce, the bankruptcy– I had been there. I had thought that was enough.

“Deena!” He exhaled deeply, his frustration curling out from his mouth like a long-held plume of cigarette smoke. “DO YOU GET IT?”

He spelled it all out for me again. He was leaving me for another woman. That, I didn’t get. How could he leave his “other woman” for another woman?

The logic was warped. Of course, I was no longer the other woman. His original was discarded last year, like I was being trashed now. Recycling…save the planet and all that crap.

“We’ll see.” Images of the two of us flashed into memory. On the trunk of his sedan. My favorite panties–silk with pink flowers– on his rear-mounted antenna.

 Now I am parked outside his apartment, my motor rumbling like a hungry kitty.

I’ll wait until he comes out, watch him drive off, then I’ll follow him straight to hell. When he comes to the sharp corner on his way to her house, I’ll get mine, pulling over to listen to the hollow-tin echos from below.

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I hope you enjoyed this brief foray into my quivering cerebellum. Now, back to your regularly scheduled programming!        ~Karen

Welcome to FLASH-N FRIDAY’S. In case your mind is in the gutter, you won’t find any naughty pictures in this segment. Not unless you count this:

Now, I truly believe that the art of short fiction is severely under-rated. If writer’s, and readers, stop to think about it for one minute, they would see that not only is writing a complete story with few words very hard to do, but it also can be used to hone a writer’s skill. In flash fiction you’re working with limited real estate, and each word chosen must work overtime.

 So, without further ado, here’s the inaugural Flash-N Friday’s post. I do hope you become inspired to try your own hand at the abbreviated art form!

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 Free Floating

The day was a glorious one; the kind where everything is right in the world, down to the gentle breeze rippling the surface of the blue-green lake. The sun warmed Allison’s shoulders as she sat on the dock, trailing her toes through the cool water.

It was her first day off in months. Hal, her boss at the diner, didn’t give a hoot about tan lines or vacations. Nor did Allison, really.

A woodpecker’s knock echoed through the tall pines. Minnows darted past her toes, silver glinting in the late afternoon sunlight. The marsh grass rustled, lulling Allison into a comfortable peace. That blessed silence, that was what she’d been missing.

Allison sighed and stretched slowly, then stood and pulled off her shorts and threadbare tank top. She tugged at her bathing suit and stepped to the warped edge.

A raven squawked and took flight as Allison dove in. She disappeared below the surface, concealed under the murky cover. Second ticked by and the lake smoothed to liquid-glass. She floated in the inky water, weightless, until her lungs burned for oxygen.

She kicked towards the dock and blue sky, bobbing to the surface. Drawing a breath and shaking the water from her face, she reached for the dock’s ladder and climbed. Water rolled off her in sheets, tinkering to the water below.

“Bet I can hold my breathe longer than you can.”

Allison froze halfway up the ladder, the voice creeping over her skin like spiders. He was huge, disheveled, and had large, yellowed eyes shadowed under a prominent brow. His left hand twitched around a pistol as he crept closer, forcing Allison down to the water’s edge. He licked his lips and she knew.

There would be no last minute kick to the water’s surface this time.

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I’m toying with the idea of opening this segment up to guest pieces. I’ll see how well I can keep up with the feature first. Even for myself though, there are rules. Or mainly one rule: Maximum word count is 300. I’m not even limiting it to genres. (well, maybe erotic is out, but everything else goes Also, I have found that a great way to jump-start these little flash sessions is to browse for inspiring images like the one posted below the story. Okay, I’m done. Back to your regularly scheduled programming!        ~Karen