Fiction, Flash Fiction, Music and Performers, My Thoughts, Writing, Writing Challenges

Flash Fiction for the Purposeful Practitioner: Stuck In A Moment


Thanks to Roger Shipp for hosting FFftPP.


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Credit: Roger Shipp

Diana was listening to U2 when she spotted the statue. He was carved out of black marble,  his athletic form highly emphasized.

“Stuck In a Moment” played on her phone and she chuckled to herself thinking this statue was indeed “stuck in a moment” and he would never be able to “get out of it.”

Circling him, Diana examined the statues form from all angles. She touched him, loving how smooth his marble skin felt. She was surprised when her touch sparked a light.

The light traveled through the veins and muscles of the statue from his feet up to his neck, flickering into the features of his face. Suddenly, what stood before Diana was an attractive man.

He grinned at Diana, unaware of his own nakedness. Smiling he clasped Diana’s hand before kissing her soundly. Then, he walked off into the crowded street, drawing unheard of female attention.

Diana continued her own way back to work unsure if what she experienced was real. She couldn’t help but think, the man who had been a statue, gave her the best kiss she’d had in forever.


“Stuck In A Moment” – U2


©Mandibelle16. (20170 All Rights Reserved.

My Thoughts, Poetry, Short Stories And Serial Stories, Writing

Poem: One Day at the U of A (and thoughts).


The swirls of the smoke coloured sky, scintillating and swarming as it deepens to ebony, a black blush of thoughts blanketing my mind. This is the evening time of reliving the ravages of day. 

I went out into the torrid of the thoughtless crowds, university students sighing and harassed by midterm exams. For a moment I held faith with them as I wrote, before remembering I was someone else.

Caught between two spheres, the adult who should be solidifying her career if not for a fatiguing sickness, and the ever determined student delving  deeper into knowledge once she learned the more you know, the more you do not know. 

A paradox indeed, that going to school for what seems like a seamless and unending time, has left me the truth: you know nothing even though you’ve been in school since you were six, you only can perceive that a person cannot know all there is to learn; no wisdom here but the air between your ears.

And I pass the swirl of bodies in modern university garb – ankle boots, and pea coats; skinny jeans and knee boots; sweat pants and running shoes. I do remember those days when I wore what they wear. Now I go out, I dress like an adult, classic, I think; but the staff on campus look at me as if I’m a young student, lights dim, it’s nearly been eight years.

But I found through my minds persuasion of lurid purple thoughts and intriguing segways, that there are many paths to knowledge and many ways to gain it; Pathways of pink and plenty into the working world, could be wonderfully convenient one day if I train myself for jobs with adult education. 

But for now I’ve accepted to attain the unattainable and focus on one course and apply for a masters, when next spring comes about. I figure that an MFA in creative writing cannot make me know nothing if it’s all fictious because I formed the story myself. I know what I know, especially if I made it up.

Clouds of cotton fluff in the air, sunshine soothing on my face, no wrinkles to create I wear serum with SPF. Still Green grass in October with orange fire and red fire leaves. I walk home, hop on a train, the bus. Hurriedly, pull myself beneath the covers. One day down, sleep in the breath of cold air tonight, arise fresh and freezing to winters bitter blow.