Fiction, Flash Fiction, My Thoughts, Short Stories And Serial Stories, Writing

Flash Fiction for the Purposeful Practitioner: The Passing Of The Pocket-Watch #amwriting #flashfiction


Thank you to Roger Shipp for hosting FFftPP.

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http://www.pixebay.com

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“I haven’t seen a watch like this in years. My great-grandfather had one . . . I was only a boy of seven and I remember sitting on his lap.” Edgar said.

“That’s nice Dad. You always tell me this story. It’s your watch now Dad, remember?” Tracy interrupted.

“No, it was Great-Grandpa Vern’s watch. I sat on his lap an he said I could have it when he died. He was eighty-four which was quite old for the time .  .  .” 

“Your Great-Grandpa did die Dad. A year later, he got the flu; you told me. You inherited his watch.” Tracy said.

“He died? I don’t remember him giving me the watch . . . But I suppose, since I have it — it’s my watch now. How old am I?” 

Tracy patted her Dad’s hand, “You’re ninty-seven Dad. You lived longer than your Dad or your Grandpa or your Great-Grandpa.” 

“Ninty-seven?” Edgar said surprised.

Tracy nodded.

“Time goes fast. When I die, best give the watch to your boy; the one with all the tattoos.” Edgar remarked, peering at Tracy. He didn’t know her, only knew she was his daughter because she visited. 

Edgar was shocked to realize he was ninty-seven. The watch would have to go to his only grandson.

There had to be productivity and hard work hidden in those tattoos somewhere.

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©Mandibelle16. (2016) All Rights Reserved.

Fiction, Flash Fiction, My Thoughts, Short Stories And Serial Stories, Writing

Flash Fiction for the Aspiring Writer: A Hideous Bench


“Oh what a tacky bench,” Violet complained to her husband Wes. “Who would put such an outrageously coloured bench in Hewitt Park. We have to walk by it when we take Snuggles for his walk.”

“Meow,” Snuggles said, struggling in his harness and leash.

Wes sighed as his wife continued to moan about the red bench. The bench was in an ideal spot for him to seat his aching bones and red was his favourite colour.

“Oh my, Wes! Why are you sitting on that hideous bench. I was just saying what an eye-sore it is.” 

“I’m eighty-four-years old Violet and the red bench is a perfect place to rest.” Snuggles meowed and sat on the bench in agreement.

Violet was starting to complain when she noticed Snuggles sitting on a plaque on the bench seat.

Wes moved Snuggles and both he and Violet read the plaque which said: ” In honour of our Grandson, Corperal Jonathan Crest, who died under enemy fire in Afhganistan. Lest We Not Forget.” 

 Violet sniffed and her eyes went wide as she read the plaque. 

“Pretty good reason to have a red bench here, don’t you think Violet?” Wes said.

Violet was speechless.

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Ady
 

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Thanks to Priceless Joy for hosting Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers.

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©Mandibelle16. All Rights Reserved.