Flash Fiction for the Purposeful Practitioner: Some Things Don’t Mix Like You Hoped


Sierra knew she shouldn’t be driving but she hadn’t been drinking since 1:00 am. The last song in the bar by Tim McGraw, played over in Sierra’s head: “Diamond Rings and Old Barstools.”

Sierra had been terribly upset at the end of the evening. Leaving quickly, when she spotted an old ex-boyfriend in the crowd. Casper’s clear green eyes had met Sierra’s intense blue and Sierra had fought her way through the crowd to the door.

Casper wasn’t any old boyfriend. He had broken Sierra’s heart ending their engagement two-years ago for no valid reason.

Sierra darted into the frosty morning and started her car. As she drove away she saw Casper standing outside the bar doors, staring at her car.

Sierra blinked with heavy eyes. The road ahead was blurred, shiny with odd lights, and the sun appeared to be rising . She checked her phone it read 6:15 am; Sierra had been driving aimlessly for three -hours.

She thought of Casper while driving into the morning sun. Lines from the Tim McGraw song came back to her: “I guess some things don’t mix like you hoped / Like me and you /  And Diamond rings and old barstools.” 

Tears leaked out of Sierra’s eyes, falling down her cheeks. She began crying so hard she had to pullover.” [S]ome things don’t mix like you hoped . . .” 

—–

 

http://www.publucdomainarchive.com
 
——-

“Diamond Rings and Old Barstools” – Tim McGraw

——-

Thanks to Roger Shipp fo hosting FFftPP.

——-

©Mandibelle16. (2016) All Rights Reserved.

Advertisements

Flash Fiction for the Purposeful Practitioner: Let The Deer Be


My Dad’s family moved around because Grandpa was a Pastor and at times, Grandpa chose to accept a call to a different congregation in the country. My Grandpa taught his boys to hunt. I can’t say whether or not my Uncle D would have taught his sons to hunt because he died when his boys were still young. 

But my Uncle K has taught his sons. I feel speechless when I see pictures of my barely adult cousins, standing on top of a buck’s corpse, proudly. My Dad never hunted much when his children came along, but my family was the recipient of meat from hunted animals when I was younger.

There are few reasons I see for hunting. I think the only valid reasons are if a predator is a danger to humans or if an animal population is overpopulated and a danger to the ecosystem of an area. But for sport or fun . . .we have grocery stores now, let the wild animals be.

One of the scariest times I can remember was sleeping in my one Uncle D’s basement. My eldest brother and I slept in a room and there were dead animals all around us. There was a giant grizzly bear rug on the floor and deer heads on the wall. There were other deer-like animal heads on the wall too. Their fake eyes stared at me throughout the night and I could not sleep, “You lookin, at me?” I wondered.

I was young, but it makes me think now, what need have we to kill these creatures.Why hunt if not for survival. I know I’m a city girl but it seems to me at times, our inner caveman comes out and forgets it’s modern times — let the deer be.

——-

 

http://www.publicdomainarchive.com
 
—–

Thanks to Roger Shipp for hosting Flash Fiction for the Purposeful Practitioner.

—–

©Mandibelle16. All Rights Reserved.

Poem: You


Remember me? I haven’t gone much of anywhere.

I told you I was in my own world, I didn’t mean it.

The things we say that have no meaning, that are taken literally, too literally.

Remember me? You use to stare and we’d wave at each other.

I remember only liking you, no one else would ever do.

It took too long to get over you, and now you’re just a fragment;

Of those crazy years past by long ago, when we were young and barely adult.

When passing tests and writing papers were big deal breakers; 

And some student’s cried when they realized they couldn’t make the mark,

But that was not me or you, and I’m not writing this to moan about what could have been.

I knew you’d be great, find your niche, you are a charmer, that personality spreads like butter. 

Now, I am here and you would never recognize me, at least I hope you wouldn’t 

But I am me, no matter my size, and I live such a different life.

I don’t think we’ve ever connected, I was just a stopping place on your road of life.

Remember me? Never do. I am looking ahead; and I’ve brought with me all the past I need. 

They are here; not you.