Flash Fiction for the Aspiring Writer: Exclusive Dirt #flashfiction #amwriting 


Thanks to Priceless Joy for hosting FFftAW. 

——-

Credit: @Shivamt25

——–

Allison arrived at the local coffee shop for her morning tea. Her duchshund, Peppy, trotted beside her. His ears stood alert as he waited for his morning treat. The coffee shop was also an independant tea shop. There were black teas, fruit teas, herbal teas, white teas, green teas, and all kinds of delicious tea blends. 

When Allison asked the barista for a mango green tea, Trisha sighed. “Sorry, Allison. We’ve had to cut back on teas we serve. We only serve three unique kinds each day. Too much competition with David’s Tea.” 

“Okay, what should I try?” 

“How about the pineapple, squash, and blueberry fruit tea.” 

“Not a fan of that mix, Trisha.” 

“How about chocolate and marshmallow with asparagus?”

Allison closed her eyes for a moment. “Any Irish Breakfast tea with a twist of lemon? Or green tea with papaya?” 

Trisha shook her head. “No, our tea selections are three exclusive flavors each day.” 

Allison rubbed her eyes. “I’ll have a medium latte.” 

“You don’t drink lattes,” 

“Today I do.” 

Trisha bent to give Peppy his treat. While Allison sat down, reading the paper and sipping her latte. 

Then she felt as if she was going to throw up, spitting a mouthful of latte into her napkin. 

Even the lattes had become exclusive. This one tasted like dirt. 

——

©Mandibelle16. (2017) All Rights Reserved. 

Poem: Free Verse –  “Words Which Can’t Be Snatched” #amwriting #poetry #badday


http://www.publicdomainpictures.net

———–

The walls close in, I cannot breath.
Sitting inhaling between my legs, 

My breathe is short, my throat constricted.

I will not play the victim, 

Though anxiety and stress, 

Isn’t something I handle well because —

A sickness lives and hurts me. 

It’s not clear to everyone, 

You can appear and sound well, 

Yet, be caught in the Guinea Pig’s wheel, 

Some kind of rotating Hell. 

Release me from prison, I’m praying for help, 

My God, my God, I feel alone. 

A need to get this pain off of my chest, 

I can’t breathe, feel asphyxiated. 

Such tears redden my eyes, blank and bloodshot;

A blue so grey, it’s the eye of the suffocating storm. 

You think it’s safe, but a dark madness comes fast, 

Shaking you off your feet.

Turning you to mush, dust, particles of air.

Aren’t we all atoms, building cells — at a smaller level? 

What makes it so such atoms making cells form a being, 

A pin cushion to be stabbed? 

While cells of blood splash unto the floor.

Forsake me not, 

Terrible days come out of nowhere. 

I cannot think, I have no words.

Head pounding, a drums beat, 

I think I might throw-up. 

Careless words written, make me ill,

Shake my foundation, 

Take away my control.

You have no clue how I feel. 

After all these years, you believe you’ve solved me?  

You’ve only picked a lock, in a chain of locks locked.

But you hurt with your writing — why didn’t you ask? 

You’re shaking my world, I have no strength, 

I’m not in the place you think I am. 

You rock my foundations, I’m not doing well. 

Answer me this, how could you think

Fatigue such as mine goes away, by blinking? 

You haven’t solved the riddle, 

You cause me great problems.

And a horrible day doesn’t end, 

Tone of voice, sets off tears again.

You don’t treat me like an adult, only a child —

Because I’m forever screwing up.

I want out but, how do I escape? 

For I find I’ve built, my own prison. 

And you tighten the chains, 

Until breath and blood flow flicker out, 

Until everything which matters blows apart.

Until in the sky, floats clouds, sunbeams radiant, 

And the Eagles take me flying on their backs.

And I escape to poetry, 

Such words which can’t be snatched. 

—–

©Mandibelle16. (2016) All Rights Reserved

Moral Monday’s Flash Fiction: A Downward Spiral #amwriting #fiction


Thanks to Nortina for hosting Moral Monday’s prompts. This week’s moral is: ” Say No to Drugs.”

——–

http://www.conquerclub.com

———

She’d been to many parties, drinking until she went home and threw-up. The more alcohol she consumed, the more her body tolerated. She lived for the time when she was floating around, loving everyone and feeling happy. These days, she required an even greater high.

At a particular party, she watched two of her friends snort lines of cocaine off a coffee table.

“How much?” She asked, her two friends grinned.

“First lines on us.” 

Looking back she knew, they were words that forever altered the course of her life into a downward spiral of addiction.

———

©Mandibelle16. (2016) All Rights Reserved.

Story Continuation Prompt: Fiction – ” Uncle Jerry’s Photograph” 


Thanks to Wandering Soul who hosts this challenge. You are supposed to write one or two more sentences to make a three line story with the prompt sentence. I tend to get inspired and end up with an entire story, jammed into two too long sentences. So I’m linking to her blog with my story inspired by the sentence: ” The picture on the wall was crooked; a lot like the person in it.”

——-

http://www.denofgeeks.com

——-

The picture on the wall was crooked; a lot like the person in it. I knew the photo was of my Grandpa’s brother Jerry, who had shot himself in the foot to get out of WWII. He had only been in France a week and spent most of his active duty attempting to make himself throw-up daily, so he didn’t have to fight but could remain in the infirmary. But Jerry’s Captain realized what Jerry was up to and put him back with his company to kill German soldiers.

Sadly, it wasn’t beyond Jerry’s cowardice to hide behind other soldiers in his squadron,  or use them as shields. I doubt Jerry’s company minded when he showed them  a German soldier had shot him in the foot; even though his squadron knew Jerry had shot himself to get out of fighting in the War. It wasn’t as if many soldiers hadn’t thought of shooting their own foot to escape War’s reality, but most of them knew their country needed them and took their duty as a soldier with pride.

Jerry’s fellow soldiers were glad to see ‘useless’  Jerry gone. He hadn’t made any friends and most men knew being Jerry’s friend meant he would desert you when you needed help; infact, life expectancy for members in Jerry’s old company went up when Jerry was sent home with a permanent limp.

Jerry told absurd and utterly fake stories about being a War hero when he returned to his family’s house in London. Jerry had even stolen a poor dead man’s medals to make it appear as if he had been recognized by England, Primeminister Churchill, and the Queen, for defending his country. 

But Jerry’s family didn’t believe his stories and doubted he had sacrificed himself to earn such high honours. Jerry’s family knew his personality, the cowardliness and cunning that always lurked behind Jerry’s every action. 

War was awful and terrifying, but Jerry’s father who had fought in WWI and Jerry’s permanently wounded brother Clancy, who fought in WWII, believed Jerry should be doing his duty back in France. Soldiers were being shipped to the beaches of Normandy and neither Jerry’s father or Clancy thought the slight limp that Jerry most likely gave himself, should stop a soldier from doing his duty.

 Jerry eventually left home during the War, wandering the roads in different towns, lost and afraid that death would catch up with him because he had avoided it in France. In the shadow of a pale moon, a bomb flew from the sky one night, and Jerry met his end in England, near his family’s home. 

Both Jerry’s father and brother Clancy, at last we’re proud of him. The bomb from a German airplane had hit Jerry and not another person or a building full of civilians. Jerry hadn’t intended on being the bombs target, but his family felt they could remember the cowardly man with a bit of pride now.

 Jerry’s photo, Grandpa Clancy said, should remind us Grandchildren to be brave and not use others because we are afraid, as Uncle Jerry had done in his life. Grandpa Clancy’s Grandchildren knew what true sacrifice was when their Grandfather showed them the stump that was once his left leg. 

Clancy had never bothered with a prosthetic limb. His leg stump spoke volumes to a generation who did not realize what a sacrifice so many men had made so their children and Grandchildren could be free from men such as Hitler and his Nazis.

Clancy had loved his brother. The part of Jerry who was a scheming coward, Clancy had never been able to understand. Scared or not, a man has to do what a man had to do, especially during a War. Clancy was cheered that in death, his brother Jerry may have been brave.

——-

©Mandibelle16.(2016) All Rights Reserved.

An Offer I Couldn’t Refuse


Prompt: Here’s the title of your post: “An Offer I Couldn’t Refuse.”

Set a timer for ten minutes, and write it. Go

I was 20-years-old and my friend was 18-years-old and we were going out to a martini bar later that night. ” So, pre-drinking?” my friend Tara said. ” Of course” I said. There was nothing to really think about it was given that we would pre-drink before the bar, we usually did. Tara had a big bottle of Smirnoff vodka and some 7up. We helped ourselves to a couple of big glasses full of the stuff and sat down to play a game on the couch with Tara’s cousin Rhonda.

Every time Cartman said a particular word on SouthPark we had to do shots of Malibu Rum. We watched episode after episode and did many shots of Rum. And let me tell you to this day I cannot not drink Malibu Rum or smell that coconutty sunscreen smell without feeling a little queasy. But we felt fine at the time, just nice and tipsy after all the liquor we had consumed.

We took a cab to the martini bar and a lot of the people there were more friends of my brothers but that was okay. We talked to everyone and I can’t remember half the people we talked to or what was said. My brother got a text ” Your sister is so drunk.”

That’s when Tara went to the washroom and threw up. As soon as I could get her out of the bathroom we cabbed back to her cousin’s place where we were staying and Tara was so sick she literally just threw up for ages. Once, she had briefly stopped I washed her face and sent her to bed. That’s when I got ill. So, so ill.

Tara and I were throwing up in the bathroom all night and into the morning. When I was feeling semi normal I knew I had to eat something to finally feel better. I ate a muffin and threw up again and this time felt better. Tara took a little longer.

Later, eating chicken soup we watched an Oiler’s playoff game and recovered. We had finished a medium bottle of Malibu Rum and almost the entire bottle of vodka. No wonder we got sick. From then on, if someone asked me if I wanted to pre-drink I took it easy. I was only sick that bad one other time in my life and I have no desire to be that sick on alcohol again. Malibu Rum was an offer I should have refused.